Leslie's Curl & Dye Page 6

  I was trying— and failing— to keep my temper in check. "Yes, sir. Guys N’ Dolls is doing alright. Today. But the first year was a struggle. I plugged a lot of money into the shop because I knew I'd be getting it back from the city. Now a big chunk of my savings is invested in this business and I was hoping to have replenished those savings by now."

  "I don't see any reason why you can't do that from current sales. What are you doing with the money, son? Eating it?" He chuckled, his jowls jiggling in time with the sounds coming from his mouth.

  "I'm paying bills, Mayor Adams. I'm keeping the shop running. I'm making payroll and stocking product. I could really use those funds, if only so we can get ahead. We need a computer scheduling system, and I've noticed a few areas that need attention— "

  "Yes, yes. Well... that's hardly the business or responsibility of the Mayor's office, is it? That's all in the cost of running your business."

  "But sir— "

  "What language do I have to speak to get you to understand, Mr. Cavanaugh?" The mayor's face had turned dark, a scowl making already unseemly, pug-like features appear even more so. "You aren't getting any money. You can wipe your ass with that agreement. That's about what it's worth. That or throw it in a fire as kindling."

  He lumbered toward the door and pulled it open wider, as if ushering me out. "If you paid for parking, Earline will see to it that you're validated. I have a meeting in a few minutes, so..." He waved a pudgy hand toward the open doorway.

  I slowly stood, heavy realization coming to me. I'd been scammed, basically. The Mayor never had any intention on paying out that money. It was a ruse to get people to open businesses in Potter Lake, to pay business and property and city tax, to line his pockets.

  "So... just like I figured," said TC, "and just like I've been telling you, there’s no money coming."

  "Yeah, T... just like you said, there's no money coming. You want a cookie for being right?"

  "You want to get off my back, just because you're embarrassed about believing the words that came out of that man's mouth?"

  "T... KC... chill." Monica piped up from the corner of the table, shushing us like we were squabbling children.

  For most of our lives, TC and I bickered like cats and dogs. Our parents never understood why we didn't have that bond, that sibling understanding, that best-friendship that twins are supposed to have.

  They didn't get it. We did have that bond. We just had a funny way of showing it.

  TC and I were best friends from the moment we were born. TC knew me better than anyone, which was aggravating, because she was always telling me about myself. She was always my right hand, always right next to me. If I got in trouble for something, it was likely that TC was there too, getting the same punishment. We kept each other on the honor roll. She ran drills with me for practice and came to all my games.

  But when it came time for us to choose colleges, I wanted TC to go and do something on her own. I wouldn't let her lose her spot at SMU just to follow me to Healy; nor would I let her drop out of college to follow me around the country playing basketball. But TC couldn't stay away and as soon as she'd graduated, she started traveling with me. She helped me with my schedule, getting me on a bus or a plane or to a doctor's appointment. She managed my life.

  I never asked her to move to Healy after I left the NBA— she just showed up one day. She knew something was going down and that she needed to be here. And she was here, managing my shop, being my right hand. Getting on my damn nerves.

  "Look, y'all. I'm just not in the mood to rehash how much I've messed this up. That's rolling on repeat in my head right now."

  "You haven't messed anything up," Kendrick argued. The waitress stopped to drop off the beer I'd ordered. He slid it across the table to me. "You own a co-ed salon— a successful co-ed salon, I might add. Said salon is full of people every day, at least on the men's side. With the women's side, we have some goals to meet, but we're already under our competition's skin, so we must be doing something right."

  The mention of Leslie sent my mind down a path I'd been trying not to let it wander to. I'd been tempted to ride by the Curl & Dye to check out that busted pipe, but that would be the most thinly veiled reason imaginable just to see her again. She so obviously wanted nothing to do with me and I didn't want to suffer the wrath of Tamera so soon again either.

  "Think about it, KC," said Monica. "You used your savings, not a loan, so you're not in debt. The area the shop is in is growing like a field of weeds. I heard there's a convenience store going up around the corner. You're in a great place to grow. And don't worry about that little old beauty shop on the other side of the lake. There's a reason the Mayor said all those places were already closed."

  "All those old school, yesteryear types of places?" TC sucked her teeth, then reached for a glass of ice water, gulping down a few swallows. "Why would I drive across the lake to go to some old timey hardware store when we have a brand new Landry’s down the street? I guess I understand being sentimental, and I'm sure Leslie's nice... but I don't see how they think they're going to stay afloat, not with this side of the lake booming like it is."

  "I just thought of something." I sat up, angling myself so I could see Kendrick, Monica and TC. "The same deal that the Mayor struck with me is the same deal he must have struck with everybody. So all of us new business owners are sitting around, waiting for money that isn't coming. He told me today that I could wipe my ass the agreement he signed; it wasn't worth the paper it was printed on. He's getting away with a crooked deal and killing half of this town to do it. And that's really getting under my skin."

  Kendrick chuckled, shaking his head. "He's walking around town like 'who gon' check me'? But really, who's gonna check him, though? He's an elected official. How do you remove someone this town elected to office?"

  "By... not re-electing him?" TC offered, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.

  "Quincy Adams has been Mayor of Potter Lake for..." Monica shook her head, her eyes wide as she tried to calculate the years. "A long time. No one has ever opposed him. And I don't think anyone will."

  "Got to be something we can do. Can the City Council reprimand him?"

  "They haven't so far. Don't know if they'd be willing to. They meet every other Tuesday over at the recreation center. Maybe you should drop into a meeting."

  I stroked my goatee, pulling at the softly graying hairs. In my early thirties, I was already dying my grays. "Might be the move. Either they don't know what he's doing or they haven't been made aware of how widespread his scam has run."

  "Or they don't care," Monica added.

  “We all need to band together and go to that meeting and demand some kind of change or justice or..." TC shook her head and tossed her hands up in a helpless gesture. "Something. Let's do something instead of sulking and mumbling about it."

  "Yeah," I agreed with a nod and a tug of my goatee. "But I'm thinking. There's us new kids on the block. But what about the other side of the lake—”

  "Why are you so obsessed with those old people?" asked Monica, laughing. Her dessert had arrived and she was happily spooning ice cream into her mouth.

  "Because it's not just old people. I drove around for a few minutes over there last weekend. Outside of Leslie's shop, there's plenty of doors still open, lights still on, businesses hanging in there. There's a seedy little bar over there— parking lot was full. The bowling alley was poppin'. An ice cream shop had a line out to the street. But let Mayor Adams tell it, there's nobody over there and everything's closed. Like I said... he's killing half of this town. On purpose."

  "So you think those people, the old ones and the young ones are going to step up to the city council and complain about him?"

  "Why not? They see what's going on, don't they? They feel their livelihoods, their businesses slipping through their fingers with every new foundation that gets poured. With every new business that goes up over here, another one over there fails."

  "Okay, but M
ayor Adams is an institution. And they probably hate everyone over on this side of the lake. How are you going to get their attention? How are we going to bring everyone together?"

  An idea was rolling around in my mind, taking form and snowballing, the more I thought about it. “We have a common enemy. And I have an idea."

  Chapter Seven

  Leslie

  * * *

  My car rolled to a stop in my usual spot in the gravel driveway, next to Daddy's work truck, Mama's sedan and Pop's pickup. We'd had a good day, but business fell off early and I made the executive decision to close up. It was rare that I got to sit at the kitchen table with my family on a weeknight and eat dinner while it was hot.

  I crunched my way across the driveway to the screened-in front porch. Back when Grandy and Pops first moved into the house, the porch was where you could find them both, rain or shine, side by side in their respective chairs. Now it was just Pops in his chair, still dressed in his motor-oil stained overalls, an unlit cigar hanging out of his mouth and staring into the air. He had the newspaper open in his lap but he wasn't reading it.

  "Pops? You alright? Is your sugar low?"

  He grunted, startled, his shoulders bouncing with the mild jerk. The newspaper slipped from his lap to the worn wooden boards. He bent to pick up the pages, then pulled the cigar from the corner of his mouth.

  "I swear my hearing is goin' out. Didn't even hear you pull up. I'm aight." He tapped the chair next to him, gesturing me to sit. "You home early today."

  "No sense in four of us standing around waiting for someone to come in."

  His head bobbed in a nod of understanding. He and my father ran Hill Automotive, an auto towing and repair shop that had seen a sharp downturn in the last year, just like me. A chain auto repair shop had opened across the lake and since then, business was still limping along, but nowhere near where it had been.

  "I heard you and that young man with the new salon had words. ‘Bout time somebody said something to him."

  I reared back, eyeing my grandfather, though I shouldn't have been surprised. If I sneezed on Main Street, people in the furthermost corner of Potter Lake heard about it an hour later. It was my least favorite part of living in a small town and why I had avoided talking to KC for so long. I knew it would get around and I didn't have a single desire to explain my actions.

  "Who you hear that from?"

  He shrugged and popped the cigar back into his mouth, bringing the pages of the newspaper close to his face so he could see the small typeset. "I hear things, 'round town and such. Care to unload on an old man? I fancy myself a... whatchacallit? Armchair podiatrist?"

  I giggled, dropping my bag between my feet. I wasn't entirely sure that Pops knew that KC and I had history. He wasn't a secret, but I didn't talk about him much. At first because I didn't think the feelings I had for him were mutual. And later because I was embarrassed that they weren't. I didn't know if Pops was asking if we had talked or if we had... talked. There was a difference.

  "You know I knew him in college, right?" Pops nodded. "Well, we didn't part on good terms, so I had been avoiding seeing him. I was forced into it the other night, and it wasn't a friendly conversation. I told him what I thought of him moving back here to open up a business that was killing mine. I don't know what I expected him to say to that, but it felt good, finally saying it."

  "What did he say to that?"

  I snorted. "He said I wasn't competition. That he didn't open his shop to kill mine so if it happened, it wasn't his fault."

  "Mmhmmm." Pops mused, chewing on his cigar. Then said, "Sound like you want him to make things right, apologize for all of this you goin’ through right now."

  "That's not what I wanted at all, Pops."

  "You sure?" He leaned over toward me, his eyebrows raised practically to his hairline, those beady browns trained on me.

  "I just want him to play fair, you know? Because it’s me... not just some random out there, but... me."

  "I guess that's a sign of the new times in Potter Lake. Personal relationship means less and less."

  "And there's less personal relationship. I know everybody over here. Over there?" I angled my head in the direction of the lake that separated the two sides of town. "I don't know those people. Might as well be a whole another city. And I don't care about them either."

  "Still, the boy sounds awful cocky, like his business can't fall in a hot second."

  "He kind of has a right to be, though. He does a lot of business."

  "Bet he don't do it as well as you do."

  "He doesn't. But he's shiny and new and cheap. People like cheap."

  Pops grunted, shaking his head. "People think they like cheap. Cheap don't last. Thinking about that pipe we fixed in the shop. Cheap was good, right nice until the pipe busted again. You hang in there. People don't really like cheap as much as they think they do. They'll be back to quality soon enough."

  I wanted to grab onto those words and hang on to dear life. I just didn't know if I could afford to attach myself to such an idealistic life raft.

  "I need to put this business degree to work, though; think of ways I can keep my shop open. Not just for me, but for this town. It's the principle of the thing, you know? You can't erase history with a coat of paint and big ol' sign out front."

  "That's true. Same for Hill Automotive. Been around for damn near thirty years. Hate to see it fall to some franchise Midas over there. That nursing home bill is going to keep coming." Pops paused, staring into the air, again. "At least for a little while. Got to be able to keep paying it."

  "Pops, you know we can all help to pay that bill."

  "I already told you, that bill is my responsibility—”

  "And I already told you that we are family and we help each other out. You been over to see Grandy today?"

  He gave me nod, his lips pursed. A few days a week, he carted his brown bag to Primrose and had lunch with her. More like eat lunch and talk while her eyes stayed fixed to the TV or some object in the distance. Occasionally her eyes would move, especially if it was early morning and she was fresh enough to recognize your face or the sound of your voice.

  "She’s comfortable. That's what I'm concerned with. Long as she stays that way."

  The one welcome change that Mayor Adams had made to Potter Lake was the Primose Assisted Living facility that had opened two years ago. With the residents of the town getting older or sicker, it was a small comfort to have a local facility to care for them without having to move them to some impersonal old folk’s home in Healy.

  "What's for dinner?" I asked, changing the subject. Pops didn't like to talk too much about Grandy. If she was comfortable, he was content. And as long as Pops was content, the rest of us followed suit.

  "I don't know what Lee got cookin' in there. Probably something it's too hot to be eating."

  As if her ears were burning, the front door swung open and Mama tipped her head out. "Oh, Leslie, I didn't know you was here. I had to come out here and see who your grandfather was talking to. Thought he'd started talking to himself and we'd have to get a double room at the home."

  "I ain't gone crazy yet."

  "Yet being the important word. Anyway, come on in here. It's never too hot for my meatloaf. Acting like you're not gonna scarf down two servings.”

  I grabbed my bag, then offered a hand to help Pops stand. His knees weren't what they used to be. I followed the rich, heavy scent of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans to the kitchen, where my dad was already seated at the head of the table, punching into his phone with the tip of his thumb.

  "Hi, Daddy," I greeted him, bending to drop a kiss on his cheek. He was a hardy man, with dark walnut skin, callouses on his hands and dark deposits of oil under his nails. He, too still wore stained overalls. The sleeves were rolled above the elbow and the first three buttons were undone, revealing a grimy t-shirt underneath.

  He glanced up and flashed his signature, ready smile at me. "You'r
e home for dinner. Now your Mama doesn't have to remind me leave enough for you to eat."

  He winked, then went back to his phone. "Pops, look here. We're gonna have to eat and run. Somebody's looking for a tow over near the Junction."

  The Junction was the railroad tracks on the very edge of town. Way back in Potter Lake's history, the town had been a stop for the railroad, delivering goods and passengers about once a month or so. Since Healy had FedEx, UPS and the like and could just drive a truck to town, the Junction didn't see much action. But what with all the building on the other side of the lake, the railroad had been making more stops lately, bringing lumber and supplies.

  "Who needs a tow from over there?" He asked, watching my mother load up a plate with a thick slice of meatloaf, an extra dollop of mashed potatoes and gravy and two spoonfuls of green beans with onions. Pops had always been tall and lanky but ate like a horse. Two horses, some days.

  "Probably one of those workers building something over there that don't know about that patch of mud alongside the tracks. I pull somebody out of there once a week at least."

  "Shouldn't y'all head over there now?" Mama asked. "Dinner will keep."

  "Where they goin'? They can wait until I've had my wife's famous meatloaf."

  I made a plate for myself and ate while listening to my father and grandfather chat about the ins and outs of towing and auto repair like they didn't work together all day and live in the same house.

  "Leslie, you're awful quiet tonight," said Mama. "I forgot you was even here for dinner."

  "She been letting that other salon get under her skin," Pops interjected, his fork full of his next bite. "I told her to hold on. Things will be right again."

  I pushed my half eaten plate away. "I don't know, Pops. I really want to believe that. I can't help but think some of the blame sits on the Mayor's shoulders for this. He's pitting competition directly against us—”