Wrong Way Renee (4 page)

Toy
squeezed the arms of the chair, slipping her feet into the bubbling water.
“Ahhhh
…
that feels so good. Sure, I'll go. I
need a lift. I'm feeling old.”

“You're twenty-eight,
Toy
. That's not old.”

“It is when you're a model and you've been doing it since you were fourteen.
”
She lifted one foot out of the water and placed it on a towel-covered ledge for Renee to work on her toenails.
“Anyway, I'm all about finding husband number three right now. You know me, always the bride, never the bridesmaid.
”
Toy
's second divorce had been finalized two months ago.

Renee relayed her bank ordeal and the saga of the
bimbo
who stole her thunder.
Toy
shared details about her latest modeling job, her current boyfriend and the last fight she'd had with her father.

“Ah, family. Gotta love 'em,
”
Renee said.
“I'm doing the dinner thing with the Wrights tonight.
”

“Just the parental units or will
Char
and Gary an
d their heathens be there too?”

“Heathens and all. The kids aren't as bad as my dad and Gary. They argue and fuss about work to the point that M
ama
and
Char
have to pull their respective husbands to opposite sides of the ring. Give me the other foot.
”
She massaged while
Toy
moaned with pleasure.

“I thought they were in practice together.
”
Toy
rolled her head back and closed her eyes.
“Oh, God. Can you do that forever?
”

“They are. But they never agree on which cases to take or how to handle them when they do. At the Fourth of July barbeque, I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack while the two of them discussed work. The veins were popping on his neck and he was sq
ueezing his arm. Really scary.”

“Gary seemed so mild-mannered the few times I've been around him. I can't ima
gine him arguing with your dad.”

“Gary's like a different person when it comes to his work. I guess you can't be mild mannered all the time and still
be a successful trial lawyer.”

“So how's
Char
? Every time I go to the mall, I'm amazed that she's left anything for the rest of us to
buy.”

“More and more like a clone of my
mother
every day.
”
A drop of lotion spilled onto the floor. She tore a paper towel off the roll and wiped it up, making a mental note to clean it better later.
“She's taken to criticizing me, just like
Mama
doe
s.”

“That's what you need. My mom and I have become more like friends since her divorce. She now has a better understa
nding of failing at something.”

“
S
he was married for like thirty years. Your da
d cheating wasn't her failure.”

“She sees it that way, though. I can understand that. She feels like if she had done this or that, maybe he wouldn't have cheated. As many times as I tell her he's a bastard who doesn't deserve a backward glance, she still blames herself.
He's obviously having some mid-life crisis. I mean, he and his new wife had a baby a few weeks ago. That's got to b
e the ultimate in humiliation.”

“I can relate. God, I hate cheaters. When I first found o
ut about Dan cheating on me, I
racked my brain, trying to think of what I did wrong. I thought if I had only lost those
fifteen
pounds or been a better c
ook, a better lover, you know?”

“Yeah. But it wasn't my mom's fault my dad strayed, nor was it yours that Damien did. You know that in your heart, don't you
?”

“Yes.
”
She blew out a long breath.
“It's that
damn
little gremlin that keeps
telling me how inferior I am.”

“He speaks to
me too. Let's kill him, okay?”

“Deal.”

Renee finished with
Toy
then did two more manicures. She washed her nail table down, checked the computer for Wednesday's schedule and cleaned out the coffee pot before gathering her things.

“Are you leaving now?
”
Becky hooked a perm rod on the new hairdresser's head.

“Aren't you going to hang around and see what I look like with curly hair?
”
Zoey asked, tugging at a tight rod.

“Sorry. I have a
torture-by-family session now.”

“Lucky you. Mrs. Cantrell's coming at six for a wash and set. But Zoey has a six-thirty haircut, so I won'
t be alone. Have a good night.”

“Good night, Renee,
”
Zoey carefully turned her head to wave.

“Night.
”
Renee left through the backdoor and drove toward Lake Henrietta Shores, dreading the evening ahead. Ten minutes later, her parents' white two story colonial came into view. She pulled around the circular drive as it started drizzling and parked her Jeep behind her sister
Char
's black Expedition.

Thank God I'm not the first one here.

The first arrival usually got the brunt of Elizabeth's list of disappointments in her daughters. For Renee, the list was endless: Why hadn't she pursued law like as she'd planned? Why did she have to do peoples' nails and (unthinkably) feet? Why wasn't she married yet? Why was she always broke? Why didn't she lose weight? Why didn't she come visit her parents more? She wanted to tell her it was because she didn't want to hear how she didn'
t measure up.
But she could
n't say that. It would send
Mama
into an irritable bowel syndrome tailspin, so to speak.

Char
only got the short-term disappointment list. Why isn't Alyssa's dress ironed? Why didn't you and Gary join us for dinner at the club last night?

She walked up the brick steps, opened the leaded glass door and stepped inside. The foyer was her favorite spot in this house with its pink marble floor and twin s
taircases along opposite walls.
A round Louis XIV table stood directly in front of her with a huge vase of calla lilies. She threw her keys and purse on the table, then headed straight, through the formal dining room to the big kitchen.

Char
looked up from her task of making a salad.
Brown
eyes, identical to her own met her stare.
“Hey.
Mama
's put me to work.
”
She cut tomatoes into wedges, then tossed them into the salad bowl. Her red plaid pleated skirt, white blouse and black velvet vest suited her petite frame and short brown bob perfectly.

Renee watched her sister work.
“You look great
. I love yo
ur outfit.
Where are
Mama
and Daddy?”

“Dad's still in court and
Mama
had to run to the grocery store for some kind of cheese for the meal. I guess Dad ate her ingredients again.
”

“Where are the kids?
”
Renee picked up a head of red cabbage and a knife and began shredding.

“
Mama
gave in to their desperate pleas. Or was that
my
desperate pleas?
”
She shrugged.
“Either way, they wanted away from me and I wanted rid of them, so she took them with her to the store. Gary Junior bit another kid in his class today. He's in big trouble. I don't know why he does shit like that. I mean, he's in kindergarten, for God's sake. H
e's not two years old anymore.”

No, but he's still a little monster.
“I told you a long time ago to bite him back.
”
She hacked at the cabbage, throwing thin shreds into the bowl. A tiny purple slice landed on the floor. She immediately reached for a paper towel and spray cleaner to wash the spot. That done, she returned to shredding.

“I can not bite my own child, Renee. If you had any of your own, you'd understand. And why are you so neurotic about the floor? You don’t even mak
e your bed.”

Renee slammed her knife down.
And in this corner
…
“I've heard that you should bite a kid back from like a million people. One of my customers cured her three-year-old by biting her. And I'm not neurotic. I like floors clean is all. It sucks to step on something or feel a
sticky patch under your shoes.”

“Whatever.
”
Char
looked up from her work to stare out the window.
“
Mama
's back.
”
She laid the knife on the edge of the counter, wiped her hands on a dishtowel and hurried out the backdoor toward their
mother
's Escalade.

“Just dismiss everything I say,
Char
,
”
Renee said to the empty room.
“You're the parent, you must know it all. I have no husband and no children. Probably because I'm so neurotic.
”

The door swung open. Two streaks
of
brown
rushed past.

“Hey,
”
she called after them.
“How about saying hello to your favorite aunt?
”

The din of fast moving little feet abruptly stopped, then moved closer.
“Hi, Aunt Renee.
”
Gary Junior rolled his eyes. He hugged her tightly then stepped aside. The edges of his mouth were smudged with chocolate, a permanent condition with him.

Four-year-old Alyssa, a deceivingly angelic mix of
caramel-colored skin and gold eyes
gazed up at her.
“Hi, Aunt Renee,
”
she mimicked her brother.

“Hello guys.
”
She folded her arms.
“Gary, I hear you're in big trouble. Why are you biting? How would y
ou like it if someone bit you?”

“But they're mean to me.
”
He dropped his head.
“They call me fat ass.”

She considered his situation.
“Turn around.”

“What?
”
The child looked up at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Turn around.
”
She pointed down, making circles with her index finger.

He did as he was told.

“Okay, so
I'm checking it
out. You don’t have much junk in your trunk at all.
You
definitely do
not
have a fat ass. What are you worried about?”

Alyssa's chubby hands flew to her mouth and Gary's eyes grew big as saucers.

Char
and Elizabeth came inside, each carrying a grocery bag.

“Aunt Renee said fat ass, Mommy. So did Gary Junior.
”
Alyssa clasped her hands around her back, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Char
looked from her sister to her son.

“Thanks, Alyssa.
”
Renee gave her niece an exaggerated wink.
“We were discussing Gary Junior's biting problem. He tells me some of the kids at school are calling him names. That's why he's biting them. I explained that simply because someone calls you a fat ass, it doesn't mean you are one. It's no reason to lash out and bite them.
”
She glanced sideways at Alyssa who was giggling. She'd take care of the little snitch later.

“Renee
!
”
Elizabeth Wright set her packages on the counter next to the stainless steel refrigerator. Every lock of her dyed
brown
hair was perfectly in place. She wore khaki pants with a navy Austin Reed double-breasted blazer, always the picture of preppie perfection. She looked down over her pointy nose at Renee.
“I guess it's acceptable to use that language at that
…
salon you own, but it's not okay in this house.
”

Renee hated the way her
Mama
always referred to
“that salon you own,
”
like it was an incurable disease.
Truth was her mother hated it even more because it was mostly patronized by white women, rather than her own kind.