Chapter 12 Junie
Junie
Junie beams up at Georgia standing there looking like an eager schoolteacher, like she’s a savior they could very much use.
“Well, naturally, there’s Cards,” Junie says.
“Perfect,” Georgia says as she scribbles a bullet point and jots the word next to it.
“Cards” is a longtime tradition at June’s wherein the beauty shop is converted to an after-hours gambling den. Mama ran the
card tables during her tenure, and she told stories about her mother, another June, before her doing the same. The women set
out tables, invite folks who like to play cards with a wager, and let it rip. Each table is a different buy-in, anything from
a dollar to a couple hundred, depending on who shows up. The nights are rowdy and fun and soaked in bourbon and anything else
with an ABV.
Tina flushes a little and takes a sip of wine. “Well, let’s be careful on that one. I don’t want our little under-the-table
business here to affect your beautiful life in Atlanta, Miss Peach.”
“Don’t you worry,” Georgia says, flashing a smile at her aunt. “I’d trade it all to keep this place safe.”
Georgia’s response is lovely and unexpected. She’s probably laying it on to soothe Tina’s nerves. Georgia has always been formidable like that, agile in the face of trouble.
Cece tuts at Georgia’s back as she writes on the wall. It isn’t Georgia’s fault that Mama set her up for the life she’s got,
yet somehow Cece’s sour about the fact that Georgia’s different from the other Louise women. Like it affects her somehow.
Despite all the times Georgia has left her own important work to help the family. She has never once tried to act like she’s
outgrown the rest of the family. Even if, in her heart, Junie knows she has.
Cece looks right at her and says, “I can play your hands at Cards. If you want my help.”
Cece is a card shark if ever these parts saw one, and her offer is a generous one. Folks hate it when she sits at their card
table because she wins, and she’s financed more than one Caribbean cruise with her cash prizes. The woman has albums full
of vacation snaps of her wearing Hawaiian shirts. Truly, Junie never believed it until she saw it with her own two eyes.
“You know, I think I have an idea,” Tina says. “Y’all remember Kimmy from high school? She’s constantly messaging me on Facebook
about ‘business opportunities at home.’ I guess she sells some kind of oils that can help with ailments or moods or something.
Never have given it more than a second thought, seeing as I’m already fully booked at the shop.”
Even if Kimmy is certain they could be Boss Babe Mamas, Junie isn’t one bit sold.
Georgia’s face looks like Junie’s insides feel. “We can call it a maybe.”
“Heck no!” Cece hollers from the plastic tub stack where she’s cracked open the bourbon. “Oils? Snake oil, more like.”
“Ok, fine then, what about flipping a house?” Tina says. “You know I love those house shows, and it’d kinda be related since
we want the money for a renovation. Have y’all seen the latest one, Holy City Flip in Charleston? The hubby is also a total hunk, which doesn’t hurt.”
Flipping a house. It’s perhaps more ludicrous than getting on the snake oil train. The pressure in Junie’s veins rises.
“Let’s keep ’em coming, ladies,” Georgia says.
Junie doesn’t miss the way Georgia tips up her drink as if to propel her along. She must be as disturbed as Junie.
“Lotto,” Cece says.
Everyone nods. Georgia writes.
“A loan.” Cece says this one more like a question. “I know someone at the auto shop . . .”
“Like, an individual guy?” Junie asks. “What about an actual business loan instead?”
“With my guy you can’t ask too many questions about it,” Cece admits. “And you have to pay on time.”
It sounds like a broken-thumbs-and-baseball-bats-for-a-missed-payment kind of arrangement.
“I don’t know about that,” Tina says. “Doesn’t sound aboveboard.”
“And a pop-up casino is?” Cece replies.
Georgia doesn’t write the loan sharking idea, and no one pushes it. “I’ll save y’all the heartache of trying for a business
loan,” Georgia says. “If there’s nothing in the bank and this asset is everything we’re putting up”—they collectively take
in the shop’s interior—“I think our chances are slim for qualifying without getting other assets or a cosigner involved, and
I’m drawing the line on that.”
Junie knows what her sister is thinking about.
Who, really. Their father and his beautiful family home with a gorgeous view of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
It’s not a big home, but it comes with land.
The family was approached by a developer once, making an offer with a plan to raze the house and build a community of tiny houses rented to weekenders from the city.
Their father declined the offer, claiming he was simply too comfortable to uproot himself, but the Louise women suspect the house is his last physical tie to June.
Much as the shop is theirs. Not a one of them would risk him losing the home.
“Georgia’s right,” Junie says. “We don’t need more wheeling and dealing—we need cash.”
They go back and forth, spitballing ideas, poking holes in the ones that make it to the wall. Junie has to admit she sort
of loves it, the company of them, being part of the huddle. Georgia here, right where she belongs, in the middle of the Louises. Her absence is the only thing about this place that has never made
sense.
Junie’s phone dings in her pocket, the email alert, and she pulls it out. Usually she keeps her phone on vibrate and rarely
checks email, but she’s waiting for some test results, the genetic testing from years back that she really didn’t want to
revisit but her doctor strongly suggested she dig up. Probably the company doesn’t send out reports on Saturdays, but Junie
has been surprised before so she looks anyway.
There is a list of emails, a couple of sale ads from her favorite retailers, a notification that the auto-delivery of Puds’s
dog food is on the way, and a forwarded chain email from her dad (~*Forward This to Seven Friends or Risk Thirteen Years of Bad Luck*~). God bless him. He really needs a good friend to assure him he’ll be alright to send those directly to the junk folder. Also, thanks a lot,
Dad, for redirecting the promise of bad luck to your offspring.
Cece’s laughter booms across the salon, pulling Junie out of her inbox and back into the moment. Georgia is bent over holding
her stomach.
“Stop, stop,” she says. “You’re going to make me pee my pants.”
Even Tina laughs.
Junie locks her phone screen and tucks it back into her pocket. “What?” she asks. “What did I miss?”
Cece tips her cup up to finish the last drop and grins. “Georgia’s got all kinds of crazy ideas keeping us laughing.”
Junie’s eyes dart to the list and the latest additions. Become internet influencers.
“Cece as an influencer? Are they allowed to curse out their followers?” Junie asks and joins in the laughter.
“Hey now,” Georgia replies through gasped breaths, “anyone can do it these days. Folks from all different walks of life!”
“I’ll tell y’all I’d rather sell nudes of myself than have to try my hand at internet influencing. Heck, I can barely work
the camera facing outward!” Cece, unbelievably, seems to be enjoying herself.
Junie stands and grabs the wine bottle and refills the cups in the circle. She’s laughing harder than she has in years. And
it’s not lost on her that she’s standing in the middle of a scene she’s longed for: all of them together, at June’s. She’s
wondered if June’s would bring them back together, and in some roundabout way, maybe that’s happening right now. Or maybe
it’s a gift from the universe, considering Junie’s situation, her wish made true.
The women drink and chat, and the edges of things grow fuzzy as the bottle grows light.
Soon enough, they have a solid starter list.
Getting Back to Good Hair Days
Cards
“Oils” (hard maybe—likely pyramid scheme)
Flip a house (requires money and expertise no one has)
Lotto
Enter contests (trivia, puzzles, etc.)
Put ad stickers on our cars (note: everyone will start asking questions)
Complete surveys for payment
Sell nudes (Mama would reincarnate herself for the sole purpose of ending us all)
Become internet influencers
Inside, Junie is bubbly and thrilled in the best kind of woozy way.
This whole thing is supposed to be a small disaster, but what she’s feeling is anything but.
It’s the most at home she’s felt, the most complete, since Mama died.
Not that she has felt adrift or ailed in the meantime, but she has been feeling like something is missing.
Amid the fun and joy she ekes from her regular days, there are little cracks that could be filled.
Not ones that require it, not ones that pose a risk to the rest of her, but simply thin spaces for something else. Fissures suggesting room for more.
Maybe it’s having Georgia here. Or maybe it’s the power of the four of them being together, but she can’t shake the feeling
of how the shop seems to fade in the face of this moment. All the women, all the fun, all the love that lives inside and around
it.
Call her crazy (and admittedly, she’s had more than enough to drink), but Junie would rather their financial woes continue
forever if she gets to keep this feeling.
“Another drink, y’all?” Cece asks.