Chapter 62 Georgia
Georgia
When Junie comes home later that afternoon and tells me about the surprise visit from the licensing board, she laughs. I want
to laugh. Some small part of me tries. But all I feel is fury, deep and buzzing inside.
We stand together in the Clementine kitchen as she recounts it one line at a time.
“So I just totally played it up, even put on my feeble old lady voice I usually reserve for Eddie,” Junie says, looking like
she’s about to slap her knee. “The guy was such a softie. He didn’t even make us let him inside. Bless him, we could’ve had
all six chairs lined up with clients mid-cut, and he would’ve been none the wiser.”
“Well, it’s good he left, but have you stopped to ask yourself how he got there?” I ask.
Junie sighs and throws up her hands, like it’s water under the bridge. “Who cares? Probably Misty, but he took off and he
won’t be back.”
“Probably Misty? No, definitely Misty. How are you not upset about that?”
Junie reaches over and pops open her candy jar. “Maybe it’s being horribly sick or the fact that we’ve got real problems, but I’m zen on this.”
“You don’t care?”
“Of course I care, but I’m not about to waste my energy on Misty.”
If I were in my right mind, in any sort of good space, I would applaud Junie for her maturity. For being the bigger person.
But not today.
“I’m going over there,” I announce, then cross into the living room and gather my things.
“Georgia, you’re in pajamas,” Junie calls out behind me. “Let’s think this through.”
I snatch my keys off the counter, the ones for the fancy car, and I hold my phone in the other one. “Celebrities do it, so
why can’t I?”
“When did you last wash your hair?” Junie says, trailing my march to the door.
“Recently? I don’t know. I don’t really care.” I push out of the door and skip down the steps.
When I reach the car, I dust some pollen and tree dander from it before yanking open the door.
Junie stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”
“Do I look like someone who is going to do something stupid?” I don’t give her time to reply and tell me yes before I slide
in, shut the door, and start the car.
I’m not willing to admit it to her, or to myself, but I’m absolutely someone who might do something stupid right now. Perhaps
not only might do but am likely to do.
I know exactly where Misty’s house is because it’s the only McMansion in town—thanks to her divorce settlement with her surgeon
ex-husband. It’s gaudy and too much. But people like her won’t ever feel like they have enough. Not until they take enough
from others just to feel like they’ve got an upper hand on all fronts.
The drive takes ten minutes, and I turn into the driveway and park. I march up to the miniature castle, not an ounce of my gusto lost on the short drive. I knock. I don’t even wait a reasonable amount of time before I knock again. And again.
Eventually a flustered Misty arrives behind the cut glass windows that dominate her double door entrance. She yanks one of
the doors open. “Georgia.” Her words carry a hint of disgust. “What are you doing here?”
“You called the licensing board on us is why I’m here,” I announce. “How dare you.”
Misty crosses her arms over her chest as she levels a sneer at me. “You vandalized my mama’s new salon. The cute one across
town.”
My eyes must pop wide in disbelief. “Your mom opened All-Star Cuts?” I scour my mind for a memory of who her mother is. All-Star hates us, and so does Misty, but she’s
so high glam, my mind struggles to connect her at all with a family-friendly franchise.
“Sure did. All my mama is doing is opening up a small business of her own, and you and your Louise cronies try to bully her
out of business.”
I scoff. “Hardly. She—or her cronies—sent us a client she knew had lice.”
“And why do you think she did that?”
I throw out my arms. “To start a haircare feud? That’s the only rationale I have, so you let me in on whatever else there
is.”
Misty tuts and rolls her eyes. “You’re a liar if you tell me you don’t know about the beef between your mom and mine.”
I swallow, my anger faltering momentarily. “Misty, my mama died when I was thirteen years old. Apologies, but I didn’t exactly
spend my last moments with her asking for an annotated list of her sworn enemies.” I feel freshly shaky and watery at the
memory of Mama, of yet another revelation of something bad. “It’s been one thing after another these days, so you might as
well lay it on me.”
Suddenly I wish I’d changed out of these ratty pajamas that don’t smell to me but likely only because I smell the same way. I wish I’d brushed out my hair, tossed it up in a clip at minimum.
Misty uncrosses her arms. “Your mama was a bully, just like y’all. She treated mine awful. Ask your aunts for the details.”
She grips the edge of her door, halfway to closing it. “So if that’s all, I’ve got a smoothie to blend.”
She shuts the door without a response from me.
I turn around and head for my car. I don’t necessarily believe Misty; she’s far from a reputable source, and especially so
as she seems out to get anyone with a minor vulnerability. But the way she looked when she said those things, I could tell
she believed it. From what she’s been told, she’s learned to hate our mama, June Louise, the woman whose personality has become
more of a deity among us with her death. A woman whose word is as good as religious doctrine to us. A woman whose wishes directed
me to a place where I’ve twisted myself into something unrecognizable, a shape that hurts, just to follow her will. Because
of Mama’s wishes, Junie has run the shop, something she likes but probably doesn’t adore in the way she does other fanciful
things like her garden. Because of their sister, the aunts have guarded us and tended us, putting us ahead of themselves.
Tina, keeping that wig wall that sat unused for decades.
But maybe Mama was also human, and maybe there’s a kernel of truth in what Misty said.
The higher ground always seems to become slippery under Louise feet.
I hit the road and head for Cece’s house.