Fast Cars and Slow Summer Days - Episode 5

Taking a seat, Mertis’s eyes roamed around the shop. She had been coming to the salon for years and nothing had changed. The phone rang and Josey’s skinny high heels tapped on the yellowed linoleum floor. She covered the phone with her hand, motioned to Mertis and whispered, “It’s Karen Foster, hold on a second.”

“Okay Karen, I’ll see you this afternoon,” she said, disdainfully wrinkling her nose. She hung up and clipped a towel around Mertis’s neck. “Last week at the prayer meeting, did you taste that peach cobbler Karen made? Tasted like toasted cardboard to me.”

Mertis watched as Josey continued to bustle around the shop. She was dressed as usual, stretch Capri pants, three-inch heels, bleached blond hair piled atop her head, red bra strap peeking out of a black, sleeveless v-neck top and her trademark-that incessant snapping of her peppermint gum.

“What we gonna do for you today?” Josey asked, as she twirled Mertis around in the chair. “You ready to try something new? I bet Bud would love to see you all dolled up for once. How about you let me fluff up those curls a bit?”

Mertis shook her head as she thought, If Josey only knew, quite frankly, if anyone really knew. Everyone always saw Bud and her, sitting next to each other in the third pew of Carington Height's church every Sunday morning, and people often commented on their marriage contentment and commitment. Little did they know, it was resentment and resignation that held the two of them together. Bud, excited to see her dolled up? Might as well try and raise the dead, she thought. Thinking of Bud’s infrequent visits to her bedroom and his lack of performance she thought, what a pun on words that was. At that, Mertis smiled.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Josey. “You and Bud got more going on then meets the eye? Who else around here has been married for 36 years, and him still coming home every night? What’s your secret? I swear Mertis, you are gonna have to start opening up more, especially at the prayer meetings. I remember hearing stories about you and Bud being the hottest little items in town. I can’t believe you used to be a cheerleader.” She poked at Mertis’s shoulder and laughed. “Think you can still do the splits?”

Mertis’s mind flowed back in time to the girl she used to remember. Suddenly her mind was filled with colors, laughter, fast cars and slow summer days. Her teenage dreams had lulled her into a fantasy world where every young woman met and fell in love with their prince, snuggled fat babies against their bosoms, and planted red roses along a white picket fence.

This is why she detested coming to Josey’s. Whenever she got around people, it stirred up emotions she had spent years suppressing. At the prayer meetings, she mouthed the prayers, shook her head with the Amen’s and dutifully wrote down prayer requests. But a long time ago, her heart had stopped believing that the Lord had anything for her.

“The splits?” laughed Mertis. “About the widest split I can do anymore, is to climb in and out of the bathtub. Did you say Karen Foster was coming in? How’s she doing lately? Since she rarely comes to the prayer meetings, I never have a chance to talk to her. Sunday mornings I have to high tail it out of church after Bud, so he can be the first in line at the diner for brunch. It’s the fastest I see him move all week.
Stay tuned for the next episode!

Just Another Tuesday - Episode 4

Josey adjusted the dusty blinds, gave one more look down the street and said, “Bathed in prayer is a phrase I read in a Christian magazine. You know you might get a little spiritual knowledge if you read something other than the TV guide. And no, I don’t have anyone interesting coming in today. It’s going to be another exciting day in Carington. Whoopee! I’ve got Mertis Taylor this morning, Karen Foster after lunch and then who knows. Tuesday’s are always slow for me, but I like it because it gives me time to concentrate on all my prayer requests. You are going to be at the prayer meeting tonight aren’t you? Those women always look at me like I’ve got two heads. They still haven’t gotten over me being made head of the prayer group. Well I say fair is fair, and it was my turn to be the prayer group leader. Besides, it doesn’t take a spiritual giant to lead that pack of hens.”

“Well, I’ll drop by sometime this afternoon for some coffee. When Mertis comes in, see if you can’t get her to try something new. I don’t want her showing up as part of the welcoming committee looking like a drenched poodle. Did you ever see . . . well never mind. Let me go,” Tootsie said, as she blew Josey a kiss.

Josey waved her out the door, snapped her black stretch Capri pants into place, since they had crawled up into spaces they shouldn’t be, and lit a cigarette while she waited on Mertis.

Mertis stood outside of Josey’s shop and proudly adjusted her new lilac-flowered dress that playfully blew in the wind. Across the street was her husband Bud's barbershop. Her tired blue eyes admired the cute blue and white striped pole. The short distance across the street might as well have been miles; it had been so long since she’d had a decent conversation with her husband. She tried to remember when it was, he had taken to having lunch at the shop instead of coming home to her. And his visits to her room at night had ceased so long ago. She didn’t even bother to try and think of why they had stopped, it just didn’t matter anymore.

He had taken up another life and she had taken up crocheting, it was as simple as that. She only had to count the doilies, bedspreads and place mats that adorned every spare surface in her home, to tally up the number of years since their estrangement began. But again, why bother. A gulf had been created that couldn’t be crossed and she found she didn’t have the energy anymore to even try.

She shook her head, brushed her fingers through her tight, gray sausage curls and geared herself up for another morning with “the girls.” Her arthritic knee added a wobble to her walk and her short, chubby frame made it difficult for her to maneuver the curb. Out of breath, she entered the shop. Adjusting the massive blonde French twist that sat upon her head, Josey called out a greeting through a mouthful of bobby pins.

“How you doing honey? Don’t you look pretty with that fancy new dress? Have a seat, I’m just about finished.”

Stay tuned for the next episode!

Bathed In Prayer - Episode 3

“Hey sweetie,” Tootsie said, as she brushed a kiss on Josey’s cheek. “What’s with all that wind out there and those nasty mayflies? I thought my ear lobes were going to take flight from the weight of these earrings. You like them?” she asked, preening her head from side to side.

“It’s that blasted hurricane. I’m sick of hearing about it,” said Josey, as she shook her head and looked Tootsie up and down. “Honey, I love those earrings, and where did you get that darling outfit? That’s about the cutest thing I have ever seen. Were you out shopping last night without me? Don’t tell me, you lost another pound and went out celebrating, buying yourself some new clothes.”
Tootsie laughed, “New clothes? Honey these old things have been hanging in my closet for years, but thanks for noticing. I have lost a few pounds over the last couple of days. I believe my new diet is working. You know, that one where you have a tablespoon of apple cider vinegar before each meal. I swear I can feel my stomach shrinking up. Lookee’ here, see that toe. Two weeks ago, I couldn’t have put that toe ring on and look at it now. Did you ever see such a cute thing? Watermelon toe rings, who would have thought?”

Josey waited for Tootsie to stop for air before she jumped in. “Vinegar,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “are you telling me you’ve been drinking that stuff? Where did you hear about that one? And don’t tell me Glenda Jackson. That woman has been trying to lose weight for as long as I’ve known her and honey, I’m talking back to the third grade. I just love that nail color on your toes. What’s it called?”

“You are not going to believe this, it’s called Watermelon Pink,” giggled Tootsie. “Speaking of Glenda, have you seen her lately? If anyone could use one of those complete makeovers, it’s her. Nowadays they have plastic surgery for that big nose she has. Or she should at least get those droopy eyes lifted. She looks like Hank’s basset hound. Now, I don’t mean to be ugly you know.”

“Tootsie Turrelson, just listen to yourself,” Josey scolded. “Some people just have to deal with what the good Lord has given them. Course I have to admit, if she’d let me get into that rat’s nest she calls a head of hair, I think I could make her look a whole lot better.”

Tootsie looked into the mirror and tried to capture a wayward eyelash that was stuck to her cheek. "Honey, you been trying to make over that old cow for ages, and don’t go getting all uppity and religious on me. She’s as frumpy as my momma’s old chenille bedspread and you know it. Listen, I just stopped by on my way to the Piggly Wiggly. I’m going to pick up some doughnuts for the church meeting.”

Josey’s penciled eyebrows shot up. “What meeting, and how come I wasn’t invited? You know for me being head of the woman’s prayer group, I sure seem to be left out of the loop a lot. I am in charge of all spiritual matters, so I need to be informed of these things. Doesn’t anyone realize that before any spiritual decisions are made, they need to be bathed in prayer?”

Tootsie patted Josey’s hand and laughed. “Bathed in prayer? Is that kind of like washing your mouth out with soap? Are we now washing our prayers off to make sure they are squeaky clean and holy? And don’t go getting into a tizzy about the meeting, remember I’m on the welcoming committee. We are going to discuss how to handle Trinity’s new pastor. You have anyone interesting coming in today?” she asked, as she thumbed through Josey’s appointment book.
Stay tuned for the next episode!

Josey's Morning Irritations - Episode 2

The enormous picture window was Josey’s binoculars into the town. She would peek through the mini-blinds during her lunch hour and watch everyone scurrying around. Little did they know that Josey was memorizing every detail of their clothing, right down to the worn soles on their shoes. Shopping bags were scrutinized for their contents and possible store origination. This way, she had a handle on the financial expenditures and buying habits of her clients. She felt this was warranted, in case they might need to be directed to put a little more into the offering plate on Sunday.

Josey had elevated herself up from just a mere beauty consultant because she felt she had gained wisdom in about every area of life there was. She had advice on child rearing, marriage, cooking, domestic bliss and every other situation she could get her two cents in. Of course she had no experience herself, but what difference did that make? Wasn’t she head of the Carington Heights prayer group? She checked her appointments for the day and a reflection bounced off the walls, drawing her attention to the window.

“Dang,” she mumbled.  “What is Tootsie doing here so early? I swear, she must get out of bed with the chickens or hens, or whatever it is that does that squawking.” Nothing irritated Josey more than someone popping in before she had poured her morning toddy, which she kept stashed in an old hat box in the back room.

Now let me give you a little info on Tootsie. She is Carington’s town crier. Her 240-pound frame poured out rumors as liberally as Josey partook of her daily medicinal toddy. Trudy Turrelson, better known as Tootsie to her closest friends, had gone and married the richest man in town. Her battle with the bulge had been left behind years ago, when she found her darling husband Hank, cuddled up in the front seat of his canary yellow Cadillac with a buxom Dolly Pardon wanna be.  Her oldest and dearest friend in the world was Josey and God help the person who dared to speak one word against her. Tootsie’s abundant cash flow into the town kept the tongues on guard and their lips sealed, at least from her ears.

Her huge bulk was always adorned in a theme mode. Some days it was sunflowers, sometimes kittens, and once in a while the American flag, but today it was watermelons. Like a covert spy, Josey watched, bemused, as Tootsie rummaged through her purse for her lipstick. Pink of course, to match the watermelons on her top and pants. A connoisseur of jewelry, she had tiny watermelons dangling from her meaty earlobes and a watermelon clip had her blond hair gathered at her crown, giving her the appearance of a rooster. That was the bird Josey was trying to think of earlier, a rooster.

Josey sighed as Tootsie went through the grueling ritual of evicting herself from the car. She scooted her thick frame out the door and that was when Josey saw her watermelon shaped straw purse. Her eyes traveled down to Tootsie’s watermelon shod feet. Good Lord, she thought, how in the world does she get all that stuff to match?

Tootsie slammed the car door, pulled down her top, which had crept up over her ample bosom, and made her way to the shop. One turn of the crocheted doorknob and she ambled in. 
Stay tuned for the next episode!

Grandma's Warning

“Folks, I’m telling you, this is a bad one,” said the radio announcer, an urgency in his voice. “I know you all have been through a lot of false alarms over the last couple of years, but this is not the time to get complacent. Set in motion your emergency plan and if you don’t have one, you’ve still got time to get one together. Hurricane Charlotte is rapidly increasing her speed and is headed . . .”

Josey turned the radio off as her cherry red mustang chugged into the parking lot. “I am so tired of hearing about Hurricane Charlotte. This town sits in the middle of a cow pasture and if Miss Charlotte can find her way here, more power to her,” she said sarcastically, as she grabbed her purse and made her way to the shop.

“Ohhhhhhhhh drat" she whispered, as her red painted talons worked frantically to shut off the burglar alarm. Her blonde French twist operated like a sail on a ship, as the wind buffeted her. “Good Lord where did all of this wind come from? And all that time I spent this morning getting my hair just right.”

Setting down Corky, her highly flatulent poodle, she finally found the magical combination, of which she could never remember and the air became still. It was then she heard the crunching sound beneath her heels. She cringed as she looked down and saw the entire sidewalk covered with dead mayflies. They were everywhere! The blind mayflies had beaten themselves to death after flocking to the heat of her security nightlight.

For a split second she remembered her grandma, and the story she had told Josey about the devastating hurricane that had hit the small town many years ago. Grandma had talked about the mayflies arriving days before the storm hit and how they had blanketed everything. Patio furniture, sidewalks, roads and lawns were coated with the eerie bugs. Goosebumps rose up on her tanned arms as she tried to shield her French twist from the grasping wind gusts. She shook off the memory and grandma’s voice faded into the distance.

Josey looked around and sure enough there was Bud Taylor, the only barber in town, glaring at her from behind his blue neon sign in the window. The flapping awning over his shop window was about to turn inside out and she could only hope it would come toppling down on his bald head. She knew her alarm situation would be discussed later that day at the resident grease pit, Cornbread Corner, which masqueraded as a restaurant. Bud would go on and on about how once again she had set off the alarm, and he would probably try and attribute it to what he called, her “drinking problem.”

She flicked on the lights and the room became awash in pink. Josey loved the feeling of home she got every time she looked around her shop. In twelve years, nothing had changed and that’s the way she liked it. Growing up, she had enough changes to last her through menopause. The pink walls held faded, black velvet pictures of Elvis, paper-mache flamingos perched on rusty curtain rods, the orange lava lamp rotated its red blob back and forth, and the mirrors were adorned with every naked baby’s butt in Carington. The pungent smell of permanent solution mixed with stale cigarette butts assaulted her nose, reminding Josey she needed to make a stop at Wal Mart for another air freshener. She just loved the orange blossom one.

Stay tuned for the next episode!

Introduction

There is a secret place within the hearts of women. In this cocoon, the words “politically correct” are as foreign as an Iranian recipe, kids are poster children for Emily Post, husbands come home toting red roses and double fudge cakes come out of ovens, not boxes. In the minds of these women, Norman Rockwell hangs alongside Jesus on the beige walls, religion is a social climbers arena and facades are brilliantly labeled as “positive attitudes.”

You may ask, “Where are these women?” We are going to travel to the small town of Carington, nestled in the bosom of the South and get a microscopic look at a few of these fascinating women.

Carington has one road in and one road out. Like the lives of the women, there are no “roads less traveled,” there is just one road and it’s well defined. Should you happen to blink or sneeze, three stoplights prevent you from missing the entire town. Now the local Chamber of Commerce has considered putting in a fourth light, down by the elementary school, but then there is the problem of having to wrangle with the Rotary club for extra funds to decorate the light poles, come Christmas time.

The catastrophic events of 9/11, child molestation, and the computer revolution have yet to reach their evil tentacles into this refined, southern paradise.

Or have they?
Stay tuned for the next episode!