Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover (11 page)

“They probably need to be told. Some people don't know how to behave on or off a tennis court.”

“Well, but,” he went on, “I hate to say this, but I think somebody's been fooling around on my computer. Actually, I
know
somebody has. And it wasn't Miss Lillian, and Latisha wouldn't, even if she'd been here. And it couldn't have been Mr. Sam—he has his own and he hasn't been here, and I kinda doubt it was you.”

“Believe me, it wasn't.”

“Not that I would've minded if you had. In fact, anytime you want to learn . . .”

“Thanks, but I think not.”

“Anyway,” he said, frowning, “it's just strange, because nobody's
left but Trixie and I hate to say anything to her. And you know, I wouldn't care if she'd ask or even just tell me she wants to use it.”

“Absolutely. I can't imagine going into somebody else's room and using things as if they were one's own.” I stopped before becoming too agitated at Trixie's audacity. A more hopeful thought had occurred to me. “But, you know, maybe she used it to look for a job, which Sam has urged her to do. That doesn't excuse her by any means, but it would be encouraging to the rest of us. And, of course, honey, you could be seeing something you used for a school report and forgot about.”

Lloyd shook his head. “I don't think so, Miss Julia. I found a lot of sent emails that went to strange addresses, and they don't look like places where you'd get a job. I mean, [email protected]? Or [email protected]? And it's a settled fact that I've never been on Match.com or eHarmony. Or on ChristianMingle, either.”

“Oh, my,” I said, as images of the starry-eyed, two-stepping couples I'd seen on television bloomed in my mind. “They're . . .” I stopped as the full implication of what Trixie might be dabbling in hit me.

“Yes, ma'am, they're online dating services. They match you up with people that fit your profile, then you meet and get to know each other, then you marry and live happily ever after. Though I kinda doubt it works out that way every time.”

I sat up straight. “You mean to tell me that Trixie has been advertising herself as available to any Tom, Dick, or Harry who's looking for a wife!”

“Well, maybe not a wife, but at least a date. I'm pretty sure they meet first, like for lunch or something, to see if they like each other.”

“Well, now it makes sense. Lillian said that Trixie has been going in and out a lot. I thought she was getting some exercise or maybe looking for a job. Instead, it looks as if she's been meeting men she doesn't know. But, Lloyd, how many men in this town would bother trying to meet somebody that way? All they have to do is go to church and they'd find all the decent women they could handle.”

Lloyd shook his head. “Not in this day and age, Miss Julia. How many young, unmarried women are there in our church? Or young, unmarried men, for that matter?”

“Well, there's . . .” I stopped as several men and women came to mind, then were discounted for one good reason after another. “I guess things have changed, haven't they? But I can remember when church was the place you went when you wanted to meet people of like mind.”

A fleeting smile crossed Lloyd's face. “Sounds like church was
the old-timey dating service to me. I guess it worked pretty good though.”

“Not always,” I said, somewhat grimly, recalling that I'd met Wesley Lloyd Springer at a Sunday morning church service. “Well, be that as it may, what're we going to do about Trixie?”

“First thing I'm going to do is put a password on my computer, and on Mr. Sam's, too, just in case. I'd sure hate for him to have some of these sites pop up. That way, she'll have to ask when she wants to use mine or his.”

“Good idea, although I hate the thought of having to lock things up when a guest is in the house. But, Lloyd, if she's already going out to meet who-knows-what kind of men, what do we do about that? She could get into all kinds of trouble—something that Sam does not need, especially at this time. He needs a peaceful recovery, and he doesn't need any kind of unsavory gossip swirling around his campaign.”

“I know, Miss Julia, and it worries me, too. There're all types of men on the Internet who're looking for easy marks, and to my mind, Trixie is as easy as they come.” Lloyd's eyes got wide as he realized what he'd said, surprising me that he recognized that the term had a double meaning. “I mean, she may not be able to tell that some people aren't who they say they are.”

“Yes, I'd say she's quite vulnerable, but one thing we can be sure of: if they're looking for money, they're out of luck. She doesn't have any. Well,” I said, standing and smoothing out my skirt, “this business has to be nipped in the bud. I'm going to put my foot down and tell her it has to stop.”

“Why don't you get Mama to help you?” Lloyd asked. “Trixie listens to her.”

“That's the best idea you've had yet,” I said, “and you've had some good ones. That's exactly what I'll do, and between the two of us, maybe we can get Trixie straightened out. In the meantime, Lloyd, if you can think of any unmarried men we can introduce her to, I'd be grateful. Surely there're a few gentlemen we know who wouldn't take advantage of her.”

“Only one I can think of is Mr. Jones.”

“
Thurlow?
He's too old, and he's not a gentleman. And as far as his being unmarried, there's good reason for it. Nobody would have him. Come to think of it, though,” I mused, “Trixie must be fairly desperate if she's looking for love on all those Internet places.”

—

“Lillian,” I said, passing through the kitchen on my way to Hazel Marie's house. “I have to have a quick visit with Hazel Marie. Sam should be up in a little while, so please tell him I won't be long.”

Lillian banged a spoon on the edge of the pot she had on the stove. “Yes'm, I tell him soon as I hear him stirrin'. And, uh, Miss Julia?”

I turned, my hand on the doorknob. “Yes? What is it?”

“You know what Mr. Sam gonna do with his stones? He brought 'em home, didn't he?”

“His
stones
?”

“Yes'm, his gallstones. Lots of people bring 'em home in a little bottle, like a keepsake or something.”

“Well, Law, Lillian, I don't know. I unpacked his suitcase, but I didn't see anything like that.” And, without saying it, I hoped I never would. “Why?”

“I jus' thought if he don't want 'em or if he get tired of lookin' at 'em, Miz Pearl Mebane—she a lady in my church—would sure like to have 'em.”

My hand fell from the doorknob as I turned to her, intrigued now by someone who craved gallstones. “May I ask why in the world she'd want somebody else's gallstones?”

“Oh, she got her own, but they not enough. She got her heart set on a necklace an' all she got is enough for a bracelet. 'Course,” Lillian said somewhat wryly, “she still got to figure out how to string 'em, 'cause ever' time she poke a hole in one, it end up in pieces.”

“My word,” I said, leaning against the counter, “who would want such a thing? Oh, well,” I went on with a sigh as I turned
back to the door, “I guess wearing gallstones around your neck is no worse than advertising yourself on a public website.”

“Ma'am?”

“I'll tell you later. Listen out for Trixie, if you will, Lillian, and tell her not to go anywhere. I want to talk to her.”

—

“So,” I said, preparing to sum up my sorry tale of modern romance to Hazel Marie. We were sitting in her living room watching the twins play with blocks on a pallet on the floor. Lily Mae had just stacked three teetering blocks when Julie reached over and knocked them over, eliciting a piercing squall from Lily Mae that frayed my already tender nerves.

Hazel Marie slid from the sofa to sit between the two little girls. She made a stack of blocks in front of each one and far enough away that they could only knock over their own.

“So what else, Miss Julia?” Hazel Marie asked.

“So, I don't know what to do with her. Hazel Marie, there's no telling what kind of men she's meeting, and I do feel somewhat responsible for her welfare. She's living under my roof, after all, and her grandmother put her in my care, whether I liked it or not. And somebody has to be responsible for her because it's a settled fact that nobody else is. Including Trixie herself.”

Hazel Marie frowned. “Yes, and what she's doing does seem like risky behavior. But you'd think by twenty-four she'd know to be a little more careful.”

“
Twenty-four?
Is she that old? My word, Hazel Marie, she doesn't act it.” I stopped speaking in order to rearrange my thinking. “That puts the situation in a different light, doesn't it? She's an adult, which means I have no real control over her. I can't forbid her to go on computer dates. I can't ground her if she keeps on. And I can't send her home because she doesn't have one. The only thing I can do is appeal to her finer nature, and I'm not sure she has one of those, either.”

“I don't mind talking to her, Miss Julia, but I don't know how
much influence I'll have. She was really upset with me for not letting her buy what she wanted on our shopping trip.” Hazel Marie smiled, a little sadly, I thought. “She said she thought she could do what she wanted up here, but we're worse than her Meemaw ever was.”

“Ha!” I said with a delicate snort. “From what I know about her Meemaw, that's a compliment to us.”

“Well,” Hazel Marie said, “maybe between us we can warn her that she could get into real trouble dating men she doesn't know. I wish there was someone we could introduce her to, but I don't know a soul.”

“I don't either. This is a terrible thing to say, but even if I knew someone who was suitable, I'd hesitate to aim Trixie at him. I was hoping that you could work some cosmetic magic on her and at least make her a little more presentable.”

“I'm still trying to work with her,” Hazel Marie said, smiling. “But she doesn't follow through with what I tell her. She's decided she doesn't want her hair cut, yet she won't do anything with what she has to make it look better. I made up her face, too, and bought her some cosmetics, but she says she doesn't want to use it up. She's saving it for special occasions.”

“That beats all I ever heard. What other special occasions does a young woman have than going out to meet someone?”

Hazel Marie made two more stacks of blocks, then looked up at me. “Did you see the clothes she bought?”

“No, I've barely seen her the last couple of days. Between giving speeches and bringing Sam home, I've hardly given Trixie a thought. Why, what did she buy?”

Hazel Marie laughed. “Well, not what she wanted to. I was finally able to talk her into a couple of sleeveless blouses and a skirt or two. Oh, and some intimate garments. After I saw those raggy cotton things she had on, I figured I'd better. Remind me to give you your credit card back before you leave.”

“Just keep it. Sounds like she'll be needing more than you got. But don't let her have it. No telling what she'd come home with.”

“Believe me, I know. Everything she liked was clingy nylon or polyester, both of which are fine in their place, but not for her, and not cut as low as the ones she picked out. And, Miss Julia, she wanted a strapless sundress that was a good two sizes too small and a bikini, of all things. I mean, bikinis can be very attractive on slim girls, but on Trixie? I had to wrap a skirt around her when she pranced out of the dressing room!”

“My word. Can the girl not see in a mirror?”

“She kept telling me that Kim Kardashian wears tight, low-cut things, so I guess she thinks she looks like her.”

“Well,” I said firmly, “she doesn't. And if she did, I still wouldn't approve.”

“Me, either. But, Miss Julia, back to the problem of her dating strangers. What about if you went at it another way? You know, instead of telling her that she can't do it, maybe you could encourage her to bring her dates home. Or at least have them pick her up at your house. Of course, you'd have to act like you're pleased to meet them. I think that way if any of them have designs on her, they'd think twice after meeting you and Mr. Sam. They'd know that Trixie has people who look out for her, and that she's not some out-of-control girl looking for a good time.”

I thought about that for a minute. “You know, Hazel Marie, that just might work. At least we'd know who she was seeing and be able to give the police a description if something happened to her.” I shook that thought out of my head. “Heaven forbid. But what you're telling me is to use reverse psychology—kill her with kindness instead of criticizing her. Well, that's probably a better course of action than what I'd like to do, which is to ship her to Florida or wring her neck, one or the other.”