Vanity Insanity (36 page)

“Then I’d probably use a stiff gel to give him a real wicked look.” This time I made Lucy laugh. Kelly stopped by my chair with a note from Sinnot.

“Speak of the devil,” I mumbled as I took off Lucy’s apron.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that I bought a Sting CD,
Mercury Falling
.” Lucy grabbed my arm. “I’m hooked now. I swear, Sting’s voice is like a warm, long kiss on the back of my neck…It sends shivers—the good kind—up my spine. Can I be in your Sting club now?”

“I’ll run it by the board.”

“You mean A.C.?”

“Yep. And me. I’m the president.”

“How is A.C.?”

“Well, I haven’t heard any wedding announcements yet.”

“OK, so does Robin know that he’s a you-know-what?”

“No, but I think she’s got A.C. figured out. Just a hunch. Also, my mom got married to her little friend.”

“Wow. Good for her. Good news everywhere. Marty and her husband are starting the adoption process. And Theresa got her good news.”

“Yep.” Theresa had told her rosary group that she was cancer free a week earlier. I still couldn’t believe the news.

“And the Huskers?” Lucy asked.

“Let’s not go there.”

“But you love your Huskers!”

“Lucy, have you not been paying attention?”

It might sound shallow, but the shift in my personal storm that year started when the Big Eight Conference merged with four Southwest Conference Teams to form the Big Twelve Conference at the beginning of the season. After back-to-back national titles, “my Huskers” had suffered two disappointments last season. The first was the 19–0 catastrophe at Arizona. Fans who had been loving the ride we’d been on as an
unbeatable force felt the jolt back in August when the Huskers flew to the desert in Arizona, only to get their “butts handed to them,” as Jenae had so eloquently commented. The vibes worsened when we lost to Texas in the inaugural Big Twelve Championship game in December, both games confirming an end to the winning streak and the possibility of three back-to-back national titles.

Nebraska does not like being compared to Iowa or confused with Oklahoma, but we really hate being beat by Texas. We were the Charlie Brown kicking the ball, and Texas was our Lucy, pulling the ball out from under us.

“So what wicked soul gets to be the first to see your hair done so well?” I asked.

“That would be the fine young children of Saint Pius X and the ladies who volunteer in the cafeteria. I have cafeteria duty today.”

“Cafeteria duty. Sounds like something you step in out in the backyard.”

“It’s not bad. Actually, this older lady I work with told me that cafeteria duty is a lot like sex for tired moms.”

“I’m pretty sure that this is something I don’t want to know.”

Lucy grinned in the mirror. “They’re both events that you should probably do but have so much else to do and you’re exhausted. But once you get there, you end up having a good time.”

34

Octavia: Wash and Set

Friday, May 9

1997

“D
amn, not what I needed to hear today,” Tom Ducey mumbled as he,

A.C., and I walked across the street to M’s Pub. My two legal buddies, as a favor to me, had looked over the merger agreement that Sinnot was proposing for the renovation of Vanity Insanity. We were going to talk about some of the curve balls that Sinnot had tucked into the contract proposal.

Tom ended his phone call with a buddy, who had given him bad news about the former Nebraska Football coach. “Bob Devaney died,” he said to A.C. and me as he held the door open to the restaurant. “Damn.”

“The Devaney days,” A.C. said, “were some awesome times. Kind of like the early seventies were Husker Nation
Part One
and we’re living
Part Two
right now.” A.C. was referring to our two national championships and the “Three Pete” T-shirts that all the Husker Hopefuls were wearing as we crossed our finger for a third national championship.

“Three,” Tom said to the owner, who took us to a table near the window.

The owner paused after she set down the menus at our table, “Hey, Ben, how’s our dear friend doing?”

“Not the best. Her son brings her to get her hair done, but that’s pretty much it, ” I said.

“We miss her around here. We really miss Octavia.”

“I’ll tell her that.” We both knew that Octavia wouldn’t know who I was talking about.

“Sounds good,” the owner said quietly. “I’ll send your waitress over to your table.”

“OK, so not to be a buzz killer, Ben,” Tom started and looked at A.C.

“But we think this Sinnot guy is trying to screw you,” A.C. finished.

“OK, now what?”

“The plans look good,” Tom said, “but Sinnot stands to gain more of a profit than we both think he deserves. I mean, he’s done nothing but show up with money to add to yours.”

“Yeah, and from the looks of this contract, he’s hoping to gain the most from all of the work you’ve put into Vanity Insanity for over a decade. He’s kind of like a gold digger.” A.C. looked over the menu. “We don’t think you should walk away, but Tom and I want to tweak a few things before anything is signed.”

We talked a little more about the contract before lunch came, but Tom and A.C. agreed to make the changes on the contract that I would show to Sinnot the next week.

“Almost forgot to tell you both,” Tom said as we were finishing lunch. “Lucy wanted me to tell you that Theresa’s cancer is back, and…it was probably never really gone.”

A.C. looked at me and then shut his eyes and sighed. Because he hadn’t seen Theresa much since her cancer diagnosis, he was still having a hard time getting his head around the reality.

“Before the next rounds of aggressive chemo, she took a two-week break, and she and Michael went on a trip.” Tom pushed his plate aside. Why had I not heard about this? “They flew over to Lourdes, France, to make what Lucy called some kind of a healing pilgrimage.”

“Lourdes?” A.C. asked. “I read about that place. Isn’t that where some woman saw visions of Mary? Miracles happen there or something like that.”

“Sounds right. Anyway, Theresa was too weak to walk to the Masses and nightly candlelight processions and the grotto, so Michael moved her through the town in a wheelbarrow.”

“Wow.” I hadn’t known that she had gotten to the point of being so weak.

“The best part of the trip, according to my wife, is that she met Richard Madlin, Johnny Madlin’s father.”

“Seriously?” A.C. rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

“Yeah, so this Mr. Madlin told Theresa that he went on the trip to pray that Mary would take away his anger, which had been causing damage in his life since his son was killed. The man has no cancer or illness, but he makes the pilgrimage so that he can forgive the dude who murdered his son, so that he could move on with his life.”

“What about Johnny Madlin’s mom?” A.C. asked.

“She didn’t go on the trip since she could never forgive the man who killed her son, whose last earthly task was to deliver the evening paper. So the father asks Theresa to pray for his wife. You ever hear of anything like that?”

I paid for lunch as a thank-you to my legal team, and we all walked out to the brick street between the restaurant and Vanity Insanity. Tom lit a cigarette as he walked to his car. A.C. told me he’d call me later, and I walked back to work.

When I walked into the salon, Octavia and Truman were sitting on the front pew near the window waiting for me. Truman, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time, looked old and tired. He smiled as he helped Octavia up.

“She’s been waiting all morning for her appointment. She thinks every day is Friday.” Octavia’s hands shook as she held fiercely to her phone, shuffling to my chair. The staff respected the situation as they had for the past year and did not bother Octavia as she walked through the room. The years of chatting with the sassy yet kind old lady, which even Toby used to do, were gone, as Octavia had become increasingly agitated with all of the activity.

I tied the apron around her, and she looked at me in the mirror with furrowed brows. “What am I doing here?”

Truman stood by the chair and patted her arm. “Mother, Ben’s doing your hair today, remember?”

Octavia looked up at Truman and then looked at me in the mirror.

“Octavia, you’re here so that I can help you to look beautiful,” I explained. “Remember, I’m the one who helps you to be even more beautiful.”

Truman walked over to the pew and picked up a newspaper. Octavia said nothing and sat with a look of distrust on her face. About halfway through the appointment, a moment of lucidity came over her. “That Truman is too busy for his own britches. He can’t even take the time to visit his mother anymore.” I looked over at Truman, who looked up from his paper, shook his head, and smiled. He’d probably been accused of this before.

“Be nice if he could take time…and he’s gotten kind of chubby lately. Maybe you haven’t seen him…”

This time I laughed as I made eye contact with Truman who threw up his hand in the air, shrugging. Octavia was quiet as I dried and styled her hair. I began to take off her apron, and Octavia grabbed my arm with a tight grip.

“Did my husband pay you yet? He has the money to pay you.”

Truman walked over to help her get up from the chair.

“He must be parking the car, but he can pay you,” Octavia insisted.

“Mother, I’ll pay Ben. I’m here,” Truman calmly whispered.

“Where’s David? Where did David go?” Octavia demanded.

Truman tried to calm her. “He’s not here, Mother, not today.”

“Where is he?” Octavia panicked. “Where is David? I need to know right now!” The staff and their clients looked over at her.

Truman shook his head as he looked at me. “So sorry, Ben.”

“Where is David?” the tiny woman screamed. “Where is David?”

“Mother, Mother, calm down…Mother, Dad died. Remember? It was a really nice funeral. So many people came. I’m here to pay Ben. I’m here.”

Octavia began to cry. “David died? Well, this is just awful…This is terrible…We need to call someone…” She put her hands to her face and sobbed as though David had just now died; her shock and grief were both very real. Jenae and Kelly looked at Octavia. Jenae looked down as she pulled open the appointment book. Toby avoided eye contact as he organized and reorganized his station.

Truman turned to me. “Ben, this is obviously not good. Would it be too much to ask you to stop by Octavia’s house to do her hair? We have a full-time nurse around the clock. We can pay…”

“Just let me know what you need,” I told Truman.

Octavia began to rock back and forth, holding her phone with both hands now. “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee…” Truman took one arm as I took the other, and together we got Octavia to the car. She continued praying the rosary as we put her in the car. Suddenly, she stopped, grabbed my arm, and looked directly into my eyes. From all of the years of looking at each other in the mirror, I can’t remember ever looking eye-to-eye at Octavia Hruska. She placed her tiny hand on my cheek and smiled a very warm, endearing smile. “Teddy, you’re a very good boy. You are such a good, good boy.”

The name of Octavia’s dead son stung the air, and Truman put her seat belt over her, buckled it, and shut the door. His eyes watered as he shook my hand. “Thanks, Ben. So sorry about the scene. Octavia thinks the world of you…”

I walked back into Vanity Insanity and looked at Toby, who was standing at the desk, pretending to look through the appointment book. Everyone in the salon looked ill at ease. I took a deep breath.

“Toby, could you help Virginia and Jenae cover my afternoon appointments?” I could hear my voice shake. I caught my breath. “I’ll be back to close.” No one said a word as I grabbed my keys and left. I drove without knowing where I was going. Not knowing where I needed to go.

I drove north of the Old Market and into neighborhoods, just driving around. I drove in circles around the same block several times until I realized that I was driving past Sacred Heart, a beautiful church in the Kountze
Place neighborhood. I parked my car in the church parking lot and sat for a while. I took a deep breath and got out of the car and stood for a while looking at the old, beautiful church. Then I walked inside. It was dark and quiet in the afternoon hours.

The smell of the church was clean and pure. Years and years of Masses and incense and oil and celebrations. I was smelling the odor of sanctity, a smell that I missed. I walked about halfway up the aisle and sat on the right side of the church in a pew by myself. I noticed people coming and going from the a little room on the side of the church. I guessed that this room must have been what Lucy’s “open face” or face-to-face Confession looked like. No dark closet to kneel in and feel overwhelmed by my sins and the sins and secrets of those who sat in my chair. Just a room in which I would have to face my sins. Face-to-face with another human.

My heart was pounding.

I slowly walked toward the side room and looked in. A man about my age with a warm smile motioned me into the room. In casual attire, the priest, still in his collar, welcomed me to a chair near his. He put down a book as I walked in. I sat down in the chair next to him and took a deep breath. I knew that I had memorized a little program of sorts as a kid when we went to Confession during CCD. Not one word came to mind.

“I haven’t done this in a really long time.” I laughed nervously.

“That’s fine.”

“I mean, really, I have no idea what to say.”

The kind, hazel eyes of the priest reminded me of Mac. He smiled and said very quietly, “You don’t have to say anything at all.”

I felt the tears flooding from my eyes as I cried while the man before me took my hands. Father Saving Grace whispered the most needed absolution to me as I continued to cry.

I said nothing as I shook his hand and walked out of the tiny room.

35

The Stink Bomb

May–September

1997

T
he summer of 1997 sizzled like the wick of a cheap stink bomb. No loud explosion. Nothing too sensational. Still the slow and repulsive sizzling of problems was the unpleasant reality between May and September.