Stay Tuned

Chapter 6

Truth be told, when it came to wardrobe emergencies, I did have a secret weapon. My best friend.
    
In the midst of a very rare fashion dilemma or a random makeup meltdown, my daughter would always say, “Call Candace.” And she was right.
    
About twice a year, I’d panic before a big WSGA event or Macon Financial’s annual holiday party. I’d freak out, speed-dial Candace, and ten minutes later she’d scream into the driveway on two wheels, fix me up, and dash out.
    
Candace Daughtry was nothing short of a miracle worker.
    
She owned a small, elegant downtown salon and made a name for herself by creating fantastic, flattering haircuts for anyone who walked through the doors. In no time, Candace was the most sought-after girl in Macon wielding scissors and a closet full of chemicals. Stylist Extraordinaire.
    
Candace hired the best stylists, manicurists, and makeup artists she could find. She didn’t have to advertise for help. The applications flew into her e-mail. Bookings stretched six months in advance. Cancellations were snapped up in minutes. Tips were outrageous. For years, Candace had the world, or at least the city’s wealthiest women, by the pocketbooks.
    
That is, until her twins arrived.
    
When Candace went on maternity leave, I think half of the city’s female population mourned. The other half skipped highlights and cuts until she came back—some in Macon’s higher social circles whispered that it was a silent way of going on strike.
    
Thank goodness she came back. There was talk of a riot.
    
Now, Candace worked two days a week, handled one wedding a month, and even an occasional special event. Her faithful clients still lined up like she was the reincarnation of a female Jim Morrison.
    
Read:
 
She loves her business, but loves her family more. Which meant her “big” news must have been really fabulous.
    
When I walked into the shop, Candace barely contained her excitement. Her huge jewel-blue eyes sparkled. “American Idol—not just last season—a whole line-up. Here. In Macon.”
    
“American Idol?” I pretended to clutch my heart and we both screamed a little.
    
“Yes!” Candace bobbed her head and started pacing, reciting names. “Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson, Crystal Bowersox, Siobhan Magnus—”
    
“Wow!” I reached out and gave my best friend a hug. “But, of course, they picked you!”
    
“It’s going to be so amazing!” Candace jumped around the salon, making her long, jet-black hair swing back and forth. “I can’t believe I get to meet them!” She stopped momentarily and smiled at me. “You want to come, right?”
    
“Really?”
    
“They’re giving me a dozen tickets and backstage passes. Of course you’re going to meet them!” She clapped her hands.
    
“When?”
    
“Five weeks. Only five weeks. Oh my gosh, that’s not much time.” Candace started to pace again. “You have to let me practice on you.”
    
“Now?” Impulsive? I’m definitely not. I hardly let Candace trim an inch past my shoulders. I’ve never allowed the first chunky highlight or trendy cut. And then there’s the fact that Candace goes a little wild when she really gets worked up. Last year, she dyed the tips of the twins’ pigtails pink for Valentine’s Day. Suffice to say her husband, Marcus, was not happy.
    
My hesitation didn’t deter Candace a bit. “Well, not now. But soon…”
    
“Um—”
    
“Come on, let’s get mani-pedis. It will help me think.” I snuck a peek at my ragged cuticles. I didn’t even want to look at my toes. She grabbed my elbow and led me next door.
    
The shop bell jingled as we walked in. The owner, a tall redhead, greeted Candace with kisses on both cheeks. “Hey y’all,” she said. “Welcome.”
    
We sat side-by-side, plunged our feet in the soak tubs, and water bubbled around our ankles. Four smiling women surrounded us, buffing, rubbing, and polishing. Heaven, pure heaven.
    
“You do realize,” I asked Candace, “that everyone thinks you just appear at these events like Tinkerbell and sprinkle pixie dust?”

“Oh, that’s just part of my charm.” She lowered her voice and tucked a loose strand of glossy black hair behind her ear. “Listen, there’s so much pressure to do a good job.” Her bright blue eyes flashed with concern as she whispered.
    
I thought back to when Kelly was little. My life was a juggling act with at least a half-dozen balls in the air all the time. And I didn’t have twins.
    
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “It gives me insomnia, lately. If I have to plan a big wedding or a show, I have to squeeze it in after the girls are asleep. Sometimes I’m up until three in the morning.”
“That’s some commitment.” I squeezed her hand. “That’s why everyone loves you!”
    
She surveyed her toes, coral pink, and gave a thumbs-up to the bold red shade I’d chosen.
    
“You’re dedicated, too.” Candace nudged me. “Though I’m not sure about the payoff.”
Did I need payoff? And if so, what kind? Life was on autopilot; the skies were smooth. No reason to cause turbulence, right?
    
“Remember Life Law Number One:
 
Do You Get It?” Candace wiggled in her chair to look at me. “Dr. Phil says, ‘Don’t spend your whole life working for what you don't want.’ Go for what you do want. Sometimes it takes risk, gets scary, but this is your life. Make sure it matters to you.”

“I like being behind the scenes.” I defended myself. “It’s easy. It’s comfortable.”

“But everyone else gets the credit,” she tossed back. “Whatever happened to getting out there? Taking chances. You used to talk about how you’d love to work at the Travel Channel—”

Before I could defend myself, Candace’s cell phone started to play Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” Her lips curved into a smile. It disappeared promptly after Marcus launched into some terrorized-husband-left-alone-with-the-kids rant. “Jaden and the kittens,” Candace mouthed with one hand over the phone. She stood, stretching her slender limbs, and walked to the door.

Hip cocked to one side, Candace managed to eek out comforting words between her husband’s gruff complaining. “Honey, you found Jaden. That’s all that matters.”
    
I caught phrases like, “clawed my arm,” “wandered away,” and something about finding Jaden “under the front porch.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to run,” she hung up, apologized, and waved over the shop owner. “Marcus needs help. I have to get there before he gives away the kittens.”
    
From experience, I knew the girls’ pets were safe no matter how much trouble they caused. Marcus threatened, but it was unlikely he’d actually haul away the fuzzy perpetrators.

“Y’all be good,” the owner said and gave Candace air kisses goodbye.

“Thanks darling,” Candace slid on her sunglasses. “You coming along, Mel?”
    
As we stepped into the thick, warm air outside, I couldn’t help but think about Marcus. He was the complete opposite of Chris. My husband managed quite nicely doing everything by himself. I’d love to have spouse who called and needed me to come home every once in a while.

“Marcus has a hard time handling Jaden. She’s such a free spirit.” Candace winked at me. “She has this absolute obsession with animals. It’s like the Pied Piper, only reversed.”

“Jaden follows them? Just wanders off?” A shudder went through my spine.

“She tries to wander off all the time,” Candace confirmed as we walked to our cars. “We have to keep an eye on her every second. I’m used to it, but it drives Marcus crazy. Meanwhile, Addie clings to my leg like Velcro.”
    
Candace stopped. “Have you ever heard of using those On Star things for kids? I need some kind of tracking device when Marcus is with them.” She frowned. “Nah, too radical.”

I wondered what Dr. Phil would say about ankle bracelets for children ala Martha Stewart. I decided not to mention it and hugged Candace instead. “Thanks for everything.”
 
Candace looped a tanned arm around my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek. “This was fun. We need to pamper ourselves more often.”

Bob Marley began singing again from her cell phone. Candace glanced down. “Marcus.” She slid into her seat and slammed the door shut behind her. “I’ll bet Chris will like your toes,” she added out the open window.
    
I waved as she drove off. The mention of Chris’s name made my heart flutter. Would he notice? I thought back to the last time we had actually touched, let alone made love. Three weeks? Two months? Way too long ago.
    
Maybe more pampering wouldn’t hurt. Inside my car, I searched my bag for some makeup. I dabbed a touch of color on my lips and gingerly stroked the mascara wand through my lashes. Natural, light. Nothing drastic. I checked my reflection.
     
Not bad. A little confidence boost.
    
It might even help when I had to face my mother.