Just then Ed the barber came in for a chili dog and sat down. Before Jimmy went over he said quietly, “I’m telling you, that girl is not for you. You can do better than that.”
Bobby felt like someone had just thrown cold water in his face. But Jimmy was right, of course. The rose-colored glasses started clearing up a little and he started noticing Wanda’s black roots and how she began to look less and less like Marilyn Monroe. He suddenly took a closer look at the Ricketts family, the mother, an older version of Wanda with wrinkles and the same dyed blond hair and penciled-in eyebrows, who at fifty still wore short shorts and a halter top; the father, with the dirty fingernails and the collection of Over Sexteen magazines he kept trying to show Bobby; and the rest of the strangely misshapen Ricketts brothers and sisters . . . and the spell was broken. The thought of spending the holidays with the Rickettses for the rest of his life finally did the trick. Earlier, Mother Smith had offered her opinion of the entire Ricketts family to Dorothy quite succinctly. “Common, honey, just plain common.” But when Bobby told his mother he had broken up with Wanda she did not ask why. All she said was, “Well, I’m sure you know best, dear.”
When he asked Monroe what he thought he said, “I’m glad to hear it. Peggy and I hadn’t wanted to say anything but that girl was as dumb as a post.”
Several months later, Wanda, clearly not heartbroken over breaking up with Bobby, ran off and married the twenty-five-year-old manager of the Polar Bear drive-in.
Two weeks later, the next time Macky saw Bobby at the barbershop he said, “Had yourself a kind of a close call there, didn’t you?”
It was a small town.
Tot Whooten Strikes Again
THE FRIDAY AFTER Macky had run into Bobby, he was busy searching through his stock for a fifteen-foot extension cord for Old Man Henderson when the phone rang. He said, “Let me get this,” and went back and picked up. “Hardware.”
It was Norma on the other end. “Macky.”
“Hi, honey. Can I call you back? I’ve got a customer.”
“I’ll hold on.”
“Okay.”
He put the phone down and returned to the old man standing in the aisle pulling out all the cords, trying to read the packages.
Macky said, “Are you sure you need fifteen feet?”
The old man said, “Yeah or I might use twenty. . . . Do you have that?”
“What’s it for?”
“I want to put my television set out on the porch so I can see the ball game.”
“Don’t you have a plug on the porch?”
“Well, if I did I wouldn’t need an extension cord, would I?”
Macky searched through the cords. “Here’s a twenty-five.”
Mr. Henderson scowled at him. “How much more is it by the foot?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll just charge you for a fifteen-foot. I thought I had them in stock but I guess I sold them.”
“Well, I guess I’d rather it be too long than too short.”
“Do you think St. Louis has a chance this year?” asked Macky.
“They might . . . if everybody else was to suddenly drop dead.”
Macky pulled out a paper bag.
“I don’t need a sack,” Mr. Henderson said.
“All right, well, you have a good day now.”
The old man slammed the door shut too hard and the bell on the door rang in Macky’s ears. Macky started putting the cords back up on the hooks, trying to figure out just how old Old Man Henderson was. He had been a friend of his grandfather’s, so that would make him at least in his early eighties. Then Macky remembered that Norma was holding on. He went back and took the phone.
“Honey, are you still there?”
“Yes . . . I am.”
“I’m sorry. What’s up?”
Norma sounded extremely controlled. After a pregnant pause she said, “I just had my hair done.”
Macky sat down on the stool behind the counter. Today was her appointment with Tot Whooten. He knew what was coming.
“Do not say one word to me, Macky, I do not want to hear one word about my hair. If you’re going to come home and say anything, just don’t come home.”
“I’m not going to say anything. What did she do this time?”
“I’m upset enough as it is without you saying something.”
“Norma! I haven’t said a word. I haven’t even seen you.”
“Well, I want you to promise me . . . give me your word . . . you won’t say anything or I’m just going to check into the Howard Johnson’s motel, and that’s all there is to it.”
“All right, Norma, calm down.”
“I mean it now.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“I am putting your lunch on the table . . . and I am just going to stay in the bedroom if you’re going to make some smart remark.”
“Norma, I won’t say anything, O.K.? Just give me a hint. What did you have done?”
There was a long silence. “We tried something new.”
“And?”
There was a longer silence. “It didn’t work out.”
Macky rolled his eyes. “Oh God.”
“See! There you go. I knew it, just don’t come home if you’re going to have that attitude—”
“I don’t have an attitude. I just said, Oh God, that’s all.”
“Yes . . . but it’s how you said it. I know you’re sitting there rolling your eyes, so if you do come home, I do not want you to even look at my hair.”
“Norma, where am I supposed to look? Your face is attached to your head. Do you want me to talk to your knees?”
“See, there you go again. You just can’t resist trying to be funny. I have had a serious hair mishap and I need your support. I don’t need you to make me feel worse than I do!”
“All right. I’m sorry but at least tell me what you two were trying to do.”
“A body wave.”
“A body wave?”
“Yes, like a permanent only lighter. It was supposed to be a light body wave. . . .”
“What happened?”
“We don’t know, all we know is it wasn’t light.”
“Well, honey, don’t worry about it. It will grow out . . . it did the last time. . . .”
“It doesn’t have to grow out,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because if you must know, if it’s so important to you to know . . . she cut it off.”
“Oh Jesus.”
“See! I can’t tell you a thing without you having a negative attitude—you ask me to tell you, then you say something smart.”
“O.K., O.K. . . . I’m sorry. But anyway, I’ll bet it looks great.” He held off. “How short is it?”
There was no answer on the other end.
“It can’t be all that short, can it?”
“It’s short.”
“How short?”
“It’s an Italian boy cut.”
“What?”
“It’s called an Italian boy cut.”
“Oh Jesus . . .”
“That’s it! Get your own lunch. I’m going to the motel.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Norma, you’re not going to any motel. I’ll be home in a little while.”
Macky had been home for ten minutes but Norma would not come out of the bedroom. Finally, after much coaxing, she stood in the doorway. He looked at her but did not react.
“Well, don’t you have anything to say? I know you’re just dying to say something—get it over with, just go ahead.”