Marriage Seasons 01 - It Happens Every Spring (15 page)

Patsy sighed as Esther marched over to the table where Ashley
was reading the latest hair magazine. One of her friends was getting
married in two months, she had told Patsy. Ashley wanted her long
red tresses styled into a fancy updo. As matron of honor, she would
get to wear a different color gown than the other bridesmaids, and
she wanted to look extra special.

"Ashley, did you sign the petition on Patsy's desk?" Esther demanded. "We don't have even half the signatures we need to
keep that place from moving in next door. They're going to carry
adult movies, Charlie tells me, and those awful magazines."

Looking up, Ashley glanced at Patsy and then back at Esther. "I
don't know what you're talking about, Mrs. Moore."

"About the new store! Patsy, bring that petition over here, and
let's get this young lady to sign it."

Patsy knew Esther meant well, but she sure could get bossy. Ever
since Pete Roberts's visit to the salon the other evening, it seemed
to Patsy like the video-rental store was all anyone could talk about.
Not a single person who entered Just As I Am had a positive word
for the prospects of a place like that in Tranquility. It would drive
down property values. It would ruin the area's quaint, peaceful
reputation. It would bring in all kinds of unwanted strangers.

The men who sat in Patsy's chair to get their hair trimmed
remained mostly taciturn on the subject. They thought it was a bad
idea, most of them muttered, but America was a free country after
all. You ought to have the right to start up a business if you could
afford to, no matter what. That's what made this nation greatfree enterprise. Of course, none of them would patronize a store
like that, they insisted. Still, you couldn't deny that a successful
business of any sort helped the tax base.

"Now then," Esther said, snatching the petition from Patsy and
slapping it down on the tea table in front of Ashley. "You just sign
that right this instant, sweetie. We're trying to keep an X-rated
movie-rental store out of the strip mall, and we need all the help we
can get. You ought to bring your friends in here and have them put
their signatures on this petition. Pete Roberts wrote it out, and I
never saw a better one. As soon as we get enough names to make
our point, he and Charlie are taking it to the mall's landlord. And if
that doesn't work, they'll go straight to the county commission!"

Ashley set aside her hairstyle magazine and studied the paper.
"Brad told me about this," she said in a low voice. "He's not
opposed to the store, Mrs. Moore. My husband thinks people ought to be able to do whatever they want in the privacy of their
own home."

"That store won't be private!" Esther exclaimed. "It'll be right
smack-dab next door to Patsy's!"

"Well..." Ashley looked down the list of names. "Brad and I are
we're trying to see eye to eye on things, you know? Last weekend
we took our boat out on the lake and talked a lot. We want to support each other. I trust Brad, and I know how much he loves me, so
a store like this wouldn't be a problem for us. We just want to do all
we can to keep from getting into any disagreements. I'd hate to do
something if we weren't of the same mind about it."

"Now you listen to me, Mrs. Bradley Hanes. You two might be
as chirpy as a pair of nesting robins in the springtime, but there are
other people at this lake who need to be protected from temptation. Do you want your husband's friends to sneak over to Tranquility and rent those movies? Or buy those trashy magazines?"

Ashley paled. "I guess not."

"Then sign!" Esther presented the younger woman with a pen.
"Hurry up. Here comes Kim Finley. I bet she's waiting for her kids
to get off the school bus. We'll have to get her name on here too."

As Patsy watched, Ashley scribbled her signature at the bottom
of the list. Esther set her purse down on top of Ashley's magazine
and beckoned to Kim. As the three women settled in together and
began to carry cups of tea and orange-poppy seed muffins to the
table, Patsy returned to her station.

Her next client, a regular cut and perm, was coming through the
front door, and she couldn't keep from worrying that Pete would
start up some kind of engine in the adjoining room at Rods-n-Ends.
It seemed like every time the alcove filled with people chatting and
sipping afternoon tea, a thunderous buzz suddenly shattered the
mood, drowned the music on the sound system, and rattled the cups
on the counter.

No matter how cordial Pete had been the other day, he didn't
take Patsy's objections to his machine repairs seriously. She was glad she hadn't gone out to dinner with him. That would have
complicated everything and made it uncomfortable for her to protest the hullabaloo he caused. It was just about time for another
confrontation. She could feel it building inside her.

As she worked with her customer-sliding small sheets of thin
paper over clumps of hair, rolling each section onto a tiny plastic
curler, and then wedging a strip of cotton around the woman's face
to protect her from the harsh chemicals in the perm solutionPatsy concentrated on the CD she had slipped into the sound system at lunchtime. It was the group Color of Mercy, three lake-area
women with voices like angels. Their melodic music and Christian
lyrics helped Patsy stay calm and keep her focus in the right place.

At this moment, her brain felt like a Missouri tornado whirling
with sand, stones, and broken branches. All she could think about
was pornography shops. Chain saws. Bossy women. Weed whackers. X-rated videos. Trouble. There was always something brewing
at the lake, and it wasn't necessarily Patsy's chamomile tea.

Steve Hansen would be walking through the salon door in ten
minutes. He had made an appointment to get a haircut right
before his two college kids came home for spring break. Even
though they had always been friendly, nowadays Patsy hardly
knew how to talk to him.

Steve was as nice as nice could be, of course. Handsome too.
Smart, funny, successful, determined. All the things that made a
woman sit up and take notice of a man. But people never saw the
Hansens together these days, not even at church. Steve still went
every Sunday, but Brenda had stopped attending.

There was talk-terrible, gossipy, whispered talk-that Brenda
was involved with Nick LeClair of A-I Remodeling Services, the
fellow working on the Hansens' basement. Patsy didn't believe it
for a minute. Brenda had been too good a mother, too loyal a wife,
too faithful a Christian to fall into a trap like that. But what was
going on over there at the pretty house on Sunnyslope Lane in
Deepwater Cove?

As she began coating her client's curlers with perm solution,
Patsy heard the bell over the front door jangle. Sure enough, in
walked Steve Hansen, as professional, polite, and good-looking as
if he'd just stepped in off a big-city street. A man like him could
probably make a killing in New York or Chicago. People said
Steve's real-estate agency was raking in the dough. With a husband
like that, what on earth would make Brenda look to a handyman
for comfort?

"I'll be with you in five minutes, Steve," Patsy sang out, doing
her best to keep the concern from her voice. "I've got to get Opal
under the dryer, and then you can come on over."

Steve nodded, making his way toward the row of seats against
the wall in the waiting area. Men, Patsy had noticed, tended to sit
on the edge of the chairs or pace back and forth while they waited
their turn. Something about the smell of gels and mousses, the
whirr of hair dryers, the rows of cosmetics, and the ladies' magazines made them antsy.

Steve Hansen was no different. He picked up a magazine and
then set it down again. He walked to the window and pretended to
take interest in the goings-on in the strip mall's parking lot.

And then Esther Moore corralled him. "Steve Hansen, the very
fellow we've been talking about!" she exclaimed, slipping her arm
through his. "You're the man of the hour. Bet you didn't know
that! Come on over here and tell us what's going on."

Patsy watched as Steve mustered an uncomfortable grin. "Hey,
Esther," he greeted the white-haired woman. "I've got an appointment for a trim in just a minute."

"Oh, Patsy will allow you time for a little visit with the girls. You
know Kim Finley and Ashley Hanes, of course. We were discussing
this petition that Pete Roberts has put out. Sit down here and give
us an update."

Steve perched on a chair and folded his hands on the tabletop.
"Not much to report, ladies. We've got to get enough names on the
petition to make the strip mall's owner sit up and take notice. If he realizes how much opposition there is, maybe he'll choose to rent
out the space to someone else."

"Who wants it? Have you got any nibbles?" Esther asked. "Charlie says nobody has even looked at the place in a couple of years."

"I don't handle any rentals, Esther," Steve said. "But I think
Charlie's right. Tranquility is out of the way, and people tend to
have a hard time making a business successful in such a small community."

"There's the whole population on the west side of the lake," Kim
spoke up. "I can think of a lot of stores we need. Some fast-food
places would help out a lot. With Derek and me both working,
there's not much time for us to sit down at a regular home-style
restaurant."

"And it's such a pain to cook a whole meal, you know?" Ashley
said, giving her long auburn hair a flip over her shoulder. "I get sick
of trying to think of stuff to make, especially since I've usually gone
to the country club by the time Brad gets home for supper. I'll leave
him a casserole in the refrigerator, and he'll gripe because he has to
heat it up. Brad burns everything-even in the microwave. And
then I come home to an awful mess. If we had a fast-food restaurant here on the strip, then Brad and I could meet for a quick bite
before I head for work."

"I'm afraid it's not as easy as you might think to attract a chain
restaurant," Steve told the women as Patsy stepped over to let him
know her station was free. "The owners do all kinds of feasibility
studies before they'll license a franchise. They check out the population size, the busiest months and the most active times of day, the
cost of transporting raw materials-the whole nine yards. Chances
aren't good that a small strip mall in a resort community this isolated is going to attract a fast-food place."

"I just don't think I can take it if that video store moves in,"
Patsy said, sinking into a chair for a moment. It felt good to get off
her feet, and even with a short break, she would still have enough
time to cut Steve's hair and finish the perm. "A town named Tran quility is supposed to be peaceful. Well, let me tell you, it's getting
to be a real nightmare around here. Kids race their cars ninetyto-nothing up and down the highway. The bar down the way
makes me nervous to drive home at night. Pete Roberts is still raising a ruckus with his small-engine repairs next door. And the tattoo place brings in the motorcycle crowd and the Party Cove kids."

"Oh, don't get started on Party Cove," Kim exclaimed, referring
to a favorite hangout for young adults at the lake. "That's about all
Derek talks about when he gets home from work. The Water Patrol
has their hands full every summer trying to control that place."

On summer weekends, visitors drifted into Anderson Hollow
and tethered hundreds of runabouts, pontoon boats, Jet Skis, and
other craft together to form a several-acre patch that was nothing
more than one huge party. The chosen playground was awash in
alcohol, drugs, loud music, and anything else people could dream
up as girls in bikinis crossed from boat to boat while young men
hooted and whistled. Party Cove was a nightmare for the State
Water Patrol and lake-area police and sheriff departments. But
other than issuing countless citations for underage drinking, boating while intoxicated, and public indecency, once a group moved
into a location, authorities could do little to dislodge them.

"An adult-video store would just ruin the atmosphere here at
Tranquility," Patsy continued, deciding to have her say. "I've done
my best to draw a quiet, polite clientele to Just As I Am. The tearoom is a place where a person can relax and get her thoughts in
order. I want to have a godly influence on people, Steve, and if my
customers have to walk through a bunch of seedy, google-eyed
pornography users, well, I'll lose my business and my ministry."

"I'm doing my best to keep the store out, Patsy," he said gently.
"But I don't imagine their patrons will be as bad as you think. Folks
don't want to be seen at an adult-video place, so they'll probably
duck in and out as quickly as they can."

"But my business is mostly women!" she said, heating up. "Most
women want nothing to do with those kinds of videos and magazines. The girls who do that trashy stuff are airbrushed and
implanted and liposuctioned and everything else to make them fit
an image. Real women want to be loved and cherished, not treated
like some kind of object."

"Patsy is exactly right," Esther spoke up. "We like to be listened
to-not ogled. When I'm talking, Charlie knows he had better
perk up and pay attention to me. Even if he disagrees with me, he
takes the time to really hear what I'm telling him."

"Are you ladies still talking about the video store, or is this Marriage 101?" Steve asked.

"Both!" Esther said. "You're influential, and we want you to
know how we women feel. I've been around a lot of years, most of
them married. My husband has learned that he had better listenand listen good-if he wants me to feel any affection for him. And
that's all I have to say on that subject."

"A wife can't live up to images in those videos," Kim said.
"What attracts me to my husband and makes me want to please
him is when he helps me."

Ashley sighed. "Brad hardly lifts a finger around our house. He
can build a house, hang drywall, shingle a roof, and attach siding,
but he claims he can't figure out the dishwasher."