Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) (21 page)

After reassuring Smiley I hadn’t found a house or apartment to move to yet and I’d see him tomorrow, I tidied up and turned out the lights. Then I walked to a window, pulled back one velvet drape, and stood looking out for a good long while. I’d acquired the habit on the farm. Before retiring, my eyes would rest on shadowed fields, the darkened tobacco barn, or the cedars along the fencerow. I would listen for a hoot owl’s call or a raccoon rummaging in the night. My heart grieved for all those things.

A noisy moped drove past, followed by the sheriff’s car. Then the street was quiet.

Later, when I passed William’s door, it was closed, and a scratchy record played “Love Me Tender.” I could hear heavy feet shuffling about. I supposed Lil had tired of losing every poker hand and finally retired to her room.

I crawled into bed weighted down with my thoughts and feelings all in a tangled mess. My mind drifted back to the days, weeks, and months
of living in the little farmhouse after Charlie died. Finally at peace with Charlie’s death, I kept to myself mostly. My life was pretty much the same day after day. I kept busy from dawn to dark with gardening, mowing, trimming, and keeping the place up in general. I talked to Charlie and took care of Miss Margaret. I couldn’t say I was exactly happy, but I was content with my life. Wasn’t I?

William either opened his door or turned up the volume on his record player. The same Elvis record was playing again. Before I drifted off to sleep, I said, “Charlie, it’s a pure shame for any man to have to dance alone. A pure shame.”

Somehow during Sunday night’s fitful sleep a plan must have formed in my mind, because the next morning as I placed Alice’s black-feathered hat on my head, I knew what to do.

I could almost hear her whispering in my ear:
The antidote for frustration is action.
A strange, yet comforting, feeling traveled clear down to my toes. I had something to do before visiting my friend and found myself humming, “Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war.”

“Who am I to question such as that?” I said to no one in particular.

I opened the door of the beauty parlor. It had one swivel chair with a sink and a mirror, one padded armchair with an attached dryer, and three plastic chairs that looked like Laundromat rejects. Not even a snappy name over the door like the Kut ‘N Loose on Main. This place was obviously an afterthought. Nothing like the words I’d read in the brochure:
And a state-of-the-art beauty salon. Every woman’s dream.

My guess was that it was originally a small, enclosed back porch. It wasn’t big enough to whip a cat in as Mama would’ve said. But its unpainted wood floor and ceiling, and walls of beadboard topped with windows all around, made up for its size. I decided this was my favorite room in the whole place, untouched by a decorator in love with sea-foam green.

The air was faintly
permed
, but windows had been rolled open, and a soft breeze brought the sweet aroma of freshly mowed grass and a memory of Charlie moving across the meadow on his tractor, a Ford eight-end. My eyes closed in delight. “It’s almost as good as being back home again.”

Diamond Lil broke the spell when she wheeled into the small room
and announced, “I’m first, you know. It’s only right. My Edward—”

She prattled on and on. I had heard rumors of how she lorded it over the other ladies during nail time, and I was ready. I had things to do before leaving, which I figured was going to happen tomorrow afternoon, or Wednesday at the latest, as sure as salmon swim upstream.

“I don’t want to hear about your Edmond. And I don’t care who’s first. I came to talk to Shirley—in private.”

Lil bristled and shook her finger at me. “She’s paid to do manicures from ten o’clock until twelve. Paid well, I might add. You’ll have to talk to her when it’s your turn or wait until she’s finished. I’m always first. Everyone knows that. And my son’s name is
Edward
.”

I plunged ahead, knowing what had to be done. Maybe she wouldn’t hold a grudge, but it really didn’t matter. “Tell me, does your son know about Willy yet?”

Anger flashed in her eyes for a split second. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I would think your son would be interested in his mother’s new boyfriend—especially someone like William Statton, who plays poker like a riverboat gambler. And he moves and grooves to his Elvis records like the King himself. A talented man. Did you know he used to raise gamecocks? Used to hold cockfights too, back in the woods behind his house, until the sheriff closed him down. I’ve seen pictures and they’re not a pretty sight.” I paused a few seconds to let all that sink in. “Didn’t you say Edmond always comes to visit on Mondays?”

“I don’t care what Willy used to do. He’s a real gentleman, and he’s nice to me. We’re just friends. What’s wrong with that?” She looked ready to burst into tears.

I almost relented. Almost.

Then she said with a deep sigh, “No, my Edward would never approve. Would you really do such a thing? Agnes, you are one mean-spirited woman.”

William did raise gamecocks. I knew because he’d proudly shown me pictures. I suppose he raised them to fight, but he never said and I never asked. Even if he had been a bootlegger, I never would have told Edward. No, Willy was the best thing that had happened to Lil, most likely in a long time.

Shirley entered, carrying an egg basket brimming with brightly colored bottles of nail polish. “Good morning, ladies. I’m going to make you soooo beautiful you won’t believe your eyes. Why, honey, the men
in your life will be putty in your hands. You ready, Miss Francesca? Just give me a second to get set up and we’ll get started.”

Her clatter of arranging little bottles, nail files, clippers, and a drying lamp halted when Francesca said, “Agnes is first this morning. But I’m second. I’ll wait outside and tell the others that Miss Monroe isn’t ready yet and when she is, she’ll open the door.” She lowered her voice and her gaze pierced mine. “Does that satisfy you?”

I nodded, too surprised to speak.

She wheeled out, full of huffs, and I could hear her loud voice through the door. “I don’t care if you
did
see Shirley come in the front door, she’s busy. Doing what? Sterilizing her instruments, that’s what. What are you doing here so early anyway? No use crowding around. I’m first, you know. Go back to your room.”

With lifted eyebrows, Shirley said, “What’s all this about, honey? I’m dying to know how you got to be first this morning. And my, my, where did you find such a hat? Suits your red hair. Indeed it does.”

“Isn’t it wonderful? One of Alice’s.” Then I added, “I blackmailed Francesca. Threatened to tell her son she has a boyfriend. I wouldn’t really do such a thing, you understand, but I needed to talk to you.”

Shirley laughed and shook a bottle of purple polish. “Land sakes, honey, I predict you could be first from now on if you set your mind to it. But I’m dying to know what happened when your daughter talked to Miss Johnson yesterday.”

“She didn’t. Took the whole afternoon getting Alice moved to Mission. The meeting’s been changed to Tuesday afternoon, or possibly Wednesday.”

“I declare, honey, that’s like waiting for the firing squad to load their rifles, ain’t it? And I sure as anything hated to see Miss Alice get in such bad shape. Saw it coming though. Taken to the Lane Wing. I declare that’s a pure shame. After she left, I scrubbed every pot in the kitchen twice, and then got down and scrubbed the floor on my—”

“I need to talk to you about a problem.” I hated to interrupt, but I knew Lil wouldn’t stay out much longer.

She took my right hand in hers and began shaping my nails with her fat file. “I listen best while I work. Now, Miss Agnes, you just tell ol’ Shirl what’s troubling you. Why, a beautician’s the best psycho—psychopathologist there is. And that’s a fact.”

I told Shirley what was on my mind and what I had determined would bring a smile to Alice’s face, either on this earth if she hadn’t
crossed over Jordan, or up in heaven if she had. “Do you know of a young mother having a rough go of it? Someone who could use a boost in this old world?”

Just as I figured, Shirley knew someone. She told me about a teenage girl named Juanita.

“She lives in an old, rusty singlewide parked behind Case’s Produce. Virgil Case gives her fruit and vegetables too old or bruised to sell, and he lets her sweep up in the evenings for a little cash. When she got pregnant and couldn’t disguise her growing belly no more, her family put her out, wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with her. Can you imagine? And the baby’s father? Why, he took off in the beginnin’ when she refused to have an abortion. She dotes on that little Frankie. A mighty good mother, that’s what she is.”

Shirley clicked on the drying lamp and inspected my beautiful purple nails. “Are you sure you want to go there, honey? Not exactly the best part of town, you know. Why don’t you let me and Baby, uh, I mean Jack, do it for you? We’d be tickled pink.”

“No, I promised Alice I’d do it myself. Besides, a nice walk on a summer day might clear my head … give me a chance to think.”

“I don’t know—my big toe’s been killing me all morning. Always does before a storm. Never fails.” She stopped and studied my face. “Well, I can see you’re determined to go. Most of the people down there are good folks. I’ve lived there all my life. You just be careful, hear?”

I stepped carefully down the back steps admiring my manicure. If I could leave the beauty shop without the other ladies seeing me, this would allow Lil to hold on to her reputation.

As I walked around the house, I hoped to find Smiley on the front porch. We had hardly spoken at breakfast since I was preoccupied with my own thoughts—as he had seemed to be. He had a routine of sitting outside in a rocker after breakfast to
read
the news while, in fact, he dozed in the sun, the paper lying at his feet where it slid, often unopened.

All sorts of plans buzzed around in my head. My shopping bag from the trip to Begley’s was perfect for carrying John Howard’s clothes. Case’s Produce was only three or four blocks away on the corner of Seventh and Church. Or was it Eleventh and Church?

It didn’t matter. Church ran parallel to Main, and I surely couldn’t get lost in a town I’d lived in all my life, though I couldn’t recall ever being in the part called The Bottom. The poorest of the poor lived there—the homeless, migrant workers, or people who pulled any shift they could
get at the Bright Brothers Canning Factory down by the river.

Charlie, as well as other farmers, had often driven through this section of town to pick up farm hands when it came time to house tobacco or harvest tomatoes, but I never went along.

“Don’t worry yourself none, Charlie. Case’s Produce sits on the fringe. I’m not going down in the worst part, that’s for certain.”

Near the front sidewalk, I tripped over a hose winding its way through the grass. Luckily, I missed the concrete and landed near a bed of red begonias. Then something moved between the small plants, causing the blooms to tremble closer and closer towards the porch. That’s when I saw it—a snake, big and black. Now I knew a blacksnake to be the farmer’s friend, but sure as anything I didn’t want that snake to end up in my room.

I stood easy-like and waved my arms. “Shoo. Go away. Don’t you go in there.” But that snake disappeared right before my eyes near the old rock foundation, and I didn’t have time to go looking for it.

I was thankful I hadn’t broken any bones, but my pink stretch pants were torn and stained. My favorite garage sale pants too. I looked around for the dummy responsible.

The hose-puller approached and raised his plastic mask. He wore a gray-striped jumpsuit with
Assassin Bug, Inc
. in red letters across his chest and
Elmer
in small blue letters below.

Before I could shake my finger good, he yelled. “Look where you’re going, lady. They pay me to kill roaches and maybe a few termites. Don’t say nothing about old people. Ha! Maybe I need a new contract. Ha!”

Now I was close enough to shake my finger right in front of his fat red nose with broken blue veins running all over it. “You’re a real comedian. You’ll be lucky if I don’t sue Assassin Bug for causing me bodily harm. See, I’m bleeding. What’s your boss’s name, anyway?”

He responded by snapping his mask shut and revving up the motor to feed the poison from his red truck with a huge upside-down roach on top, to a nozzle that looked like the end of a fireman’s hose. He pretended to squirt me.

I jumped back and hollow laughter followed me as I ran up the steps. Smiley had already gone inside, his newspaper left where it had fallen. I decided to fill him in when I got back. Now I had to change my pants. Maybe while I was at it, I’d switch Alice’s hat for my straw gardening hat, especially since the sun had already turned up its heat.