Magnolia Blossoms (7 page)

The nervous giggles turn to full on tears. “No, please, no. My parents don’t have much to do with me as it is. If I get caught doing something that will put him in an unfavorable light, he’ll have no problem alienating me. I have nothing. No friends, no boyfriend, no job… I lost that a couple of weeks ago and still haven’t had the guts to tell my parents. They will toss me on the street without batting an eye, and they’ll call it a life lesson to boot. Please, please, please, don’t do this to me.” I lower my head to my lap and sob uncontrollably.

“Stop that!” she fusses. “Stop it now. You sound like a dying goose. Shut up. The neighbors are gonna call the cops.”

“Police!
Eeeuhhh!”
I wail.
“Not the police!” I release a loud snort and sniff before I start sobbing again.

“Shut it! Now!” she says, tugging on the collar of my turtleneck to pull me so she can look me in the face. “Shhhh!”

Swallowing hard, I nod my head and wipe the tears from my face. “You’re not going to tell?”

“You sure are a pathetic one, aren’t you?” The woman kicks off her stilettos and tucks her feet underneath her. “Spill. Tell it to me. Give me all of your ugly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You might be goofy as hell, but you’re not dumb. You came down here looking for one of two things: a prostitute or drugs. Clearly, drugs are not your thing, so it has to be a prostitute. Why would a woman, I’m guessing early to mid-thirties…” She pauses, and I nod. “…be on the prowl for a prostitute? You need some advice that only a whore can give? Judging from the circa 1970s bush fro you’re sporting under that skirt, I think it’s safe to say that you’ve never been with a man. Am I right?”

My eyes widen with horror, and I turn a lovely shade of vermilion. “I-I don’t know a lot about… Why were you looking up my skirt?”

“It kinda rode up when I was dragging you in here. It’s not like I went in search of it. It just kinda popped out and said hi. Another thing you might not know is that a lot of women shave their legs.”

“Yeah, I know, but I figure there’s no point. The only person to get close enough to see it has been you.”

She turns sideways on the sofa so she can prop her elbow on the back of it. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“One.”

“Tell me about him.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“Why not? It’s not often that I get the hankering to help someone, but you are very obviously a lost soul in need of some Honey Bear intervention.”

“Honey Bear?”

“That’s me. Honey LeReaux. You know, like,
row, row, row your boat gently up my
… Oh, never mind. The guys love it, but it’s obviously lost on you.”

“Well, Ms. Honey…”

“Don’t you go calling me Ms. anything. Honey’s the name.”

“Okay, Honey.”

Honey smiles and nods her approval.

“The relationship with the only boyfriend I’ve ever had lasted a total of twenty minutes,” I admit.

“Did you fuck him?”

Though still a little shocked by Honey’s potty mouth, I feel less intimidated by her constant barrage of questions. “No, but he tried to kiss me.”

“Would that have been your first kiss?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago did all of this happen?”

“A few weeks ago.”

She looks at me with intrigue. “You’re understated, but not ugly. What’s wrong with you?”

“I wish I knew,” I say a little depressed.

“Naw, naw, naw, now none of that. No feeling sad over the past. If I dwelled on my past, I’d have killed myself long ago. Let’s agree that we’re going to focus on the present and future only. Deal?”

“Deal?” I say with a slightest of smiles. “Thank you for this, Honey.”

“For what? I ain’t done nothin’.”

“You’re treating me like a person. You’re interacting with me, actually listening to me.”

“Here I woulda thunk that you, growing up with rich parents and such, you would’ve had it all. I guess the old sayin’ is right, money can’t buy happiness. You’re about the saddest soul I’ve come across in ages. I need to hear how this happened.”

Standing, I turn my back to her so she won’t see the tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes. “This isn’t a good idea. I came here with the intention of receiving information on how to land a man, not to get therapy.”

Honey stands behind me and gently pushes some of the longer strands of hair from my shoulder. “If you want a man, you should start with fixing yourself. To do that, you need to let someone in. It’s not something you can do alone; otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Look, I can understand your not wanting life advice from a washed up whore, but when it comes to living life, I’ve done, seen, and experienced it all. I might be able to help.”

“Why would you want to help me? What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing really. I don’t know why, but I like ya. You’re kinda like a pathetic stray desperate for some lovin’.”

“I thought you wanted me to feel better about myself.”

“First lesson: people are mean. Don’t take anything people say personally. Chances are, there is an issue of some sort within them, but they’re taking it out on you. Misery sure does love company.”

“Is that why those guys were so mean to you earlier?” I ask.

“Exactly. The loud mouth feels the need to stand out in the crowd. Probably one of the youngest in a sea of siblings who never got much attention unless he acted out. A jackass who is trying to be a leader because he’s sick of being a follower. The others, well, they’re just along for the ride because they’re bored.”

“You could tell all of that from that one ride by?”

After lighting a cigarette, she eases back onto the sofa. “Maybe. Or maybe I know his momma. It doesn’t matter. Point is, I know shit; you need to know shit. You want help or not?”

“I do.”

“Good.” She blows out a thick cloud of smoke and starts rummaging through stack after stack of junk. “We’re gonna straighten out that hair situation of yours first thing, just as soon as I find my damned scissors. You can fill me in on your story while I’m fixing that mess. You can’t go through life with a reverse Mohawk. I won’t let you. Trust me. This is for the best,” she says, holding up a massive pair of sewing shears.

Gulp!

Honey slices through the last of the hair and holds a handheld mirror inches from my face. As I run my fingers through the bristly stubble, I feel like
Les Miserables’
Fantine, post hair donation. I’m not impressed with my reflection, and it shows on my face.

“You watch and see how fast that’s gonna grow back,” Honey assures me. “I should know, been there myself. There was a lice situation back in the eighties; well, I completely de-haired myself, and it was the best thing I ever coulda done. My hair grew in a lot thicker and two shades darker. I turned a lot of heads back in those days.”

I scrunch my drawn on eyebrows as I try to picture a young, bald Honey LeReaux. “De-haired? That’s a term I’ve never heard used for a shaved head.”

“I don’t know all them fancy words, and I ain’t talking about just my head. What do you call it? I was exfoliated?”

“Epilated?”

“Yeah, maybe that’s it. You gotta understand; that was before you could get a wax from every corner in town. I had to recruit some close friends to give me a hand. That’s neither here nor there, I suppose. Ancient history now.” She tosses the shears into a kitchen drawer then lights up a fresh cigarette.

“All of your hair was gone?”

“From head to toe,” she said, taking a drag.

“Okay, what’s a wax and what does it have to do with epilation?” My inquiry earns me a dropped jaw from Honey. She stops rolling the cigarette lighter between her fingers and flings it to the far end of the table before taking my chin in her hand. She studies my face through partially squinted lids.

“Of course you wouldn’t know what a wax is. That’s a pretty thick mustache you’re sporting there, not to mention that pile of carpet you’ve got hanging to your knees down there.”

I pull my face away quickly to cover my upper lip with my fingers. “I’d appreciate it if you’d quit talking about my privates. Besides, how’s wax supposed to help with that?”

She slowly shakes her head from side to side. “I can’t believe I’m actually explaining this to a grown woman. Wow, okay. What you do is you go to a place that offers waxing services, or in my case, you get a friend who ain’t ashamed to get up in there. The wax goes into a warmer to melt, a layer is spread, and then covered with a strip of fabric. Those pesky hairs are ripped right on out.”

“Ripped out! By the root? And women actually pay for that torture?” I ask, unable to fully comprehend the concept.

“All the time,” Honey answers matter of factly.

“What happened to razors? That’s what I used the last time; I just shaved.”

“Oh, for legs and pits, yeah, lots still use razors for that, but I’d hope you wouldn’t take a razor to your eyebrows. Kinda hard to get a good arch with a razor, much less the chance you take of slicing off your eyelid. You really don’t know any of this?”

“I notice that other women look different from me, but I never really gave much thought as to how they got that way.”

Honey looks deep in thought as the cigarette between her lips quickly decimates to a long, hollow cylinder of ash. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I should help you. Maybe it’s because I’ve always had a soft spot for lost causes.”

“Hey! I have feelings, you know?”

She’s unfazed by my outburst. “Lesson two: you need to thicken up that thin skin. You can’t run and hide from the world; you need to own it. To make it your bitch.”

“I tried to make my mark on the world. I walked on the wild side, and all it got me was hurt.”

“Really? The wild side, eh? I find that hard to believe. Tell me what you consider wild.”

“I can’t,” I shyly reply.

She sucks on her teeth. “That’s what I thought.”

Feeling the need to defend myself, I carelessly blurt, “Oh, yeah? Well, I almost killed a man. Is that wild enough for you?”

She chuckles. “Who hasn’t? Most of ‘em are scum bags.”

“No, I’m serious. I almost killed a guy by stabbing him in the neck.”

All signs of being amused flee from her face, and she nervously scans the room. “What do you mean you stabbed a guy in the neck?”

“Nothing,” I quickly answer.

“Oh, no! You can’t drop a bomb like that and think that I’m just gonna let you strut on outta here.”

“It was more of an accident than an actual stabbing, okay? He was really old, and I had a hobby knife in my hand. He spun around, and I got him in the neck.”

“And why were you holding a hobby knife next to an old guy’s throat?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Honey asks, sitting back in the seat and crossing her arms over her chest. “If I had any desire to snitch on you, don’t you think I’d have done it already? You just as well quit playing these games and fess up. I’m giving you fair warning, there are ways of getting people to talk. We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. It’s up to you.”

“I don’t want to say because you’re going to laugh at me,” I confess, resting my head on the table.

Honey lights a fresh cigarette, and once she exhales a cloud of bluish-gray smoke, she stares me down. “I won’t laugh.”

“I think you will.”

“I think you better tell me something worth hearing before I cram my fist down that scrawny throat of yours.” She leans forward, producing a rolled up fist that she shakes near my face.

“I thought people might finally notice me if I became a serial killer.” Words shoot out of my mouth in rapid fire staccato.

“You? A serial killer? No way, no how, no, no, no. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says with a hearty chuckle.

“You’re laughing. You said you wouldn’t.”

“Life lesson number three: people lie. They do it all of the time, so expect it, be ready for it, and be prepared to do it yourself.”

“Lying is so… so… dishonest.”

“You lead an incredibly sheltered life, don’t you?”

“I guess I’ve never really given it much thought.”

“Well, I’m not gonna bullshit you. If you want to get noticed, killing people ain’t the way to go about it. Sure, you’ll get attention, but that ain’t the kinda attention you’re looking for. You wouldn’t last one night in a women’s prison. Now tell me, whose attention are you trying to get? Your parents’? A man’s? Whose?”

“Everyone’s, I suppose.”

She remains silent for a brief moment. “Yeah, okay. Let’s start with something a little less ambitious. Stand up.”

Completely unsure of what’s about to happen, I slowly do as she requests.

Still holding her cigarette between her lips, while it wildly bobs up and down as she speaks, she says, “Hold your arms out to the side.” She rises from her seat, and starting with the top of my head, she begins her assessment. “Hair. You’ll have to wear a wig for a while, but that’s okay. I’ve got plenty to choose from. Hmmmm. You might do well as a red head, or maybe a blonde? Gotta get you away from that boring color. Make up is a must. Your bone structure is fabulous, so fabulous that I’m willing to bet that it was bought.”

“I had an accident not too long ago.”

“That makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re plain Jane, but you ain’t repulsive. It don’t make sense to me. Even with no head hair, too much hair everywhere else, no eyebrows, no makeup, and no experience, there should still be men trying to get up that skirt of yours. You gotta pic of what you looked like before the accident? Just so I can see what you started with.”

“I never know if I should be insulted by your comments or not,” I say with a touch of ire.

“I just say what’s on my mind. Take it as you want it.”

I give a little sigh as I retrieve my phone and scroll through my pictures. They are primarily artistic shots of inanimate objects that I find interesting, but towards the end of the list, I find a rare selfie from when I unsuccessfully tried the “duck face” that was popular at the time. I turn the screen to Honey, and she rips the phone from my hands.

“
This
. Is. You? How did you manage to eat with those chompers? Obviously, you didn’t judging by the size of you in this picture. Your bones are sticking out everywhere. And that bun. Please don’t tell me you wore that in public. It’s bigger than your entire head! Eyebrows; you realize that they shouldn’t look like one giant caterpillar in the middle of your forehead, don’t you? Wow. There’s so much wrong with this picture that I don’t even know what to talk about next.”

I snatch the phone back from her. “Hey, feelings! Remember?”

“Hey, you need to toughen up. Remember?”

I plop down in the chair and dejectedly place my head on my forearm. I feel Honey softly rubbing my back.

“What you need to realize is that the person in that picture is gone. Not many people get the opportunity you’ve been handed. You get to start again with a clean slate. New face, new teeth, no baggage from the past. You can’t afford to waste no more time. You’ve been a woman for a long time, Magnolia, but you been livin’ the life of a girl. It’s time to grow up, and I’m gonna help you. First, I’m gonna help with the outside, and then we’re gonna keep with baby steps. We’re gonna get you your first kiss.”

I lift my head. “I suppose you’re going to peddle me out to the first person who’s willing to do it?”

“No, you’re gonna pay for it. Your first kiss should be nice, special, experimental, and awkward—when you’re a kid. You’re in your thirties, and you well but bypassed that window long ago. Now you need a man who will kiss and NOT tell. It’ll likely be a disaster, but you gotta get it outta the way.”

“What are you going to make me do?”

“We’re gonna head to Avery Street where some of the man whores hang out. You’re gonna find one you like, slip ‘em ten bucks, and he’s gonna shove his tongue so far down your throat that you’ll wonder if your tonsils are still there. You’ll get weak-kneed, but try to pay attention to what he’s doing. Mimic what he does. Notice what feels good and what feels icky.”

“That sounds like a whole lot to remember. If that much work goes into kissing, how much work goes into sex?”

“Magnolia, that’s not something we can discuss quickly. You’re talking about sessions that have to be broken up and discussed individually. We’ll have to cover undressing, foreplay, toys, oral… The list goes on and on, and that’s before we even THINK about penetration.”

“The porn films make it look so easy. If you’re bendy, sex rocks.”

“So you’re basing all sex on porn? You realize those things are staged, right? Real life don’t work that way. Every guy don’t have a twelve inch penis, not every bit of sex feels so good that you can hardly contain yourself, most people don’t have multiple orgasms, and even though it’s been a long time for me, fucking and making love are pretty different. You don’t see that so much in the porn films. I might be a jaded old prostitute with a huge chip on her shoulder, but I still hope that somebody will come along, sweep me off of my feet, and save me from this shitty ass life I’ve created for myself.”

“I guess I’ve been so preoccupied with figuring out how to lose my virginity that I never thought of what would happen after that. Truly, I never envisioned a man being interested in me at all. I kinda thought that if it ever happened, it would be because some random drunk guy lost a bet and had to sleep with me as punishment. It would be a quick, one-time thing. At least that’s how I envisioned it. You know the reaction you had when you saw my picture from before? Well, that’s pretty much what I’ve had happen to me all my life.”

Honey’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Let me tell ya something. There ain’t no one to blame but yourself. I could be feeling sorry for you with that sad sob story you givin’ me, but all it does is get me mad. It don’t matter how beaver-toothed, boney, and plain Jane you are; that ain’t no excuse to sit back and let life pass you by! Inner beauty is way more special than what a person wears on the outside. Sure, we enhance our outer beauty, but it’s just that—an enhancement. The real deal is on the inside. You were scared to share your light with the world, so you told yourself that you was happy being a nobody, but the problem with being a nobody is you get lonely. You’re a chicken shit, and because of that you let life pass you by. You’ve been given a second chance that a lotta people don’t get; you better make the most of it. You gotta expect better, want better, demand better, but in return, you gotta give of yourself, too. You gotta make your mark on the world by letting your inner light shine, Magnolia. You can’t hide in the shadows no more.”

Tears start to roll down my cheeks. “I’ve been to therapists, counselors, and doctors; none of them got it right, but you did. I’m scared. I’m scared of everything, so I do my best to become invisible. I wanted more, but not badly enough to go out and get it. But not too long ago, something happened to change that, and now I want it all.”

“What was the spark that set off this new way of thinkin?”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this. I’ve known you for what? An hour?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? How many hours you spend with them fancy doctors and ain’t got an ounce of help? Let’s finish this. What got your motor runnin’? I got my speculations, but I want to hear it from you first.”