Absentmindedly rubbing at the red mark her hairnet had left on her forehead, Aunt Lila stood gazing out the kitchen window. She needed to come up with a showstopper for the big hair styling contest being held in Charleston, the state capital, the following week. We watched as Buttermilk, my scruffy orange tomcat, dodged a pair of blue jays that dived at him, protecting the nest they’d built in the cherry tree. All of a sudden she clapped her hands together, stirring up a whiff of the Lucky Strikes she tried to hide with dabs of Evening in Paris secreted in her purse along with a slim black cigarette holder.
With a perfectly manicured hand she reached for a cup and saucer and poured the last of the coffee that was keeping hot on the stove, waiting for the grounds to settle before taking her first disappointing sip.
“This stuff could choke a horse.” She made a sourpuss face as she glanced at me.
Hunched over the kitchen table, she started to sketch, but I couldn’t see. I begged, but she wouldn’t even let me peek.
Aunt Lila didn’t drive, so Mother was taking her to pick up my brother’s girlfriend, Rayjeana, who would be Aunt Lila’s model for the contest.
Rayjeana got in the backseat with me, hair the color of honey hanging halfway down her back. I noticed her eyes were robin’s egg blue. While I watched, she squeezed a little Vaseline on her finger and flicked her lashes with it. She told me not to tell about the Vaseline, and I wouldn’t. Well, nobody but Sissy. After all, she was my best friend and we told each other everything.
Or maybe I’d simply slick the Vaseline on my eyelashes and wait for Sissy to notice. Lately I’d been thinking I wanted to grow up to look like Rayjeana instead of Lana Turner, but the spattering of rusty freckles across my nose gave me cause to worry.
I snuck an admiring glance at Rayjeana’s unspattered summer nose.
Aunt Lila led Rayjeana into the sitting room off our downstairs bedroom. She’d set up shop there, littering the room with shoeboxes overflowing with brushes and metal clamps and bobby pins. After a couple of hours, she hollered for us to come see. Mother walked in first and gasped. Grandma said, “Oh my word.” Vonnie, just ahead of me, stopped so sudden I bumped into her. I stood on my tiptoes so I could see over her shoulder.
Rayjeana sat with her back to us, facing a big oval mirror borrowed from the mahogany dresser in the spare bedroom. When I saw her reflected back at me, I had no doubt.
Aunt Lila’s hairdo was bound to call attention.
We got up early on the day of the contest and started driving the sixty or so miles to Charleston, little more than a two-hour trip if the weather and our luck held out. The weather was fine, but before we got halfway, one of the back tires started making a thumpity-thump sound. Mother eased into a Gulf station that advertised “MECHANIC ON DUTY—DAY & NITE.”
“I knew I should have checked about that tire,” Mother said to herself.
“Then why on earth didn’t you?” Aunt Lila asked. “You know I can’t be late.”
“Maybe I have better things to do than keep this car running to cart you around.”
“Hogwash,” Aunt Lila said. “If you did, you’d be doing them.”
A man ambled out, adjusting a dirty sling on his arm as he eyed our sorry-looking tire. “Mechanic ain’t showed up. Off hunting’s my guess.”
Mother looked over at the sign, then back at the man.
“Yes ma’am, I know what it says. But it don’t mean diddly to that boy during squirrel season.”
Without another word Mother pulled the jack from the trunk and positioned it so the weight wouldn’t bend the frame. She jacked the car up until the wheels cleared the ground, loosened the lug nuts with a wrench as long as her forearm, and wrestled the faulty tire off, replacing it with the spare, which didn’t look all that much better but would have to do. She placed the jack back in the trunk and threw the old blanket she’d used to protect her nice skirt and blouse over it. It wasn’t new, but it was one of her favorite outfits, a jade-green skirt with a soft ivory blouse printed with ivy leaves. Green was the color she looked best in—everybody said so.
“Y’all go on to the restroom so we don’t have to stop again,” she told us, “but don’t be dawdling around in there.”
Vonnie went in while I waited outside. There was a big old horsefly buzzing around when it was my turn. After shooing him out, I put the seat down and spread layers of toilet paper on it to keep from sitting on the wood, although I still just crouched over it. The seat sprung right up again and smacked my bottom, layers of toilet paper drifting onto the floor. I yanked my underpants up and pulled my dress down, my slip still bunched around my waist. The soap container was empty, but I didn’t care—filling station soap always smelled like tar anyway. I ran my hands under the spigot, not even singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” to make sure I’d washed long enough. I cranked the cloth-towel roll on the wall looking for a reasonably clean place to use. Giving up, I dried my hands on my dress.
“You notice anything in there?” Vonnie asked.
“You mean that big old fly?” I was a little peeved she hadn’t warned me about the toilet seat, not that I would have warned her, but still, a big sister had an obligation. Grandma said so.
“No, dummy, that toilet seat!”
“Oh, I’ve seen those before over at the Black Knight Country Club,” I lied.
I’d forgotten to cross my fingers, so I had to count that as a real lie.
Vonnie looked suspicious, but since it was half true, she couldn’t be sure I was lying.
