Vanity Insanity (26 page)

Jenae’s head was against my shoulder again. She was falling asleep.

“Lucy will be here soon,” I told her. “Do you want to just lie down here, Toots?”

Jenae sat up and grabbed my arms. “Lucy? Ben, don’t let her see me like this. Ben, please.” Jenae looked like a little girl begging me for help. She looked beautiful in her pain.

“Jenae, I’m here. You’re gonna to be OK.”

I pulled her up and started walking her to the back room. Once I settled her on the floor with my coat covering her, I called Kelly. When I told her about Jenae’s rough morning, Kelly, who had seen a hint of this side of Jenae earlier that week, said that she would call Caroline and ask if she could pick her up on her way. As I hung up, I heard the sound of a babbling baby. Without the bell above the door, I felt unsettled.

“Happy Ash Wednesday! Anybody here?”

“Hey, Lu!” I held out my hands to Maria, her baby girl who would never be excluded from a merry Mary procession. I learned after Lucy had asked me to be her first child’s godfather that high expectations came along with the role. Rather than have brothers fighting over the honor, she picked me. I helped her out, I guess.

“Say hi to Uncle Ben, Maria.”

“You girls look like you need to wash your faces.” I heard a sound from the back room and looked at the clock. Kelly lived a block away from the salon and would be here soon.

“Don’t be messin’ with our ashes, and where are yours, by the way?”

“Sit down, ladies. I’ll be right back.” I checked on Jenae. She was still lying on the floor. I knew that Lucy would help me if I needed help, but I wanted to respect Jenae’s wishes for Lucy not to see her like this.

I walked out to Lucy and Maria and smiled at them both in the mirror. “So did Father Whalen say Mass?”

“Nope, we have a new guy. Father What-a-Waste. Our new assistant pastor is the most gorgeous man ever.”

“Good for him.” I gave Maria some combs to play with as I washed Lucy’s hair.

“Hey, did you forget to tell me that A.C. was Jewish?” Lucy asked me. “Anthony heard it through the grapevine.”

“That’s a long story. I’m sure he’ll be Buddhist by your next appointment.”

Lucy spent the next half hour updating me on her latest scoop as I kept one ear listening to any sounds coming from the back room. Maria sat on Lucy’s lap and smiled at me as I dried Lucy’s hair.

“Don’t let me forget to show you what I have in my trunk before we leave, Ben.”

“Don’t tell me…Father What-a -Waste?”

“It’s a dresser-drawer thingy that Stephano just finished for Michael.”

“I think you’d probably have more fun with Father What-a-Waste.”

“You know, the little mirror table where a lady puts on her makeup and does her hair? Like a makeup desk. What is that called? Anyway, Michael
found it at a garage sale last fall and had Stephano strip it down and restain it. Michael’s going to give it to Theresa for a Valentine’s Day gift tomorrow. I’m dropping it off at his office after I leave here. I want to show it to you.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to leave Jenae.

“A vanity!” Lucy exclaimed. “That’s what they call it. A vanity. It has this beautiful mirror, and Stephano discovered after he stripped it that the wood was mahogany. The guy from the garage sale had painted it white! Can you believe that? Anyway, it has this little stool with a cushion. You have to see it.” Lucy was putting on Maria’s coat and gathering the little books and toys that she had been playing with.

Kelly and Caroline walked in the back door from the alley. The cold air blew in with them. I directed them with my eyes to the back room. Caroline disappeared into the room.

“Hey, Kelly!” Lucy called.

“Hi, Lucy. Your baby getting so big.”

“I’m helping Lucy to her car. I’ll be right back,” I told Kelly as she ran back to help Caroline.

I carried Maria to the car and covered her against the cold as Lucy threw her bag into the back seat and adjusted the car seat. I handed Maria to her, and she buckled her in and shut the door. Then she ran back and opened the trunk. The mahogany vanity was actually pretty sharp. I had never seen anything like it.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

I smiled. “Just like Theresa.”

“She’s going to love it!” Lucy shut the trunk and ran to start the car. “Don’t forget to get your ashes today, Ben.”

I smiled at Lucy and put my hands in my pockets to warm them, feeling the broken bell.

22

Octavia: No Show, Reschedule

Friday, October 25

1991

“O
h my gosh, he is so hot!” Jenae knelt on the pew looking out at a man walking toward Vanity Insanity. It was late October, but Jenae was wearing a fluorescent-green tank top, a short, short jean skirt, lime-green high, high heels, and a matching green scrunchie, pulling all of her hair to the top of head, shooting her hair up like stalks on the top of a pineapple.

“Who?” Caroline asked, looking around Jenae toward the tall, twenty-something man with a thin, black leather tie over a peach dress shirt.

“That gentleman walking toward Vanity Insanity!” Jenae said.

“That’s no gentleman,” I said. “That’s the smarmy sales guy coming to push Summit products. He’s been calling me all week.”

“Whatever he’s selling, order ten of them.”

We had our Jenae back.

I had kept my eye on Jenae the past six months, as had the rest of the staff. On dark days, Kelly would nudge me and then look at Jenae and shake her head if Jenae’s demeanor hinted that she might need to be guided back to home base. Jenae had plenty more good days than bad.

Jenae may have been stabilizing, but Caroline’s affinity for throwing up escalated as her weight dropped. Kelly, who had gained her American citizenship, was getting closer to having enough money to bring her sister over to Omaha from Viet Nam, and Toby had fixed the bell over the door. He was more familiar with the upper casings than anyone.

“Phone, Ben.” Toby handed me the phone as I took a breath to prepare myself for Peach Sales Guy. “It’s Truman.”

“Hey, Truman.” Octavia had been a no-show for her usual Friday morning appointment. In all of the years that I had been doing her hair—religiously—on Friday mornings, she had never once missed an appointment.

“We can’t find Octavia, Ben. Lately she’s been taking these random walks. For the life of me, I can’t believe she forgot her hair appointment. I know when we find her, she’ll want to get in…Do you have any time today?”

I looked over the schedule and saw that the day was stacked, but after tossing a new client at Jenae for a cut and dry only, and another at Toby, I told Truman that I could fit Octavia in at one o’clock that afternoon. I would need to cut short my meetings with Peach Guy and a woman who was coming by at twelve thirty to promote her product. That was fine by me.

“Thank you, Ben.” Truman sounded tired.

Until Octavia’s appointment, I had to entertain two competing salespersons for the spot in my window. Two different companies, two different, brightly colored product packages, the same cajoling and aggravating approach. The bell rang as Peach Guy smiled his way through the door.

“Hey, Ben! Trent Schaefer. We talked this week.” Yes, we had. “Love the place. I just wanted to show you a few of our new products. Actually, what I want to show you I haven’t shown to anyone yet. It’s a secret. “

“I love secrets. Don’t you?” Jenae stood next to Peach Guy and smiled. I gave Jenae my best get-lost look and started looking through the products that were laid out on the UP desk.

A half hour later, Peach Guy walked out, and an overly bubbly little redhead with smooth hair walked in. Siena, whose speech was sprinkled with sharp
s
’s, represented a new company called Head JAM. “Thissss Frizz Paste is not coming out until ssspring, but I will give you a few ssssamples for you and your ssstaff to enjoy.”

“Super.”

Both “salespersons” were obnoxious, and from the extent to which they took their schmoozing, I reveled in the fact that every company wanted to promote its products in a salon in downtown Omaha. Within the past year, availability of bays in the Old Market two-block area had become scarce and costly, and I knew if I grew tired of this gig, I would make a sizable profit on selling the business alone. For now, the large bags of free products that Peach Guy and Little Red left were perks that came with the territory.

The bell above the door rang again as Octavia walked in at one o’clock sharp. “I haven’t lost my mind, but sometimes I do misplace it.”

“Well, look who’s here.” I greeted Octavia as I held out my elbow for her to hook her hand in.

“Don’t even start with me, Ben. It’s been a damn day, that’s what it’s been.”

“And already, she’s cussing.”

“I never once used foul language when I was raising my boys.” Octavia pointed her little finger at me as she set her purse on my station. “Never. I’m entitled now ’cause I’m old. I’ve earned the right to say exactly what I think.”

“Well, lucky me.” Hope, who had been in the back room folding towels, came out to see Octavia when she heard her voice. I mumbled, “Keep it clean for this one, eh?”

“Miss Octavia! You look beautiful today.”

Octavia beamed as she sat down in my chair. Years ago, Octavia had told Hope that she could call her Octavia, but Hope, obedient to the rule her mother had given her that she should address adults as Miss, Mrs. or Mr., and in spite of the fact that Hope herself was over thirty, had politely replied, “No, thank you, Miss Octavia.”

Octavia held up her hands to hold Hope’s as she spoke to her. “Now, honey, have you read through the prayer book I gave you last time I was here?”

“I’m still working on it, Miss Octavia.”

“Good, good. I thought you’d like it.”

Hope leaned over to hug the little old lady in my chair. “Thank you, Miss Octavia, but I’ve got to get back to work.” Octavia smiled at Hope as she collected all of the spare towels from each station.

“Hey, how come you’re so nice to her? You’re never that nice to me, Miss Octavia.”

Octavia belted out a laugh. “Oh, because you’re a poor wretch, Ben, that’s why.” She paused. “Oh, Ben, I am just so out of kilter since I missed Mass this morning.”

“And your appointment with me.”

“Mass is what gets me going.”

“Why do you go to Mass every day, lady?”

“I’m cramming, honey.”

This time I laughed.

“Now, I have a question for you, Ben. How come you don’t go to church at all?” She paused and raised her eyebrows. “I know these things, you know.”

“You could tell?”

“I’m serious, Benjamin Keller. You can’t get to heaven on good looks and my prayers alone.”

“I was kind of counting on it.”

Octavia tilted her head. I walked her over to the basin to wash her hair.

“I think I’m comfortable with where I am right now…I guess.”

“Comfortable? Well, there’s your problem.”

I put an apron around Octavia, stopped, and looked at her in the mirror.

“Ben, you need the gospel. The gospel comforts those suffering and conflicted, and it roughs up those who are too comfortable.”

“Good to know. I didn’t really plan to stop going to church. I think I kind of slowly fell away from it all. Once I moved out of Mom’s house,
I just fell out of the rhythm…and Mac stopped picking me up. Not his responsibility…I don’t know.”

“Do you pray, Ben?” Octavia raised her eyebrows and looked at me in the mirror. I wished we could talk about politics or even sex.

I started shampooing her hair. “I pray that the next color I do on someone’s hair works out…”

Octavia said nothing.

“Boy, you’re getting kind of nosey here,” I said. “I don’t know. I think I pray. You know, I think around the time that I graduated from high school, I ran up to Mass on the feast of the Trinity. Father Old-Fart Dailey was talking about connecting with each part of the trinity. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I remember so clearly him saying that to truly know God, we need to understand or know the love of a caring father.”

I helped Octavia up as I put a towel around her head. “I guess I pretty much struck out in that category. ‘I’m very angry with my father. It cost me thousands of dollars to pay a therapist to say…’”

“It cost you what to what?”

“It’s a line from a movie.
Pretty Woman
. Richard Gere’s character is telling the prostitute played by Julia Roberts that he’s…”

“Angry with his father. Got it.” Octavia stared at me in the mirror.

“I’m not angry or bitter. I just look at it all differently. I believe in goodness. That’s kind of praying. Does that count?”

Octavia scowled.

“Hey, I shared some kind of private stuff here. Are you gonna be mean again? You’re the one who missed Mass.” I hoped that would get a laugh.

“I think that’s a damn cop-out.”

“And we’re back. Here comes the potty mouth.”

“Ben, did you ever read Coleridge’s
Kubla Kahn
?”

“Sorry, I was a business major.”

“That Coleridge may have been a great poet from the Romantic era, but he was also a pretty serious drug addict. Half stoned writing most of his stuff.”

“So you’ve heard.” I didn’t know that Octavia knew what “stoned” meant.

“Anyway, he has this drug dream and wakes up inspired to write one of his most beautiful poems.” Octavia recited some of the poem:

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

“I thought Olivia Newton-John created the whole Xanadu thing.”

“The point, my dear wretch, is that when a messenger from town knocked on his door, it interrupted his hallucination or rhythm, he never finished the poem.”

“OK.”

“And wouldn’t it be nice if we could blame all of our unfinished projects and disappointments in our life on a poor, little messenger?”

“Father Old Fart?”

“Father Old Fart and your father.”

Ouch.

“I think that sure is an easy way out,” Octavia continued. “If I based my faith on the father that I knew, then God takes a whack on me a few times a day and more than a few drinks from the whisky in the back of the barn. If it could be that simple.”