Chapter 27

 

“Saturday? Saturday—as in tomorrow?”

“I know it’s last-minute, sugar.” Connie Sue sounded contrite from two blocks away on Magnolia Lane. “But chances like this don’t drop in our laps every day. I couldn’t believe my luck when the Chateau Spa called with a last-minute cancellation. They’d had an entire bridal party booked for hair, makeup, manicures, pedis—the whole shebang—then the bride caught the groom cheatin’ with her maid of honor after the rehearsal dinner. How tacky can you get?”

I peeked in the oven. The rolls were browning nicely, the casserole bubbling. From the half bath around the corner, I could hear Bill washing up before dinner. “That’s tacky, all right,” I agreed absently. “I take it the wedding’s off?”

“Darn tootin’. The bride told the receptionist that the ‘sumbitch’—that’s her word, not mine—and her no-account friend are usin’ the honeymoon tickets. The pair plan to fly to Cancun and work on their tans. But enough about the two-timers, say you’ll come. Pretty please with sugar on it.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” It was hard to refuse Connie Sue when she switched into Scarlett mode. “Spa day? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Whew!” Connie Sue gave an exaggerated sigh. “You had me goin’ for a minute. Not everyone can make it on such short notice, but with Tammy Lynn there’ll be eight. We can all pile into Gloria’s SUV.”

We disconnected after agreeing on a time and place to rendezvous.

“Sounds like you’ve got big plans for tomorrow,” Bill said, returning to the kitchen. He smelled faintly of soap mixed with a hint of sawdust. His silvery hair looked newly combed, and a familiar sparkle brightened his baby blues. “Sure nice of you to fix my favorite dinner.”

I felt a twinge of guilt as I thought of the slice of lemon meringue pie that had nearly been his. Somehow I doubted Sheila’d even taste it, much less share it with Betsy. I removed the rolls from the oven and popped them into a bread basket. “That was Connie Sue. It seems the Babes are kidnapping Tammy Lynn Snow tomorrow for a makeover and a day at the spa. We’ll probably drop by the mall afterward for a little shopping.”

“Tammy Lynn Snow? The sheriff’s girl Friday?”

“One and the same.” I set the salad on the table. “Tammy Lynn has a mad crush on that nice young police officer Eric Olsen. Eric, however, can’t see beyond eyeglasses the size of Granny Ann’s picture window or the dishwater-brown hair. Eric looks at her as his best friend’s baby sister. Time’s come to shake the boy up.”

“What can I do to help?”

“To shake him up or to help with dinner?”

He grinned. “Whichever . . . you know I’ll have you’re back.”

I felt my insides turn soft and gooey at hearing him say that. “Sit down. Dinner’s ready,” I said to hide a rush of emotion.

I placed the casserole on a trivet. A plume of steam escaped when I removed the lid. I poured coffee, then took the chair opposite Bill at the kitchen table.

“Exactly what is it you ladies do at a spa?” Bill asked, digging into the mound of the tuna casserole I’d heaped on his plate.

“Good question, but I’m not exactly sure. The usual, I guess,” I said, buttering a roll. In the recesses of my mind, I could hear Monica’s voice, “Step away from the trans fats!”

“Mmm,” he said, sampling the salad. “I like those little red things you put in it. And who’d ever think of adding nuts to a salad?”

He was referring to the handful of dried cranberries and walnuts I’d added to make a plain salad look fancy. I wasn’t even sure he’d notice. His praise made me feel like a cross between Rachael Ray and Julia Child. All those subscriptions to cooking magazines had just paid off in spades. “Glad you like it,” I said, trying not to simper.

“Just what constitutes the ‘usual’ at a spa?”

“Hair, makeup, manicures, pedicures, waxing.”

He looked up, fork poised in midair. “Waxing?”

Did my intrepid tool man actually pale at the notion? “You know, hot wax to get rid of unwanted body hair. Many young women, I’ve heard, have bikini waxes these days.”

“And that kind of stuff takes an entire day?” Bill chowed down salad, but I could see he’d lost his heart to the casserole. Wait till I brought out the pièce de résistance for dessert—lemon bars. Not pie, but not exactly a sharp stick in the eye, either.

“Claudia talked about a spa she’d been to in Asheville. She said they did all kinds of body treatments—green tea and sea salt, pomegranate and ground cranberry seed.” My eyes half closed, I envisioned myself in a den of inequity. Candles flickering. Water tinkling. A Swedish masseuse. “As for massages, you can take your pick,” I rhapsodized. “Hot stone, Swedish, deep tissue, or reflexology. Connie Sue said Claudia already booked a seaweed wrap. It’s guaranteed to firm, tone, and detoxify.”

“Maybe that’s supposed to be fun, but it sounds more like torture. Give me poker and a six-pack any day.”

I smiled to myself. Bill was such a guy’s guy, but that’s why I loved him. Loved him? Where had that come from? Out of left field, that’s where. I liked Bill, sure, but love? Love was a whole other dimension.

Suddenly I’d lost my appetite and shoved my plate aside.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Bill frowned, noticing my dinner was only half finished. “Sure you feel okay? You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

I rose to refill our coffee cups. “I’m fine,” I said. A little shaky about the love thing, but fine.

We finished our meal, polished it off with more coffee and lemon bars. Afterward, Bill helped me clear the table and load the dishwasher, even though I told him not to bother after a long day building bookshelves.

“Care to stay awhile, watch some TV?” I asked once the kitchen was tidied. “If we channel surf, we might catch some Law & Order reruns.”

“Tempting as that sounds, I need to shower off the sawdust, and you’ve got a big day ahead.”

“Soon then,” I replied. “Let me at least walk you to the door.”

We stood for a moment on the threshold. It was the time of day I liked best, when day gracefully surrendered to night. When light, rosy and soft seeped into darkness. A single star burned bright overhead. I was acutely aware of the man beside me. The man who “had my back.” A notion I found tremendously appealing. I was overcome by a combination of nerves and anticipation—reduced to being a sixty-something-year-old teenager. It was then I noticed a smudge of sawdust on Bill’s shoulder that had escaped his attention. I reached to brush it off, but he caught my hand. He smiled, and my bones felt they were made of Silly Putty.

Turning my hand over, Bill pressed a kiss into the palm and I felt a jolt all the way to my toes. Then he bent down and kissed me. My lips parted under his, whether in surprise or as a reaction I don’t know, but my arms wound around his neck and I kissed him back.

Neither of us was smiling when the kiss ended. Had Serenity Cove experienced an earthquake? I wondered. Were we on a fault line? I‘d distinctly felt the earth move. I could still feel the aftershocks.

My, oh my.

 

• • •

 

Our first stop of the day had been at an eyeglass center that advertised fast service on contact lens. Hooray! Gone forever were Tammy Lynn’s oversized glasses. Already the girl looked better. Chateau Spa was next on the agenda. Or “the Chat,” as we dubbed it.

Our intrepid band of Babes—and lone Babette—congregated in a reception area tiled in imitation marble. To the best of my knowledge, except for Claudia and Connie Sue, none of us had ever been inside a pampering palace. “Who would have guessed?” Claudia marveled. “Here I traveled all the way to Ashville with this place just down the road.”

Tammy Lynn gazed around doubtfully. “I don’t know, y’all. This place looks way too expensive. I think we shoulda settled for the Cut ’n Curl in Brookdale. Ethel Rae gives great perms.”

Connie Sue put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about a thing, honey lamb. Not with your fairy godmother on the job.”

Silently, however, I agreed with Tammy Lynn. Like her, I, too, found the opulent surroundings somewhat intimidating. Chateau Spa was a living, breathing testament to faux French. Lots of gilt. Oodles of red and gold. A mini Versailles? Though I’d never been there, I’d seen pictures. I hoped the proprietor hadn’t gotten faux chateau confused with faux brothel. Hadn’t been in one of those either, but I’d heard tales. Would the Babes be mistaken for extras in Moulin Rouge at the end of the day? If so, I vote to rename Tammy Lynn . . . Fifi.

“Mornin’, y’all.” An attractive blond greeted us with a friendly smile. “My name’s Terri. So happy y’all could make it on short notice. Bridezilla demanded we schedule our full staff, then bam! ‘Sorry, folks, weddin’s off.’”

“Poor thing,” Pam commiserated. “It must have been devastating.”

I rolled my eyes. Leave it to my BFF to sympathize with a woman referred to as Bridezilla.

Connie Sue urged Tammy Lynn forward. “Terri, this is Tammy Lynn Snow, the reason for today’s little excursion. We want her to get the full treatment, includin’”—she ruffled Tammy Lynn’s dingy locks—“highlights, cut, and makeup.”

“We want her to look like a new woman when you’re finished,” Gloria added.

“Ladies, y’all came to the right place. Tammy Lynn’s own mother won’t recognize her by the time we’re finished.”

“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Rita whispered in my ear. “Maybe we should’ve just called the Cut ’n Curl.”

“Have you seen some of Ethel Rae’s customers?” I whispered back.

“Good point,” Rita agreed after a moment’s consideration. “My ninety-one-year-old mother-in-law gets better results at the nursing home.”

Polly, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now, piped up, “Say, Terri, you have any hot dudes that give massages?”

“All our clients love Randy. They rave about his magic fingers.”

“Randy, eh? I was wishing for a guy named Raoul.”

“I promise you won’t be disappointed.” Terri snapped her fingers and a young woman in a white smock appeared and led Polly down a hallway.

The rest of the staff materialized at an invisible command from Terri. Instructions were given, assignments made. The place might look like a whorehouse but was run with military precision and efficiency. Claudia and I opted for facials. An anti-aging one for her. I heard the esthetician—wait till Bill hears me bandy that around—use the term anti-radicals. For myself, I selected a facial that promised a deep-pore cleansing with a citrus-based cocktail of alpha hydroxyl acid. My vocabulary was increasing by leaps and bounds.

“Think I’ll have a hot stone massage,” Rita said after scanning the list of services.

“Does the herbal linen wrap really relieve stiff muscles and joints?” Gloria asked the attendant.

“Yes, ma’am,” Terri assured her. “Our clients love it.”

“Guess I’ll start with a manicure and pedicure,” Pam, the ultraconservative, decided. “Maybe after lunch I’ll try a massage.”

Halfway through the facial, I reached a conclusion. I was going to treat myself to a spa day on a regular basis. After all, ladies, we owed it to ourselves to be the best we can be. I’d even forfeit Peanut M&M’s to pay for the luxury. Perhaps next time a spa day could include those who couldn’t come this time. Diane, Janine, Monica, and Megan deserved to be pampered, too.

Lunch was served after the first round of beauty treatments. Fancy little finger sandwiches, herbal tea, and fresh fruit. Chateau Spa left no stone unturned when it came to making its clients feel special.

Then it was time for round two.

We exchanged grins and flashed newly lacquered nails as we circulated from room to room. Lots of smiles, laughter, and happy faces. Connie Sue was the only one who didn’t indulge in the spa services. Instead she stuck with Tammy Lynn like lichen on a rock at Hickory Knob State Park. I caught a glimpse or two of Tammy Lynn, her head covered in strips of aluminum foil.

“Highlights and lowlights,” Connie Sue said in response to my unspoken question.

Rejuvenated, de-stressed, detoxified, and anti-aged, we reconvened in the anteroom.

“Any of you happen to have Raoul use his magic fingers?” Polly asked. She drew something from the pocket of her purse. “See, I got his card. Told him I was coming back. I haven’t felt this good in years.”

“Raoul?” Gloria snapped her compact shut. “I thought the guy’s name was Randy.”

Polly made a face. “He’s way too cute for a Randy. I told him Raoul suited him better. He’s thinking of changing it—for professional reasons.”

Claudia ran her hand over her cheek. “My skin’s as soft as a baby’s behind.”

Rita nodded knowingly. “Bonnie, the esthetician who did my facial, was talking about a new line of skin-care products that Belle Beaute is developing. It’s supposed to be hush-hush.”

“She mentioned it to me, too,” I said. “Bonnie thinks it’ll revolutionize the industry.”

Careful not to chip her manicure, Rita fished her checkbook out of her handbag. “I’m considering buying Belle Beaute stock. I’ve been following it on NASDAQ. Could make a killing if rumors prove true.”

“What’s a NASDAQ?” Polly asked.

“It’s a stock exchange, Mother.”

“Don’t trust it. I’ll stick with the tried and true—my mattress.”

Claudia turned to me. “Have either Sheila or Betsy mentioned a word of this? They should have the inside track.”

“No,” I replied slowly. “The subject never came up.” Which was odd, now that I thought about it. Something of that magnitude surely should have cropped up at some point. Then again, maybe not. Sheila and I had only been friends a short time. There was still a lot to learn about each other.

“All right, y’all, I want your attention,” Connie Sue announced from the doorway of a treatment room. “May I present the guest of honor, Miss Tammy Lynn Snow.”

We gasped in unison as Tammy Lynn stepped forward. The transformation was complete. Our little caterpillar had turned into a butterfly—and a lovely one at that. Gone was the mousy brown and in its place a warm blond with sun-kissed streaks. Her makeup was subtle, both youthful and natural. Delicate pink blush, artfully applied eye shadow and mascara and rose-tinted lip gloss had turned the girl into a knockout. I wished I could be a fly on the wall when Eric Olsen saw her.

“You look . . .” I groped for the right word.

“Hot,” Polly supplied. “And you’ll look even hotter after we swing by the mall. I know just the place to get you some cool new duds. Megan and I shop there all the time.”

I groaned inwardly at the thought of Polly picking out clothes for Tammy Lynn.

We said fond farewells to the staff at Chateau Spa and piled into Gloria’s Expedition. Amid chatter about facials, wraps, and massages, I found my attention drifting. Were rumors true about Belle Beaute’s marvelous new skin-care line? How would this impact Sheila? And what was this mystery ingredient?

It was late when Gloria dropped me off, but I felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Under all the drab, the spa had unearthed Tammy Lynn’s natural beauty. In true Connie Sue fashion, she’d insisted on footing the bill for the girl’s transformation. No amount of persuading could convince her otherwise. There can only be one fairy godmother, she’d insisted, and she was it. End of discussion. Tammy Lynn kept saying over and over that she felt like a princess. Connie Sue beamed.

I wandered from room to room and switched on lights. The house was quiet, much too quiet. Times like this it would be nice to have someone to come home to. Share the day with. I strolled into the library/study/den to see how the bookshelves were progressing. Bill had left the room neat and tidy, or at least as tidy as possible, all things considered. Soon it would be time to seal and stain the wood and the project would wind to an end. I’d miss seeing Bill on a daily basis. Coffee in the mornings. Often for lunch. An occasional dinner.

Shutting off lights as I went, I drifted back to the kitchen, where I brewed myself a cup of chamomile tea. While waiting for the water to boil, I leafed through the stack of mail on the island. I slit open an envelope with an unfamiliar return address. I frowned as I read the enclosed letter. In reply to a request from your son, Steven J. McCall, we’re sending the enclosed information. What the . . . ?

Living Will . . . ? Power of Attorney . . . ?

I tossed the papers aside. Dear, misguided Steven. Once a Boy Scout, always a Boy Scout. I probably should be angry, but I was amused. Knowing Steven as I did, I’m certain he assumed a madman was running rampant, poisoning residents of Serenity Cove, and thought I should be prepared for any eventuality. At least he’d given up sending me information on assisted living centers and nursing homes. He’d be surprised to know I already had a Living Will and Power of Attorney in place.

Tea in hand, I went into the great room and settled into my favorite spot on the sofa. Picking up the Belle Beaute brochures that had been gathering dust, I began to read through them. Maybe like Rita, I should consider buying shares in the company. A windfall in the stock market might be just the ticket to keep my children from thinking of me as old and feeble-minded.