The shop consisted of three small rooms. Her favorite was the glue room, where furniture was put together. Mr. Vic would heat up a small pot of glue on a gas burner. Once it was liquefied, he’d brush it on the joints and clamp them into a vise. There was a downside to working with hot glue though. You’d better have the two pieces of wood lined up correctly because the glue dried fast, and there was no opportunity for adjustments.
After her walk, Lucy returned to her room while the ladies downstairs prepared for early hair appointments. Lucy took a shoe box from under her bed and removed the cover. Inside was a stick doll Lucy had created based on one she’d seen in the window of a novelty shop. At first, she’d made it for fun, but she now realized why her subconscious mind had drawn her to make such a thing.
One night in Mr. Vic’s workshop, she’d taken a small stick of cedar from the trash, heated up the glue, and attached a head made of white cloth stuffed with cedar chips. She painted an angry face on it and created a body of cotton glued to the stick with a piece of burlap layered on top. The doll was complete, but unlike those found in voodoo shops, Lucy now decided hers needed hair—human hair.
Putting pieces of her hair-clipping collection against the head of the doll, she settled on the right color.
“Yes, this will work,” she said as she arranged the black hair from Gabby’s last haircut on the doll’s head. Lucy didn’t believe in voodoo dolls, but if it helped pull the scam off successfully for five grand, she’d give it a try.
The day continued without anyone mentioning Vivien’s swollen, black and blue face. The word was she’d tripped and smacked her face into a doorframe on the way down to the floor.
Lucy was taking a break and sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the afternoon coffee to stop brewing, something she did every afternoon.
Then it happened. The front door opened, and Gabby’s voice echoed as she walked in. “I’ll have a Johnnie Walker on the rocks. Light ice,” she said, as if giving an order to a bartender.
That was Lucy’s cue to fetch Ms. Homewrecker a drink. Using a lookalike crystal cocktail glass, she presented Gabby her cocktail on a tray. Clutching the tumbler without a thank you, Gabby knocked back the scotch and placed the empty back on the tray.
“I’ll have another.”
The shampoo lady washed Gabby’s jet-black hair and touched up some reddish-brown roots that were showing. Vivien was at the bank, much like every morning, which allowed Lucy to execute her plan. She had a five-minute window before Gabby’s hair would have to be rinsed.
“Come, follow me,” Lucy said, handing Gabby another drink. Lucy directed her to a chair at Vivien’s table behind the bead drape. “I’ll give you a free reading.” Gabby smiled and followed.
Lucy took Gabby’s hands from across the table. “I feel you’re in a deep place,” Lucy said.
Gabby rolled her eyes with a slight snicker, then said, “Go on.”
“Your husband. He’s cheating,” Lucy said, looking down at the table.
Gabby raised her eyebrows and crossed her legs. “A husband? What a surprise.”
Lucy quickly retracted. “I’m sorry, not your husband, your man friend.” She’d watched Vivien many times misdirect people; it made the entire reading more believable. Her heart pounding, Lucy hit Gabby with, “The one you meet on… Saturday nights. No, Fridays.”
Gabby pulled her hands away. Blinking her eyes rapidly and biting her bottom lip, she raised her glass and knocked back the rest of her Johnnie Walker. “I’m going to need another cocktail.” Lucy was prepared and already had the bottle and a bucket of ice ready. Pushing another glass of scotch to her, Lucy pulled Gabby’s free hand across the table.
“Your Friday night friend has another girl. In fact, two. One has given him a gift,” Lucy said, pulling out the stick doll she’d planted under the table earlier. “A gift that sent him to a clinic. He refuses to follow doctor’s orders.”
Gabby’s eyes widened; she was now all ears. Gulping down another drink, she studied Lucy’s deliberately unexpressive face. “What do you mean ‘follow doctor’s orders’?”
Picking up Vivien’s deck of tarot cards, Lucy shuffled them, then ask Gabby to pick a card. It didn’t matter which one Gabby picked; she couldn’t read tarot cards, and neither could Lucy.
“Interesting,” Lucy said upon seeing the card. “Pick two more.”
Gabby did and looked at the first one, then slowly turned the card toward Lucy. “What does this mean?”
Reading Gabby was like playing poker, and Lucy’d had a few encounters with that game, too. It didn’t matter what your cards were; you just needed to keep your expression from showing your hand. Gabby’s hand was written all over her face.
“This is over. I’m not going to read the last card,” Lucy said.
“What?” Gabby’s face whitened, and she clutched the edge of the table.
Handing Gabby the stick doll, Lucy said, “Keep this in your possession at all times. At home, work, shopping. At the end of ten days, burn the doll, and the voodoo curse will expel from your body. Then, and only then, will the sexual medical curse bestowed upon you by the carelessness of a man begin healing.” Gabby without question took the stick doll and placed it in her purse.
A buzzer went off. It was time for Gabby to rinse her hair. Wanda took her by the hand and started the process. While Wanda styled Gabby’s hair, Gabby shifted around in her seat. Then rubbed her inner thigh. Once, then again. That’s when Lucy knew she’d won the battle. Gabby was feeling the symptoms of the make-believe disease.
When Wanda was done with Gabby’s hair, Lucy stood in front of Gabby with both hands on the chair and looked her in the
