A Little Less Talk and a Lot More Action Page 6

  “Yup. I told her to give it up but you know how well she listens.”

  “Okay, Macy, follow me to the bathroom where you can fix this mess that once was my hair.” She wrinkles her nose. “Well, it was someone else’s hair too. I never could get used to the idea of havin’ somebody’s hair hangin’ from my head.” With a drawn-out sigh she adds, “Sometimes I can’t believe the things I let myself get talked into.”

  “You ready to push off, Ms. Turner?” asks the driver.

  “Yep, Pete. Let’s hit the road.”

  “Everyone accounted for?” he asks, looking up into the rearview mirror.

  Tammy gestures for me to follow her down the aisle. “Anyone not here raise your hand,” she says, getting a laugh or two. I notice that most of her crew’s sleeping in the cushy seats. We’re almost to the bathroom when Tammy stops and turns to me. “Oh, you need to stop and pick up a few things at your apartment, right?”

  “Yes, thanks, I almost forgot.”

  “Go tell Pete when to stop. I’ll be waiting in the bathroom until you get back, but hurry. We’re kind of in a rush,” she says calmly, but I guess she’s used to this kind of pressure.

  “I’ll make it quick,” I promise, and walk on rather wobbly legs back to the front of the bus. This whole thing feels surreal and I keep wondering if I’m dreaming and suddenly going to wake up. “Here, Pete,” I tell him a moment later when we’re in front of Farmer Hardware. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  While digging my keys out of my purse I hurry up the steps to my apartment. Once inside I dash to my bedroom and toss fresh underwear, my best jeans, and a nice white blouse into an overnight bag. As an afterthought I add a white skirt and leather sandals in case I need to get more dressed up for whatever reason. After grabbing some toiletries I slip them into a cosmetic case and run for the door but pause to catch my breath at the top of the landing. When I see the big bus parked out front my heart skips a beat.

  “Wow,” I marvel beneath my breath. “Maybe my adventure I’ve been wanting has just begun.”

  6

  Big Timin’

  The bathroom is small yet bigger than I expected, but then again this bus is total luxury. Although I’m still in an I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-to-me state of mind since here I am slathering intense conditioner on Tammy Turner’s head while she sits on her closed commode, I concentrate on the task at hand. Tammy carries on a constant stream of conversation, asking me about my life and acts as if my boring, normal existence is interesting. I know she’s trying to calm my nerves and I think it’s real sweet of her. It’s natural for me to talk while I work, so I try to forget who she is and to treat her as I normally would any client, so I tell her all about Jamie Lee’s wedding. I’m kind of amazed at how easy she is to talk to.

  “So, tell me more about Luke,” Tammy says while I slide my fingers through her slippery hair.

  “Luke?” I ask casually. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Bull feathers. I can tell by the way you say his name that you’re into him. Spill, Macy.”

  My fingers go still for a moment. “Am I that transparent?”

  With a small shrug she says, “Mmmm, probably not to most people. Because I write most of my own songs I try to be perceptive, especially where relationships are concerned. I want listeners to be able to relate to the words, ya know? There’s been many a time when a certain song has helped me through a rough patch in my life. It’s my fondest wish that I do that for others.”

  I nod because I know exactly what she means. “I bet that writing the lyrics is cathartic too.”

  “Oh sure,” she agrees with a grin. “Definitely. I’m thinkin’ it’s what kept Sam up all night long.”

  “Lilly’s sister?”

  “Yep. She’s five years younger than Lilly and me.” She shakes her slathered head. “That girl is hell on wheels. She always goes for the bad-boy types and you can’t tell her any different. Most of her songs end up being like Miranda Lambert’s ‘Kerosene’.”

  I chuckle as some of the extensions start to slip off. “Yeah, those leather-jacket types are hard for some girls to resist. Griff’s younger brother, Brandon, is like that. He’s got trouble written all over him and the girls in Hootertown eat it up with a spoon.”

  “Yeah, I tend to go for the rough-around-the-edges types myself,” Tammy admits. “I think I’m gonna go after a nerd next time around,” she says with a laugh. “Hey, that just might make for a fun song. ‘Next Time Around I’m Goin’ for a Nerd.’ Whad’ya think?”

  While wiping drips of conditioner from her neck with a fluffy white towel I say, “I think it would be a riot. Just think of the hilarious music video you could do.”

  “My God Macy, you’re so right,” she says, tilting her head so that she can grin at me. “I just might have to keep you around. Think I could steal you away from . . . what was your beauty shop called?”

  “The Cut and Curl.” I know she’s just teasing but a little thrill shoots through me when I think to myself: What if she wasn’t? But then I give myself a mental shake, knowing full well that I could never leave Hootertown. Just who am I kidding? With a deep intake of breath I slip the rest of the extensions from Tammy’s hair and toss them in the sink. “Okay, I need to rinse your hair and then trim up the ends but not with the bus moving. Could you ask Pete to pull into a rest stop for just a few minutes?”

  “I can see how that might not be wise.” Tammy pulls her cell phone from her pocket and glances at the time. “Okay, but we need to make it quick. Just shape me up the best that you can so I’m presentable for the interview.” She calls Pete on an intercom and tells him to pull over at the next rest stop, which I know will be coming up as soon as we cross over into Tennessee. “I think I’ll wear my hat so you don’t have to be too concerned about my hair.”

  “Okay,” I tell her with a smile, but I wonder if it’s a polite way of telling me that she doesn’t trust my skills. While running my fingers through her conditioned tresses I decide to give her a few more layers to add some lift and bounce. She has thick, beautiful hair but I would love to texturize it a bit to thin it out. The problem is that I don’t know if I have the nerve to suggest it to Tammy. Holy cow, what if I messed up? I would just die! After another deep breath I clear my throat. “You have nice thick hair,” I comment while squeezing excess conditioner from her extension-free locks.

  “Thanks. It tends to get unruly on me though.”

  My heart starts pounding but I force myself to say, “Would you mind if I style it a bit? Give you some lift and bounce?” I scoop the extensions out of the sink so I can rinse her hair. I’m sure she has some fancy-pants stylist and here I am giving her advice.

  Tammy laughs. “Can you add some lift and bounce in a couple of other places while you’re at it?” she asks before dipping her head beneath the stream of water.

  “Oh stop. You’re gorgeous!” I tell her while rinsing her hair in the small sink.

  “Yeah, well, I have a personal trainer who works me like a dog and I still struggle with my weight.” The running water muffles her voice, but I understand her frustration. When I’m satisfied that her hair is rinsed clean I squeeze the excess water and then begin towel drying. “It doesn’t help that I eat and sleep at odd hours.”

  “Yeah but you must burn about a million calories performing.”

  “True enough,” she says with a nod, “but don’t ask Pete how many times I make him stop at an IHOP for strawberry pancakes at about two thirty in the morning. When it comes to eating I like real honest-to-goodness, stick-to-your-ribs food. Unfortunately, it tends to stick to my butt instead.”

  “I hear ya. My willpower just isn’t that strong.” I nod in sympathy. “I’ve tried every diet that comes down the pike but nothing seems to work for me.”

  Tammy makes a shooing motion. “Come on, you have a cute shape, Macy. Bein’ skinny as a rail is overrated. Now give me a high five,” she insists with a grin. “And I do believe th
at Pete’s stopped the bus. Get out your tools and start snipping away.”

  “Oh, okay.” Even though Tammy is doing her best to put me at ease as I unzip my duffel bag, I notice to my horror that my hands are trembling. Not a good thing when working with scissors. “Um . . . I’m not so sure I can do this.”

  “Macy McCoy,” Tammy says firmly, “just how many haircuts have you done over the years?”

  Shrugging I say, “I don’t know . . . lots.”

  “Why am I any different?”

  “Because you’re Tammy Turner. I sing your songs in the shower.”

  Tammy laughs. “In the shower, huh?”

  “Okay, that was awkward,” I say with a nervous snicker. “I sing in my car too. Really loud.” I flex my fingers, hoping to stop the trembling. From outside of the bathroom I hear bantering, laughter, and music, and I remind myself that to these people this is a business, their life. I also know that this is an opportunity not to screw up.

  “Look Macy, I might be Tammy Turner, country singer celebrity, but in reality I’m just a small-town girl like you. While I know I’m lucky as hell to be where I’m at, I miss being . . . me, if that makes any sense.”

  I nod because it does. “Fame comes with a price,” I say as I tie a towel around her shoulders and then start combing her hair.

  “You betcha. Pretty much as you might imagine. Friends walk on eggshells around me. Long-lost cousins have come out of the woodwork. And ya know what I’d dearly love is a date with a regular Joe. But do you think men will approach me?”

  “Um . . . I suppose not. They must be intimidated by your success.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she says with a tired sigh. “Plus I’m on the road so much. I don’t mean to sound like a poor little rich girl but I fully admit that sometimes it just blows. Sometimes when I’ve been on the road forever I wonder if it’s all worth it.”

  “Really?”

  Tammy lifts her towel-covered shoulders in a shrug. “Nah,” she jokes with a grin, but something in her expressive brown eyes suggests differently. “Now quit your sniveling about bein’ nervous and cut my doggone hair. Make me bea-u-ti-ful.”

  Of course I have to laugh and before long Tammy has me relaxing again. After trimming the damaged ends from her shoulder-length hair I add layers and texture while hoping that she will love the end result. While I’m not doing anything revolutionary and I’m still anxious as hell, I do know with a measure of pride that even though I’m just a small-town beautician, Jamie Lee and I have always strived for excellence. I might not work in an upscale salon but I’d pit my skills up against just about anyone . . . well anyway that’s what I bravely tell myself as I trim Tammy’s split ends.

  Knowing that time is of the essence I work swiftly, forgetting to be aflutter about who she is until I’m finished and it’s time to do some styling. “I’m done trimming, so you can tell Pete to head on down the road.”

  “Excellent.” Tammy pushes an intercom button and instructs Pete to get a move on. She scoots around on the commode lid and looks at her reflection while running her fingers through her hair. “God, it feels good to be rid of those extensions.” She shakes her head as she meets my eyes in the mirror. “Never again!”

  I laugh as I slide my fingers to the ends of her hair, making sure she’s cut evenly on both sides of her head. “You want me to blow-dry and style you?”

  “Yeah, why don’t you do that? Maybe I won’t have to wear the cowboy hat after all.”

  “Okay, I’m going to give you some volume but flip it out a bit on the ends. It’s a little different look for you but I think it’s fun and sassy just like you.” I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Sound good?”

  “Go for it, girlfriend.”

  “You got it.” As I spray some root boost and then start styling, it occurs to me that Tammy would be an amazing friend to have. It must be hard to be on the road so often, but I suppose the band and crew become a family of sorts. “Lilly seems like she’s a lot of fun,” I comment after turning the blow-dryer off.

  “Yeah, she keeps me grounded. I’m lucky to have a close friend on the road with me. Believe me, it takes us both to keep Sam in line.”

  “Stop talking about me,” protests a husky voice that belongs to a petite blonde who pops her head in the door. “Hey, cool haircut. It’s about time you did something different.”

  Tammy looks up at Sam. “Hair extensions weren’t different?”

  Sam rolls her big blue eyes. “All those did was make your hair longer. You needed some updating. I like this a lot. Makes you way younger.”

  “Then I must look twelve, right?”

  Sam snorts. “Yeah right.”

  “I love your cut,” I tell her. She has the Posh Spice long, swept-over bangs and hair layered short on the sides and back.

  “Thanks,” she responds in her husky voice. I notice dark smudges beneath her eyes as though she’s indeed had a sleepless night. “See Tammy, my haircut isn’t goofy.”

  “I didn’t say it was goofy . . . I said different.”

  “Whatever,” Sam responds, and then points to my WHATEVER shirt. “Ahh . . . love the shirt. I need one of those.”

  “Would be better than some of the ones you wear.” Sam opens her mouth but Tammy points a finger at her. “Don’t you dare say Bite me like your sister did.”

  Sam’s dark blond eyebrows shoot up and she points at her own chest. “Me?” she innocently squeaks. “Would I do that?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  Sam’s low chuckle sounds tired. “Hey, you gonna be outta here soon? I gotta go.”

  Tammy glances at me in question.

  “Almost done. I just need to find my hair spray.” After digging around in my duffel bag I find my favorite fine-mist spray. “This stuff is awesome. Holds the style without the stickiness and adds a bit of shine.” I fluff her hair, add a few more touches, trim here and there, and then mist her hair to hold the style. “What do you think?” My heart pounds while I wait for her answer.

  “Sexy,” Sam says from the doorway. “Maybe you’ll finally get—,” she begins, but Tammy stops her with a look.

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “Colin is so into you, Tammy . . .”

  “He’s not my type and you know it,” Tammy argues, but she fidgets a little, making me wonder if Sam hit a nerve.

  Sam raises her palms in the air. “Right . . . he’s talented, smart, polished, and nice as can be.”

  “Really, now. This is coming from the queen of bad-boy chasers.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  I’m watching this like a game of tennis while wondering who is going to win the match.

  “We’re not talking about me either.” Tammy shakes her head and I’m pleased to see that her hair swings nicely just brushing her shoulders. Bounce and lift . . . I did my job.

  Sam leans against the door frame. “The man is crazy for you, Tammy.”

  Tammy rolls her eyes. “Colin Reed doesn’t know how to get crazy. Come on, Sam, the man is much too laid back for me. And he’s so . . . I don’t know . . . sensitive. I mean, look at the lyrics he writes!”

  “Right, love songs. The last one made even you cry.” Sam sighs. “God, I bet he’d be amazing in bed . . . all caring and giving.” She nods. “Yeah, I’m certain he’d be a giver. I just bet he’d make sure—”

  “Sam!”

  “What?” she asks, palms up in the air. “You know you’ve thought about it.”

  “I have not,” she protests hotly, but a light pink blush stains her cheeks. “You know me. I like rugged men. Colin’s long hair and little hoop earring just don’t do it for me.”

  “Yeah well, he’d do it for me,” Sam says casually, and Tammy flashes her a look of warning. “Ha! I knew that’d get ya. Quit kiddin’ yourself. Don’t lie. You want him.”

  “Are you finished badgering me?”

  Sam pushes away from the door frame. “For now. Hey, y’all finished? My bladder i
s about to burst.”

  Tammy looks at me. “All done?”

  I nod and then hesitantly ask, “Do you really like it?”

  “Yeah,” she says with a slow smile. “I do. You know your stuff, Macy McCoy.”

  “You’re not just sayin’ that, are you?”

  Sam snorts. “Believe me, if Tammy hated her hair you’d know it.”

  “Just shut up,” Tammy says while I remove the towel tied around her neck.

  “Bite me,” Sam says in a singsong voice, but then squeals when Tammy jumps up and grabs for her.

  “I’m gonna kick your butt!” When she chases Sam down the center aisle I poke my head out the bathroom door and watch while shaking my head. No one pays much attention to the two of them, making me think that this is a common occurrence.

  “You and what army?” Sam laughs as she ducks into a seat. “Stop, you’re gonna make me pee my pants!”

  “Would serve you right!” Tammy says, but laughs as she lets her go.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t wear Depends, like you,” she says, and then squeals when Tammy acts as though she’s coming after her again.

  Ducking back into the bathroom I quickly scoop up my tools while I hear Sam thundering down the aisle. “Ohmigod, lemme in,” she pleads with a giggle. “Too many Mountain Dews!”

  I quickly brush past her knowing full well the effect that too many Dews have on a person. Tammy heads in my direction and says, “I’m going to change my clothes. We’re almost to Nashville. I want you to come into the studio with me, okay? Someone there will do my makeup but I want you to touch up my hair.” I nod but my eyes must be as big as moon pies because she says, “Don’t look so freaked out, Macy. Relax and have some fun. Just have a seat until we arrive. Oh, and if you need a snack or a drink, just help yourself, okay?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “I should be thanking you. I sure would’ve hated to arrive with half a head of hair. Someone would have snapped my picture and rumors would have started that I went off the deep end like Britney Spears. I’d have been thrown into rehab and I barely drink.”

  I laugh. “Glad to be of service.”