Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover (19 page)

Trixie hadn't come down for supper so, giving her a pass because of her understandable misery, I took a tray up to her.

“I can't eat that,” she said as I put the tray on the bedside table. “I'm goin' on a liquid diet.”

“Liquid diet? Why?”

“ 'Cause it makes you pee a lot, and that makes you lose weight.”

I blinked. Lloyd wanted to gain weight, and she wanted to lose it. And both of them were turning to some kind of liquid to accomplish their goals. I wasn't sure it made sense, but what did I know? One thing I did know, however: the word she used was another of those cringe-producing words about which I've already spoken. How much more refined and soothing to the auditory nerves to say
use the ladies'
or simply ask to be excused. I mean, if it has to be mentioned at all.

“Well,” I said, not wanting to argue with her, “I brought a glass of tea, so you can start with that. And I talked to Hazel Marie, and she's excited about what you want to do. In fact, she suggested that you move over there for a few days so you can have what she called twenty-four-hour instruction. Would you like to do that?”

“I don't mind. I just as soon live over there as here, anyway.”

I did my best to ignore the insult, just rolled my eyes and said, “Well, but let me caution you, Trixie, I emphasized to her that you're serious about this, and she's taking you at your word. She intends to cover everything, not just cosmetic applications and appropriate dress, but posture, table manners, social interactions, elocution, you-name-it, she expects you to be willing to do it all. So I hope you're ready to put yourself totally in her hands. No more wishy-washy, back and forth about it, and no more quitting
because you don't like something, or because you think Meemaw won't approve.”

“I'm ready, all right, and more'n willing,” Trixie said, sounding as if she meant it. “I just hope she knows enough to help me.”

“Believe me,” I said firmly, “if anybody knows enough, it's Hazel Marie.” I thought of the overly made up, gum-chewing woman who had first appeared on my front porch that day when my life turned upside down. I recalled the brassy hair—teased within an inch of its life—the tight, thigh-revealing dress with cleavage that had made my eyes pop, the long painted nails on her hands and the same peeking out of the open-toed shoes she teetered on.

Oh, yes, Hazel Marie knew about makeovers. She'd made herself over from the inside out, and she hadn't needed an instructor to do it for her, either. She'd watched, listened, read, and, I must admit, conformed to my example and heeded my carefully worded advice. Now she was a model of gracious beauty, carriage, and conduct. Not, I hasten to add, that she'd given up dyed hair, cosmetics, and tight-fitting clothing—far from it. But she now knew the difference between the decorous presentation of oneself and making an in-your-face, inappropriate impression by what she wore, did, and said.

—

Early the next morning, I helped, or rather watched, Trixie pack to move temporarily to the Pickens house. It crossed my mind to recall all the times I'd dreamed of packing Trixie's things up right before packing Trixie herself off. This wasn't exactly what I'd hoped for, but it would do for the present.

The only thing that concerned me was how Trixie would fit in with an active family like Hazel Marie's. There were the twin baby girls, just toddling around, and Granny Wiggins, Etta Mae's grandmother, who helped with them and who didn't mind adding her two cents' worth to anything that came up. And, of course, there was James, who did the cooking, and Mr. Pickens, who did whatever he wanted. Trixie's joining them made for a potentially volatile
situation. But, I reminded myself, it had been Hazel Marie who'd suggested the move, so who was I to demur? Maybe it would work.

And maybe Hazel Marie could work some transforming magic on Trixie, especially now that Trixie had set her eyes on the prize. But what kind of prize? Revenge was what it had sounded like—getting back at both Susan Odell and Rodney.

I could understand wanting to make them regret that they'd treated her so dismissively, but how much more admirable it would've been if Trixie had wanted to improve herself for herself alone. As it was, she seemed to have only one goal in mind, and that was getting even. For that reason, she was putting all her eggs into Hazel Marie's basket, expecting not only to be made over, but made
into
something else entirely.

Hazel Marie, however, was not a miracle worker, and there was only so much she could accomplish, considering what she had to work with. One had to take into account, I mused, the raw material before projecting such an unrealistic result. And, as far as I knew, every effort to transmute base metal into gold had proven to be not only an unsatisfactory pursuit, but entirely futile in the end.

“I'm ready,” Trixie said, snapping her hard Samsonite suitcase closed and turning to me, the bulging shopping bag she'd arrived with in her hand. She stood there, waiting, it seemed, to be told what to do next.

“That's pretty much of a load to be carrying,” I said. “Don't you want to leave some of it here?”

She shook her head. “I might stay over there.”

“Well, now, I wouldn't count on that, Trixie. You'd have to be
invited
to stay.” Not, I thought, that she or her grandmother put much stock in invitations. “Remember that Hazel Marie already has a full house, and she's doing you an extraordinary favor by having you for a few days. Let's not expect more than she's able to give.”

“I won't be no trouble,” Trixie said. “I aim to help out.”

“Good, I hope you will. A guest does have responsibilities to
her hostess,” I said, picturing a table full of dirty dishes and wondering why she hadn't helped out in my house. “Well, come on and I'll drive you over.”

“I'll walk.”

“But you have so much to carry.”

“Yeah, but it'll make me sweat off some weight.”

“Oh, well, maybe it will.” Since the day was edging up into the nineties, I had little doubt of it. And, on reflection, I decided that her decision to walk four blocks with her hands full was a hopeful sign of her determination to make some deep changes.

“Off you go then,” I said, waving her toward the stairs.

As she bumped the huge suitcase down the stairs, I followed, then opened the front door for her. Mentally biting my tongue, but wanting to set an example of graciousness, I said, “I hope you have a good time, Trixie, but we'll miss you.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, then stopped on the porch to look back. “You can come see me over there.”

“I'll do that, but I'll call first in case you're busy.”

She nodded, then bumped the suitcase down the front steps, gave it a hefty swing, and strode off down the sidewalk.

—

“Well, Lillian,” I said, entering the kitchen and pulling out a chair from the table, “she's gone. Unfortunately, though, not far or long enough. Oh, me,” I went on with a sigh, “I hate feeling that way, but Trixie's been the most unsatisfactory houseguest we've ever had.”

“She not so bad,” Lillian said, setting down two glasses of tea on the table, and taking a chair herself. “She jus' don't know all the ins and outs, an' I tell you something else, she
know
she don't know 'em. So she don't know what she oughta be doin', an' that make her be a little on the snippy side.”

“I declare, Lillian, you are the most compassionate and forgiving person I know. Trixie has been ruder to you than to anyone else, and she's been plenty rude to the rest of us.”

Lillian tasted her tea, then reached for the sugar bowl. “It don't bother me none, 'cause if people don't know any better, I know they can't help theyselves.”

“Well, let us hope that Hazel Marie can teach her something. But, I declare, I hope she hasn't bitten off more than she can chew.” I paused, recalling Trixie's sullen responses to any advice or correction by me. Then I thought of something else. “Oh, and let me tell you what else is going on.” And I proceeded to relate what Trixie had told me about Rodney's plans for my property, his promise to hire the Binghams, and her intent by way of Hazel Marie's ministrations to help Rodney make it all come about.

“Sound like they countin' they chickens 'fore they hatched,” Lillian said.

“They certainly are—both in their own way, too. And when Trixie realizes that Hazel Marie can't work miracles, she'll be even harder to live with.”

“I 'spect Miss Hazel Marie send her back if she can't handle her, an' if she don't, Mr. Pickens will.”

I laughed, as much as I could manage given the circumstances. “You're right, for one thing he won't put up with any rudeness to Hazel Marie. Law, Lillian,” I went on as I pictured what his reaction would be to some of Trixie's more disagreeable moments. “Maybe Mr. Pickens ought to be the one to renovate Trixie. He'd have her straightened out in no time.”

“I don't know 'bout that,” Lillian said, a smile curling around her mouth as she thought about it. “He prob'bly not too handy with something like lipstick, 'cept when he smearin' Miss Hazel Marie's.”

“Well, let me get up from here,” I said, rising and moving from the table. “I need to be doing something, now that Trixie's gone. You know, Lillian, when you get down to it, she really didn't demand a whole lot of time and attention, yet the very fact of her presence in the house weighed on me. I feel as if a burden's been lifted. Although,” I went on with a wry smile, “there's no telling when it'll be right back upstairs hanging over my head again.”

“You ought not be worryin' 'bout what happen tomorrow or the next day,” Lillian said, picking up our glasses. “We jus' got today, an' we oughta 'preciate our enjoys when we get 'em.”

“Truer words . . . ,” I started, then stopped at the sound of the front doorbell. “Who could that be? It's too early for a visitor, even for a Jehovah's Witness. Oh, my goodness,” I said, suddenly thinking of another possibility. “If it's Rodney, I'm not at home. You know what he wants, don't you? He wants me to sell him that property where Etta Mae lives, and I'm not going to do it. But I'm not ready to tell him so—that would really run him off from Trixie.”

“Yes'm, you tole me. I find out who it is,” Lillian said, moving toward the door to the dining room.

“If they're collecting money for something,” I called after her, “we've already given, and if they're selling something, we don't want any.”

“Uh-huh,” Lillian said as she left the kitchen.

I sat back down at the table, waiting for Lillian to get rid of whoever it was. I wasn't in the mood for company, actually not in the mood for anybody or anything that would disrupt the day that spread out, almost free and clear, before me.

The only thing on my calendar was a meeting with Sam at campaign headquarters at four o'clock to preview his television ad. After that, I thought, if Lloyd was planning to eat at his mother's, and if we had a mind to, Sam and I could go out for dinner. Trixie's absence was proving beneficial in a number of ways.

“Miss Julia?” Lillian said as she came back into the kitchen. “Somebody callin' on you.”

“Somebody who?”

“Somebody name of Miss Etta Mae,” she said, giving me a pleased smile. Lillian liked Etta Mae. “She in the livin' room.”

“Well, for goodness sakes, why didn't she come on back here?”

“She say she got business to talk about, so I tole her I get you.” Lillian was better than I when it came to deciding on what was appropriate and what was not. From her viewpoint, business should be conducted in a more formal setting than the kitchen.

I smiled and went through to the living room. “Etta Mae,” I said, as she stopped pacing and turned toward me. She was wearing one of those modern nurse's uniforms, consisting of a light blue V-necked tunic over a pair of drawstring pants, along with white sneakers. “It's so nice to see you. How have you been?”

“Miss Julia,” she started, her face drawn with anxiety, “I'm sorry for dropping in on you like this. I know it's early, but I had to be over this way to see a new patient, and I thought, well, it might be the only chance I had to talk to you.” Etta Mae was a licensed practical nurse who worked for the Handy Home Helpers out of Delmont. Her work consisted of making home visits to the elderly and other shut-ins, assisting with baths, minor medical procedures, and light housekeeping.

“Sit down, Etta Mae. I'm glad to see you. You know you're welcome to come by anytime you want, no matter the time. Come sit on the sofa with me and tell me how you've been.”

She hesitated, but sat when I did. “I hate to bother you with this, but you did say to let you know when that man came around again. And, Miss Julia, he's there now, with two other men. I mean,
they were there when I left, and I wouldn't have left but I had to. I had patients I had to get to early this morning, and, well, I couldn't just hang around all day just watching them.”

“Of course you couldn't,” I assured her.

“I thought of just calling you, but when two of them got these long-handled instrument-looking thingys out of their van and took off through the woods, I thought it'd be better to come tell you directly. If that's all right.”

“It's always all right, Etta Mae. But what're they doing out there? Was one of them the same man you saw before?”

She nodded. “He didn't go with the others, just wandered around, looking at our trailers. I couldn't see too much. I had to go from one window to the next to keep an eye on him. So when I had to leave, I just went up to him and asked him what he wanted.”

“Good. You had every right to. What did he say?”

“Said his name was Mr. Pace, and that he knew the owners, and they wouldn't mind him looking things over.”

“He was wrong about that,” I said, feeling more and more outraged at Rodney's arrogance.

She nodded again. “I told him I was the manager and that there was a
NO SOLICITING
sign at the entrance—pretending, you know, that I thought he was selling something door-to-door.”

“What'd he say to that?”

“He just sorta smiled and said he wasn't soliciting, he was counting the trailers and figuring how long it'd take to move them. Then he said not to worry, that he'd give us thirty days' notice when we had to move, but that'd be all we'd have, so we'd better be looking around for another park.”

The slow burn that had been simmering below the surface suddenly burst into flame, and I almost blew my stack. “That beats all I've ever heard! He had no more right to say such a thing to you than he'd have to say it to me in my own house. Who does he think he is, anyway!”

“Well, I didn't know what to think, especially when he said he
knew who owned it. But then I didn't much believe him because he said
owners,
and I knew there was only one owner. Unless,” she said, looking anxiously at me, “you've made some changes.”

“No changes, Etta Mae—none that I've made or that he's going to make. And,” I said, as the thought of Rodney's nerve flared up again in my mind, “I am going to put a stop to this presumption. You know, he has not said one word to me about even being interested in that property. All that walking and looking and measuring, and whatever else he's done, has all been on his own. If it hadn't been for you and Trixie, I wouldn't know anything about it.” So then I had to tell Etta Mae about Trixie and the problems I'd had with her, as well as the problems Trixie was having with Rodney.

“So it's all tangled together,” I summed up. “Which is the reason I've not come down on Rodney before this. I've been waiting to see how he'd approach me, thinking for one thing that he wouldn't have the money to make an offer, and thinking for another that he'd lose interest and find another piece of property. Instead, it's Trixie that he's lost interest in, and he's still after the trailer park.” I sat for a few seconds, thinking over what I should do. “Listen, Etta Mae, here's the thing. I put off confronting Rodney when I first heard about his interest in the property, hoping, as I said, that he'd get over it, and I didn't want to create any friction between him and Trixie. But the friction is already there, and it no longer matters if I create a little more. Which is what I aim to do.

“Etta Mae,” I said, standing up, “when do you get off work today?”

“I don't know. It'll probably take another hour for this patient I have to see. Then I'm supposed to go to the office and do some paperwork.”

“Can you put off the paperwork?”

“Sure, I can go in later and do it.”

“Then,” I said, consulting my watch, “you go on and see your patient. Then, if you're up for it, I'll meet you at your trailer in an hour and a half, give or take.”

“Okay,” she said, standing with an eager look on her face. “What're we going to do?”

“What I should've done already. I'm going to the hardware store and get some
NO TRESPASSING
signs. Then you and I are going to put them up all over that property. And the next time Mr. Pace sets foot out there, you're going to call the sheriff.”

A familiar, ready-for-action grin spread across her face. “Don't forget the nails. I've got a hammer.”