Vanity Insanity (37 page)

Working with Dale Sinnot—or Slick, as Jenae referred to my new business partner—on the renovation plans for Vanity Insanity, I learned more about myself than I ever cared to know. All of Jenae’s disparaging remarks through the years regarding my control issues began to make sense as I found myself more than uncomfortable sharing control of Vanity Insanity with a man I liked less and less each time I met with him. When Sinnot and I met at M’s Pub in June to move forward with the project, he showed me the blueprints of the upstairs addition to Vanity Insanity. The blueprints also included the bay next to us. I had gone to the altar twice with the owners of Tres Chique, and both times the runaway brides had changed their minds right before contracts were signed.

“How can you include the bay next to us?” I asked Sinnot. Tres Chique would not budge; this much I knew.

“Because I’m hoping to strike a deal with them soon. Real soon. Word on the street is they’re shutting down in August, giving us plenty of time to order equipment for the massage rooms.”

Sinnot didn’t run in the Old Market circles. Where would he hear any “word on the street”?

“Massage rooms? I guess that’s probably a decision I’d like to have been a part of.” Whoever cut Sinnot’s hair did a really bad job. This middle-aged man was clearly fighting the age factor, as he kept a mass of hair covering his receding hairline. The mop moved up and down as he talked. He reminded me of my ninth-grade math teacher. I didn’t like my ninth-grade math teacher.

Once the renovation was over, Sinnot would be a partner in the financial books only. He knew nothing about the business. He knew nothing about the people I worked with or the clients who had been coming to see my staff for the past fourteen years. He had just come to me with his money to make money.

“See, I knew you were busy, Benny, and I thought I’d be helping out by taking care of the details. Everything is coming together beautifully. This place is going to be big. I mean, really big.” Sinnot cut his steak, took a big bite, and then pointed to the blueprints with his fork as he chewed.

I picked them up and looked over the plans. “I thought you said you were going to have several architects bid on the project. I see only one plan here.”

“Again, taken care of.” Winking at me, Sinnot took his napkin and patted his smug little lips. “My brother’s an architect, and I’ve already saved us money here. Though money isn’t a problem.” Another wink. From the beginning, Sinnot had played the “money is no object” card enough that I was beginning to wonder. “The decorator’s coming by this afternoon to take some measurements.”

“Decorator?”

“Her name is Dolly, and I guarantee you will love her, Benny.”

I swallowed some water and took a deep breath. I detested this man’s insinuation that he could take over my business, even if he was loaded.
I knew he and I would need to talk before any contracts were signed. I could see that we both had a very different vision of the growth of Vanity Insanity.

When the check came to the table, Sinnot let me take care of it. I paid for the meal and felt my lunch sloshing around in my stomach as I walked across the street to the salon. I looked up at the sign and realized that I was starting to have the same feeling about my affiliation with Sinnot as I had about my connection with Fiona. I didn’t see a future with her, either. I was good at walking away from things, but I had never been good at the breaking-up part.

When I walked in to the salon, a short woman popped up from the pew and began performing for me like a Shetland show pony. “We’ve got some changes to make here, Ben. It is Ben, right?” The short woman with—surprise—a bad hairdo held out a clipboard as she grabbed a pen from the overteased, overcolored helmet on her head. “The colors are all wrong, as you probably know, and this monstrosity here…” Dolly pointed to the UP desk. “…will be the first to go.” I saw the back of Toby’s head as he stormed out to the back alley, slamming the door. “I’m just going to take a little dipsy-doodle upstairs to take a little looksy at the pallet I have to work with.” Dolly handed me a card as she pulled a tape measure out of her purse. “Here is my contact information. Call me with any questions you might have.”

Dolly doodled to the ladder next to the bathroom, which was the only access we had to the upper bay until the stairs were installed. I looked down at the pink business card, which read:

Dolly’s Decorating
At a loss for your décor?
Dolly’s knocking at your door
Dolly Sinnot

Really? Sinnot had sent his wife—straight from the fifties—with her bouffant hair and her dated clichés to decorate my life? Jenae’s spin on the couple was comical. She called them Jim and Tammy Fay of Annoying.

“I don’t like her,” Kelly said to me as she handed me a bill. “The construction man needs money before they start work next week. That dipsy-doodle lady really bug me.”

By July, the workers had made a mess of the upstairs, which they dragged into the salon as the staircase was built. Jenae made several “Please Forgive our Mess” signs that she placed all over the salon. The silver lining that month was that we realized that we had the most loyal clients in the city, as not one left us during that time—while the waiting list to get a haircut at Vanity Insanity grew.

Near the end of July, Robin had organized a surprise birthday party for A.C., and I looked forward to the break from the mess. I’d arrived a little late to Toad’s, a bar on the other side of the Old Market. A.C. had already been surprised, and he yelled to me as I walked in, “Better late than never! Get over here.” He had an arm around Robin and looked happier than he had in a long time. “Where’s Fiona?”

“We called it quits last week. It’s all good.” I hadn’t had to initiate the breakup with Fiona since she beat me to it. I couldn’t blame her. I’d been a lousy boyfriend.

“Ben, you missed the big surprise!” Lucy hugged me and handed me a beer. “Look, Marty’s in town.” Lucy pointed to Marty and her husband. “They’re house hunting!” Lucy raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.

“House hunting?” I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head.

“That’s right. Our uppity big-city friend finally realized that Omaha is the world’s best-kept secret. They just adopted a little boy and will probably move in sometime this fall.”

I wondered if Theresa’s health had any impact on the decision. “Good for Marty.” I looked around the whole bar, taking in all of the people who’d showed up for A.C.

“She’s not here,” Lucy said above the noise of the bar.

“Who?”

“You know who.” Lucy waved to Tom, who had also gotten here late.

Lucy and I had known each other so long that we could kind of read each other’s mind. I’d never once told Lucy about my feelings for Faith,
but she knew. What was wrong with me? Maybe I was that creepy guy who only liked what he couldn’t have and would then die a lonely, pathetic, creepy guy.

“And yet you always look for her,” Lucy continued.

“Do not.” Maybe Faith still thought about the kiss by the fire truck.

“Do, too.” Lucy looked directly into my eyes.

“Not.” I looked away from her and saw Theresa and Michael a few tables over. Theresa had stopped treatment for the time being and was growing her hair out, which was coming in darker and curlier. She stood with one crutch on her left side. I looked at Lucy. Lucy looked at Theresa, looked at me, looked down, shook her head, and walked over to Tom.

Each episode of cancer treatment, Theresa had talked about her cancer like it was an annoying summer cold that had hung on too long. Lucy told me it was anything but. A week earlier Lucy, Marty, and Theresa had gone to dinner for a girls’ night out while Marty was in town. They had met in midtown Omaha and talked for a few hours. When the three drove away in separate cars, Lucy noticed that Theresa turned the opposite way to go to her house. Lucy was concerned that Theresa may have been overtired and decided to follow her to make sure Theresa made it home safely. Theresa drove to the Methodist Hospital parking lot and went in. Lucy followed her and found her. When Lucy asked Theresa what was wrong, Theresa replied, “Oh, I was feeling a little tired, so I went to get some blood.”

The crutch was there to help Theresa as she hobbled around with it. No one was supposed to acknowledge it. Marty suspected that the cancer had moved to her bones. Why would they have stopped treatment?

“Ben!” Theresa called out. I moved toward her so that she didn’t have to walk.

“Look at the hair growing back, Theresa. You’re going to have to start coming back to my chair.”

“Short and sassy. I’ve never had hair like this.”

“Ben, I heard that you’re adding on to Vanity Insanity.” Michael kept a hand against Theresa’s back while we talked, as if protecting her from alien forces.

“Something like that. It just looks like a mess right now. I’m going to have a party when the place is all cleaned up.”

Theresa said, “We’ll have a big party together. I can’t wait until this whole thing is over.” The “thing” would be the “cancer” word we weren’t allowed to say. “Michael and I are going to have a big party, too, and invite everyone we know. Right?” Michael nodded with a smile on his mouth but not in his eyes.

A.C., who looked like he was high on life, ran over and hugged me. “This…” he pointed to me as he spoke loudly and very near Theresa and Michael’s face. “This is the best friend a guy could ever have. This is my best man!”

By September of 1997, the renovation project from hell ran into speed bumps at every turn. Workers tore apart walls upstairs and didn’t show up for weeks after that. Sinnot, who was in my face and annoying earlier in the summer, was harder and harder to get a hold of. By September, I was ready to pull out of the deal since I could see the toll it was taking on my staff. We were uncomfortable to say the least. Toby, who did admit that we needed to expand, was still overwhelmed by the lack of structure for such a long period of time. Jenae, who was staying on meds and strong as ever, spoke to me one day on behalf of the staff. Virginia stood behind her, a rock to support her words.

“We hate this project.”

“OK, Toots. So tell me how you really feel about it all,” I said in the sarcastic tone that I used most days during that time. Virginia tried to hide a smile.

“Ben, I mean it. We won’t ever complain about how crowded we are ever again. Ever.” Jenae was going through what we all called her “country girl” phase. She wore pink cowboy boots with her miniskirt and a shirt tied like Marianne on
Gilligan’s Island.
While grieving the passing of Brook Berringer, Jenae had discovered Sawyer Brown, a country group who recorded “The Nebraska Song” in tribute to her favorite Husker. The lead
singer for the group had been a pallbearer at Berringer’s funeral. Jenae, now an avid fan, was in the front row when the band played at the Nebraska State Fair in August. “Toby’s having a real hard time with this whole…”

“We’ll all be uncomfortable for a while,” I interrupted. “Not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal.”

“It’ll be over soon. I don’t have a lot of control here, Toots. I didn’t plan for the renovation to get to this point. I planned everything differently in my mind.”

Virginia leaned in with one hand on Jenae’s shoulder and one on mine. “Hey, if you want to make God laugh, show Him your plans.”

Neither of us laughed.

“I know you will make it better, Ben.” Jenae galloped off to her station. Virginia shrugged and walked to the door to meet her client.

At that moment, I decided I would call Dale Sinnot and make a date for a breakup meeting so that I could gain control of this project. The minute I began feeling peace about the decision, I felt a sharp pain in my mouth that had been a dull pain I had ignored for the past month or so. I opened the desk drawer and took a handful of aspirin. Kelly shook her head and scolded me.

“You take too much aspirin. You need to fix your pain. Not ignore it.”

“I’m planning on making an appointment soon. I promise,” I lied. I had no time to make an appointment, let alone go to one, for my tooth.

“Almost forgot to tell you.” Caroline came up to me and tapped me on the arm. “Mrs. Happy called and canceled.”

“What?” I couldn’t tell if I was annoyed at Caroline for telling me three minutes before an appointment that someone had canceled or mad that Mrs. Happy always canceled and expected immediately rescheduled appointments.

“She said that she could come in tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow wouldn’t work. I was booked. Mrs. Happy, whom I constantly shuffled appointments around for, was going to be Mrs. Not-So-Happy, and I found myself OK with that. I decided to wash the front window as a time filler since the dirty windows had been bothering me
the entire morning. I grabbed some Windex and paper towels and walked outside. A young man in a tailored suit with a smile bigger than the pain in my tooth walked up to me.

“Do you know if they take walk-ins there?” The man tilted his head toward Vanity Insanity.

“If they have openings. What do you need?” Today was this man’s lucky day. Walk-in availability had been very rare over the past year.

“Something new. I’ll wait as long as needed for an appointment.” He was having an awesome day. Maybe his good fortune would wear off on me.