2-in-1 Yada Yada (41 page)

Well, Adele wasn't exactly my hairdresser. I'd only been to her shop once before—to get my nails done on the spur of the moment. (Forty-two and I'd never had a manicure before!) Frankly, I didn't have a hairdresser. Amanda sometimes trimmed my hair, or I shelled out twelve dollars at Supercuts. Yet I had to admit that the women in Yada Yada who had started coming to Adele's Hair and Nails after we all met at the Chicago Women's Conference looked pretty spiffy after they got their hair done.

Adele peeled off her plastic gloves and said, “Leave that fifteen minutes—you watch the time.” Florida grabbed a magazine and popped over to the other beauty chair in front of the long wall mirror. “In the chair, Jodi,” Adele ordered.

I stood up, eyeing my friends suspiciously. Surely Avis wouldn't let Stu and Florida choose a really far-out hairdo for me—would she? “What about these guys?” I waved a hand at Stu and Avis. “Aren't they next?”

“In the chair, Jodi.” Adele held the black plastic cape with all the patience of a mother counting to ten. I sat.

“I'm just here as a consultant.” Stu grinned and tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, revealing the line of small pierced earrings running up the side of her ear.

Avis held up the back of her hand toward me, fingers spread out. “Nails. Soon as Corey gets done with her other nail appointment.” Corey must be Adele's manicurist. I sucked in a tiny breath of relief. At least I didn't have to face Adele getting down and scrubbing my feet like she did the last time, which unnerved me no end.

Adele put on new plastic gloves and began wetting my hair with a spray bottle.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “And how did you all
just happen
to be here all at the same time?”

“Denny thought you might need a little moral support, seeing as how we're doing a makeover here.” Stu got in my face with a digital camera. “Smile! This is the ‘before' picture.”

When I stopped seeing stars from the flash, I glanced in the mirror. Adele was now running her fingers through my hair, holding up various lengths, and frowning, as though studying a serious scientific problem. “What happened to your other customers?”

“Huh. I can schedule whoever I want on today, 'cause I'm the boss.” As though to prove her point, Boss Adele swung the chair I was sitting in away from the mirror.

“What? You're not even going to let me see what you're doing?” My protest was meant to be lighthearted, but I felt slightly panicked. Did Denny realize what he'd gotten me into? I mean, didn't Adele specialize in black folks' hair?

Adele allowed a big, rumbling chuckle. “Not to worry, Jodi.

This hair can only get better. You've let this mess go too long.”

Well, she had a point. Taking care of my looks hadn't exactly been high on my agenda the last two months. I closed my eyes, letting myself enjoy the cool spray wetting my head and Adele's firm fingers sectioning my hair and sticking clips here and there to hold it back while she started to cut.

“So has Denny told you where he's taking you tonight?”

I popped my eyes open at Stu's question. “No.” I caught looks passing between Stu and Avis and Florida. “Don't tell me he told you guys.”

“Uh-huh. Sure did,” they chorused.

“So tell me! Yada Yada knows where I'm going on my anniversary before I do? How fair is that?”

“Uh-uh. Sorry. Promised Denny.”

Adele's firm hand pushed me against the chair back. “Sit still, Jodi, or I'll cut something you'll wish I hadn't.”

Stu grinned. “No problem. You could just give her a mohawk then. Or shave it. Women do bald now.”

“Sheesh,” I muttered. “Some moral support you guys are.

You're making me a nervous wreck.”

Adele left me in mid-cut to rinse Florida's head and condition it. When they came back, Florida was wearing a perky plastic cap, and Adele stuck her under a hair dryer, cap and all. Adele picked up her scissors once more.

“Avis Johnson?” A voice called out from behind me. “Corey says you're next.”

A young teenager with glowing brown skin and braided extensions passed my chair on her way out, her nails not only painted but decorated with delicate flourishes, like so many tiny flowers. “Thanks, Corey,” she called toward the back. “Bye, MaDear!”

“Tell your mama hi,” Adele said. “And remind her to bring me that mango salsa recipe she was tellin' me about.”

“I will. Bye, Miz Adele.” The bell over the door tinkled as the young girl went out. Avis got up from the couch, gave me an encouraging smile, and headed toward the manicure tables in the back.

“Speaking of MaDear, how's your mom,Adele?” I tried to make conversation as snips of dark brown hair kept falling to the floor.

“Mmph. Same. Same. She's all right. Doc gave her some new kind of medicine. Makes her sleep a lot—dozin' in the rocker in back. Kinda miss the ol' spitfire, but it's easier to manage the shop when she's not so hyper.”

I could well imagine that. The last time I was here, MaDear had nearly escaped out the door with her walker,muttering something about the “lousy service in this here rest'runt.” The spry little woman was quite muddled in her head, though Adele wasn't sure if it was Alzheimer's disease or plain ol' dementia.

Remembering the comical scene, I almost missed what Adele said next.

“ . . . just as well. She's had a hard life. Needs to rest.”

I didn't know whether I should ask what she meant by “a hard life,” but just then Adele walked away, so I sneaked a peek at my haircut in the mirror. Still basically shoulder length, though the ends definitely looked fresher. So that was it? Just a trim?

Adele came back with a box full of pink plastic curlers. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had curlers in my hair. Who had time for curlers? Wash, blow-dry, bye-bye—that was my motto. But I was curious. What style had this conspiracy dreamed up? Would Denny like it? Would
I
like it?

“You goin' to let my head burn off?” Florida complained from under the dryer, scratching her head through the plastic cap.

“Yep.” Adele calmly began rolling strands of my hair on the big pink rollers, anchoring them to my head with long clips. “Time I get Jodi here under the dryer be just about the right time to get back to you.”

I had to admit it was fun getting fussed over, sitting under one of those serious hair dryers, looking no doubt like Marge Simpson with her beehive hairdo. Then—curlers still in my hair—the young woman Corey, who was maybe all of twenty, tall and slender with cocoa-rich skin, soaked and scrubbed my feet. Then she cut my toenails and painted them a daring rich burgundy.

“Whoo, some toes.” Stu eyed me critically. “You'll have to wear open-toed shoes tonight. Do you have any open-toed heels?”

By this time, everybody was hanging out in the back part of the shop, and Adele was taking a break to spoon some yogurt into her mother's birdlike mouth. Open . . . spoon . . . swallow. Open . . . spoon . . . swallow.

“Um, no. Even if I did, not sure I could wear heels yet.” I was only two weeks off my crutches. The very thought of teetering on high heels made me feel unsteady.

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Stu backed off. She studied my hands as Corey patiently shaped the nails, put on a base coat, stuck them in the nail dryer, and then carefully began to brush on the wine-colored nail polish. “But seems like for your twentieth anniversary— I mean, good grief, that's a real milestone!—you ought to do something really special, not just go out to dinner.Take a cruise or something.”

My turn to smirk. “We are.”

That got even Adele's attention as the spoon she held paused in midair. Four voices chorused, “You are?”

“Well, not a
cruise.
Though I've been planning my own surprise for Denny.”

“What? What?” Florida pulled a pout. “Girl, you shouldn't be keepin' anything from us.”

“Oh, right. You should talk,” I shot back, but I was grinning.

Even Avis was still looking at me, waiting for the revelation.

“If any of you dare breathe a word of this to Denny . . .”

“Us? Breathe?” Florida looked offended. “Did we tell
you
about Denny's makeover surprise?”

Had to admit they'd kept me in the dark. In fact, I still didn't have a clue what my hair was going to look like or where Denny and I were going tonight.

“Well then.” I took a triumphant breath, smiling at my own secret. “I have reservations at Starved Rock Lodge out near Utica for this weekend—two nights in one of their cozy log cabins, breakfast and dinner in the rustic lodge. Plus a swimming pool, hiking trails—it's gorgeous out there. We camped in Starved Rock campgrounds when the kids were younger, and I've always wanted to go back and stay in the lodge . . .”

I realized all four of my friends from Yada Yada were just staring at me. “What?”

Florida screwed up her face. “Girl, you tellin' me you takin' that hunk man of yours to a
log cabin
for your anniversary?” She turned to the others. “Now I know Jodi Baxter is outta her mind.”

“What's wrong with that? Denny will love it!”

Stu rolled her eyes. Avis's mouth twitched. Adele just shook her head and slid another spoonful of yogurt into MaDear's mouth.

“Girl, now, you shoulda axed us for some advice.” Florida, her head full of small, finger-size curlers, folded her arms across her small bosom. “For your anniversary, you go to one of them downtown hotels—”

“Like the Wyndham or the Drake,” Stu cut in.

“Yeah, one of them fancy ones. You ask 'em for the honeymoon suite; you soak in the spa . . .”

“If you want ‘back to nature,' you can take one of those horse-drawn carriage rides around the Magnificent Mile.” That was Adele's contribution.

“All right, all right. I get it.” But I was unmoved. “You wait and see. Denny will love my surprise and will promise to adore me for another twenty years.”

For just a flicker of a second, a hint of pain clouded Avis's eyes, and I winced at my thoughtlessness. Avis and her Conrad had celebrated their twentieth anniversary with a cruise to the Caribbean, but he had died of cancer a few short years later. There would be no fortieth anniversary for the Johnsons. Yet the cloud passed and she jumped up, reaching for the almost-empty carton of yogurt. “Let me do that, Adele. Let's see what these beauties look like when you do the comb-outs.”

With maddening casualness, Adele put Florida in the chair first, took out all the little curlers, and swept up a cascade of coppery ringlets on top of her head, anchoring them firmly with a crown of pins. Florida preened and strutted in front of the mirror then heaved an exaggerated sigh. “All dressed up and no place to go.”

“Move, girl,” said Stu. “Let's see what miracles Adele hath wrought with Jodi.”

Once again, Adele swung the chair so my back was to the mirror. I could feel my hair spring and bounce as the curlers came out. Florida, Stu, and Avis stood front and sides, tilting their heads sideways, saying, “Mmm-hmm” or just nodding, making me as nervous as a turkey in November.

Then to my surprise, I could feel Adele twisting the sides and top of my hair, anchoring whatever-it-was with pins, then brushing and arranging and spraying the back. After thirty nerve-wracking minutes, she turned my chair around, facing the mirror.

I could hardly believe my reflection. Some other girl—yes,
girl
—from another lifetime looked back at me. Not the haggard Jodi Baxter who'd recently had major surgery, who woke several times a week from nightmares related to that awful accident, who'd worn the same basic hairstyle for the last ten years.

No, this Jodi was almost youthful . . . and pretty, even if I was only a month shy of my forty-third birthday. Little rows of twists—not braids or cornrows—covered the sides and top of my head, then a small crown of sparkling pins announced the rest of my hair falling in soft waves down to my shoulders.

“Wow,” I said.

Stu grinned. “You look great, Jodi. You really do.” She fished out her camera. “Hold still for the ‘after' picture.”

“Wait!” Florida made a beeline for the front window. “Ain't that your wreck parking across the street, Jodi? Denny's coming!”

My heart actually started to pound like a sixteen-year-old about to meet her prom date.

“Get that cape off her,” Stu ordered Adele, which was kind of cheeky, but Adele pulled off the plastic cape and let me stand up. “Come on, come on, Avis! Denny's coming.”

“Don't let him in till I get there,” Avis called from the back. “I'm bringing MaDear with me.”

It was all too silly and funny and . . . wonderful. Would Denny like it? He had to! It was his idea. And to be honest, I hadn't looked this gorgeous in years.

Avis and MaDear joined the rest of us just as the bell tinkled over the door and Denny walked in, grinning foolishly, just like he had on our wedding day. “Oh my,” he said. “Oh my, Jodi, you look absolutely—”

Denny never got to finish his sentence, because just then MaDear let out a horrible howl, like a cat with its tail slammed in a door. “You! You!” she screeched, raising her thin arm and pointing a shaking claw at Denny. “Git 'im outta this house!” With lightning speed, she grabbed a brush from Adele's supplies and hurled it through the air at Denny's head. The brush found its mark before Denny had time to react, cracking him on the forehead before it fell to the floor.

“MaDear!” Adele grabbed for her mother, but the old lady shook her off.

“Ain't you caused enough trouble, boy? How
dare
you come back here—an' with po' Larry hardly cold in his grave! Out! Out! Git out!” Adele's mother grabbed another missile—a hand mirror this time—and let it fly.

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