Twang (13 page)

I managed a nod, but it didn’t stop the tears. After a while Tonilynn pulled away and tugged a flattened tissue from the pocket of her blouse, patted my cheeks with it, cupped my chin in her soft hand, and looked directly into my eyes. “That ain’t all that’s bothering you, now, is it darling? You’re carrying a mighty heavy load.”

I gulped, blinked, nodded.

“Sometimes it helps to talk things out, you know. Tell your troubles to Tonilynn.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound would come out. She was still looking into me with her eyes like chocolate pools I wanted to drown myself in. “I . . . I can’t,” I said after several false starts.

“Yes you can.” Tonilynn threw out a lifeline. “If grass can grow in a sidewalk, you can tell Tonilynn your troubles. Trust me, everything’s going to be A-OK. You’re a strong woman.
You’re a survivor. I say good riddance to that snake Holt Cantrell. Believe me, you’re better off without him. I could tell you some stories, only I don’t want to gossip on account of that’s a sin. But like I said, good riddance.

“And listen, don’t you worry ’bout the fallout from his ugly accusations affecting your career like the magazines are saying, ’cause you’ve got a voice that’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I mean, you’ve hardly been here in Nashville, what? four, five years at the most? And you’re already leaving lots of longtime stars in your dust.” She wove a strand of my long hair between her fingers. “You hear me, hon? To zoom up to the top like you have in such a short time? You keep that chin up.”

All of a sudden Tonilynn released my hair and stood straight as a two-by-four. She put her hands on her ample hips, snorted like a racehorse. “Hmphh! Makes me so mad I could spit! Those trashy rags have no right to run your name through the mud! All they’re trying to do is make a dime off your misfortune; couldn’t care less about the human part of a star!”

She searched my stunned face. “Don’t that make you mad?”

“I . . . um . . . well, I . . .” My heart started racing, my palms got clammy, and my tongue froze. I still didn’t know if I was to blame for what had happened with me and Holt or not.

Tonilynn laced her fingers together beneath her chin and tipped her head. “Oh, baby girl. You don’t always have this much trouble expressing yourself, do you?”

I shrugged and sat there like a lump. But my silence didn’t seem to faze Tonilynn. “Listen,” she said softly, “I’ve been knowing for a while you’re a woman who’s toting some serious baggage around with her. Even before you and Holt Cantrell hooked up, before Mike called me about working for you, I’d see you on the television, singing and whatnot, and I’d say to Aunt Gomer, ‘Now, there’s a woman who’s toting around a heavy load of something. I know in my heart somebody
took, no, they
stole
her dignity, and she’s carrying around a load of shame so heavy there’s times she can’t hardly breathe. Somebody close to her wounded her.’ I actually said that aloud to Aunt Gomer.”

My skin drew up tight. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, let’s just call it a little voice inside my head.” Tonilynn reached over and got a container of hair clips from the counter, and began to rifle through them with her perfectly manicured fingers, finally closing the lid with a sharp snap.

Things were quiet for a while, then she said, “Now, I don’t want to—how do the young folks say it?—freak you out, but the best way to describe it is to say I have these gut feelings, or intuitions. May sound like a magical power, but it’s actually the spirit of revelation, one of the supernatural gifts of the Holy Ghost called the
word of knowledge
. Some folks call it
the spirit of knowing
. But either way, it’s the Lord letting me see beyond a person’s exterior. Many times smiling people are crying on the inside. Like I see your pretty stage smiles, but I know you’re actually sad, sad, sad on the inside.”

I looked at Tonilynn, at her flawless makeup, her perfectly coiffed hair, and suddenly a red flag flew up. Roy Durden appeared in my mind’s eye and he was saying, “She sounds like one of those religious wackos who speaks in tongues and watches the
Ernest Angley Hour
.” I cleared my throat, looked at my watch. “Gosh,” I said. “Look how late it is! Time for supper.”

Tonilynn reached over to pat my shoulder. “You don’t need to be scared, hon. I don’t know the particulars about your past.” She paused dramatically. “But the Lord does.”

I made a little sound in my nose, a snort, and said in my best cynical voice, “Is that so?”

There was a long silence. Tonilynn tilted her head to one side and pointed upward with an index finger. “Ain’t you a believer?”

I shrugged. “Um, maybe. Not exactly. Used to be, but now . . . it’s more like . . . more like I’m on to him. Like I realize God doesn’t give a fig about us down here.”

Tonilynn smoothed a rumpled towel. “Tell me why you gave up on the Lord.”

I leaned my head back to stare at the ceiling. “Okay. When I was fifteen, it was late on a Friday night, and my father had all these drunks over to the house, and I . . .” I yanked my head back down and shook it so hard I thought my brain was rattling. Was I losing my mind?! I pressed the pads of my index fingers to the corners of my eyes to dam tears.

Tonilynn reached over to cup my chin. “That’s all right. I’m sorry, hon. We don’t have to go there if you’re not ready. But let me tell you something you can take to the bank. You may’ve given up on the Lord, but he hasn’t given up on you. He does too care about you! Every single little thing that concerns you concerns him! He ain’t some distant creator who put you on this earth and then left you alone, saying, ‘Good-bye, good luck. Hope you make it all right.’ ”

I pulled away. I’d broken out in a sweat without realizing it, and the cool air of the trailer made me feel dizzy. After a spell, Tonilynn cleared her throat. “Jennifer?” she said in a voice soft as dandelion down, “I don’t want you to be scared of me. This sensitive ability I have, this super
natural
gift, which all that means is just ‘more natural,’ you know,
super
natural, is a divine impartation to perceive a person’s need so I can minister to her, or him. You know, help out.”

I could literally feel my eyes widening.

She laughed at my face. “Relax. I told you all that because I especially don’t want you to confuse my gift with those psychic predictions of earthquakes and murders and the like. Those are Satanic prophecies, inspired by the enemy.”

She was wacko, sure enough.

“Hey, speaking of the devil, there’s something else I reckon I better let you in on if we’re going to work together.” Tonilynn smiled. “I have this habit that might seem strange if you’re not used to it. I talk back, right out loud, to the devil. I’ll be walking along, or doing something like fixing a client’s hair, and I’ll say, ‘Get behind me, Satan!’ and if I’m in earshot of anybody, they look at me like I’ve lost my mind!” She laughed and shook her head. “But I just remind myself it makes old slewfoot tremble. Gives him a colossal headache.”

I stared at her in the mirror, wondering,
Is this real or am I dreaming?

“It ain’t no accident you and me got put together like this, you know,” she continued, with a one-shouldered shrug. “Ain’t no accident you’re sitting in what I call the Hair Chair. The Hair Chair’s a place where you can talk to Tonilynn. Let all the tears and the ugly stuff spill on out. Now, I’m not patting myself on the back. Believe me. This divine impartation I have is a gift, just like salvation.”

I remained silent.

“Yep,” she said, “Purely a gift, and I’m just trying to do the best I can with it.” Tonilynn pulled the black cape from my shoulders, shook it out and began to sweep the floor. All the while her lips were moving, then she was smiling, nodding at things I couldn’t hear. At last she cleared her throat, and in a trembly sort of voice asked, “Have you been born again? Are you saved, Jennifer?”

I didn’t even have patience for my own tears much less hers, and I wouldn’t answer. My nerves felt jangled and my stomach was starting to hurt. I realized I’d had nothing but quarts of black coffee since ten that morning.
Please
, I thought,
please just drop this uncomfortable subject. Talk about hair conditioners or waterproof mascara or foundations for photoshoots
.

Tonilynn had both her hands on the back of the Hair Chair now, and I could see her in the mirror as she leaned in toward me, her chin over my head. “Jennifer, hon, please answer me. Have you accepted Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?” I felt her words through my scalp when she rested her chin on my head to say, “Do you know where you’re going to spend eternity?”

It seemed like time stopped. Tonilynn stood motionless, waiting, and I could not move a muscle, even to swallow. So much was buzzing around in my head. Evenings at all the summertime tent revivals of my childhood, where sweaty preachers warned of hellfire and the heart-booming fear of damnation had propelled me forward to accept Jesus on three different occasions. I remembered the pats of others in the audience after I left the altar each time, the gleam of the moon in their eyes as they said, “Welcome to the fold. You’re born again.” I remembered all that in a flash, and then, just as quickly, I remembered that in Blue Ridge I’d merely existed in a state of near death: fearful, isolated, and repressed. I didn’t feel new life surging through me until I took control of my destiny and left for Music City, until I found my occasional moments of joy onstage, shreds of peace at the Cumberland River.

I wanted to use my snide voice to say to Tonilynn, Y
eah, I’ve been born again, and my second birth happened right here in Nashville. She’s my mother now
. But as I gazed into her honest face, those tanning-parlor bronzed cheeks rouged with blush the color of pomegranates, a tuft of ash-blonde hair like cotton candy above doe-eyes ringed in black liner, my tongue just sort of shriveled. It felt like this woman really cared, like she had the kind of compassion that came from being knocked around by life a time or two.

And, even if she was one of those deluded, fanatical, over-the-top born-agains who needed religion as a crutch to lean on, even if she was only saying all this to make me feel better, it was still a kind thing to do. Had anyone else even bothered to ask me how I felt about Holt’s accusations? About the so-called dirty laundry flapping out there for everyone to see? Mike hadn’t. Seemed all he cared about was the money still flowing like a river, maybe even like a tidal wave since my big breakup. My mother hadn’t, but then she didn’t own a TV, read the paper, or take any magazines. She did have a telephone, however, but it had been six months since we’d even spoken, and I wouldn’t dream of calling her up to chat about the drama involving a life she’d warned me about.

Plus, I could sure use a friend. Even a crazy one. What made my pain over Holt’s ugly accusations even worse was that it was a Tuesday night, the day of the week I used to drop by the Best Western for supper with Roy. I still missed that man so much I could almost feel mad at him for dying of a massive heart attack the previous December, for leaving a huge gaping hole in my life. And so, in a moment of blind grief and exhaustion, when all my usual defenses were napping shamelessly, I decided to take the risk of opening up just a smidgen to Tonilynn. Even though this act of confession to a relative stranger made the rational me feel like I was sprinting out onto I-65 during rush hour.

“I . . . I didn’t actually steal anything from Holt,” I began, gently testing the waters. I saw Tonilynn nod as she bent to get a bottle of Windex from the cabinet underneath the sink. “But he’s making it sound like I’m some kind of kleptomaniac, saying I’ve been stealing from him awhile now. Over Christmas, and yes, maybe on New Year’s Eve, too, I admit it, I did pour some of his Jack Daniel’s down the sink. But it was because he was getting kind of . . . I don’t know how to call it, like he
does sometimes, you know, nasty and all, and I . . . I was really scared. I didn’t know if he might . . .”

The smile left Tonilynn’s face as she spritzed the mirror, wiping it with a rag until it squeaked. She turned to look at me. “Was Holt drunk?”

“Yeah. Really drunk. I told him I was leaving him if he didn’t stop doing certain things, if he didn’t stop trying to make
me
do certain things he always does when he’s . . .” I couldn’t finish.

“He got furious. Right? Mean and violent?”

I nodded.

“Nobody refuses Holt Cantrell.” Tonilynn’s voice was filled with disgust. “And they’re making you sound like some kind of off-balanced thief!” She literally growled as she jammed combs down into a tall jar of disinfectant. “That worm! Playing all this up and telling the media you’re the evil one. He doesn’t say what you ‘stole’ or the reason you poured his whiskey out.”

“Yeah,” I said, finding her indignant anger comforting.

“Pardon my French, but basically Holt’s a slimy bas—uh, jerk. Sorry. Trying to stop cussing, but not having much luck with it, especially where men like Holt are concerned.” Tonilynn closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Then she blinked at me. “All I can say is he’ll get his comeuppance. ‘Vengeance is mine,’ saith the Lord. Holt’s a liar with a capital L.”

I nodded, feeling like a hypocrite with a capital H because of my habit of putting pretty little ribbons and bows, which is a nice way to say “lies,” on the ugly inspirations for my songs. “Whatever,” I said quickly to change the subject. “I’m just glad to be rid of him.” Yet another half-truth!

“I see,” Tonilynn said, like she could see right through me.

For several minutes, I just sat there watching her as she dumped the filter and scrubbed the carafe from a Mr. Coffee
in the kitchenette. It was 6:25 p.m., and the piece of sky I could see outside the window was black. The corners inside the trailer had grown dark. “I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time,” I said finally. “You probably want to get home to your family.”

Tonilynn laughed. “No, definitely not.”

I must have looked confused.

“Both Bobby Lee and Aunt Gomer were in the foulest moods when I left this morning.” Tonilynn sighed loud, and I could see distress on her face. “I’m starting to wonder if Aunt Gomer doesn’t have the old-timer’s disease setting in, on account of she’s been forgetful and real ornery, which they say are warning signs.