Carpe Bead'em (9 page)

“Please come in
and sit down.” She gestures towards the bead store. “I’ll get you a glass of
water.”

That’s the least
you can do, I thought. Although, it was actually my fault for running so close
to the stores. “Really, I’m fine.”

I look around
her, noting the woman inside picking out beads.

“Deidra.” She
sticks her hand out.

She can’t be any
older than me. Her hair is as black as mine, cut in an angle bob with blunt
bangs across the front. “Dee for short. I feel so bad.”

I touch the bump
on my heads that’s growing by the minute. “No big deal. I’ll be fine.”

She moves my
hand away, just like my mother would’ve done to check out the bump. “We open
early one Sunday a month, and hardly ever see anyone then,” she explains.

I shake her hand,
taking a closer look at her hair and wonder if that’s what my hair would look
like if I got it cut.

“Come on in and
join us,” Dee offers.

One lady at the
table looks up but continues stringing. I walk in and look at the bracelet she’s
designing, realizing that I’d much rather join them than keep jogging.

“Have you ever
made a bracelet?” She holds it up, letting me touch it as it dangles in the
air.

“No, I haven’t,”
I admit. The Swarovski crystals glisten in the natural light. “Very nice,” I
admire the shimmering stones and another cool design on the gray board.

“Want to try?”
Dee offers, again.

“I don’t think
so.” I start to laugh, and immediately notice her defense shield go up. “I mean,
I don’t have a single creative bone in my body. I’d embarrass your store.”

“Don’t be
silly.” Dee walks me around her store, showing me the different levels of
beading customers.

“Thanks for your
vote of confidence, but I think I’ll pass today.” I leave the door open for
another day, maybe.

“Come sit down.”
Dee pulls out a chair as if she didn’t hear me.

She’s
relentless. No wonder her store is packed when I run by. And I find myself
obeying.

“See, you pick
out the beads and lay them on your bead board.” Dee points to the gray board in
front of me. “I like to put a space between my beads so the wire bends better
when you wear it.” She points to the silver beads. “All you do is pick out a clasp.
Or toggle.” She shows me a different clasp with a circle and bar.

I follow her
directions on how to crimp one end of the clasp and start designing my own
bracelet. The running shop sale has now become a faint memory.

I can’t believe
all the different beads to choose from. One wall is full of bins that house different
glass beads while the opposite wall is full of silver beads with different
designs. Beads hang down from the wall on ropes. Each bead is priced
differently and comes from different parts of the world. I pick up a tiny
bottle.

“Those are seed
beads.” Dee approaches me with an amused look on her face. “I suggest starting
with something a little bigger. Those will take you forever to string.”

She’s right; I
can’t imagine trying to hold one of those beads and stringing it one at time. I
scan down the bins and notice that the holes get a little bigger with each
bead. The cat-eye beads are amazing. The white swirls around each bead, giving them
an almost iridescent effect.

“Those look awesome
with end caps on them.” Dee shows me a couple different silver findings that
fit on each side of the bead like a little frame.

Dee moves on,
picks up a few tie-dyed looking beads in all different shapes. “Those are
chevron beads. They make pretty cool necklaces.”

The assortment is
overwhelming.

“How about
making one for yourself?” Dee puts an empty bead board, next to the group of
other beaders.

Surely, I can
string a few beads, and save the fancier designs for alter. I’ll worry about
being creative next time.

“I’ll stick to
the dynamics and then I may try to be a bit more creative,” I tell her.

The group of
older women greet me by telling me how beading is good for their arthritis. I
like them, and I like it.

“I want to make
four bracelets. One for each of my three best friends.” I look at the bracelet
I just finished with a little more confidence.

“I think that’s
a great idea.” Dee unravels some wire from a spool. “We have a girlfriend night
where you can come with your friends, bead, eat and drink wine.”

I explain my
situation and how I am living here alone. I let her know I won’t be staying
longer than my twelve weeks, if I make it that long.

The bracelets
will be a great way to end our spa trip.

“I want something
fun and unique.” I concentrate on all the different-colored glass beads.

“Why don’t we
start with something very simple, so you can get the hang of it.” Dee takes the
glass beads I had selected and puts them on the bead tray along with the
sterling silver balls. “If you lay them out before you string them, it makes
things so much easier.”

I watch as she creates
a pattern.

With a small bit
of confidence, I pick up the wire and repeat, “Glass, silver, glass, silver.”
After a couple, I can start to see the beginnings of an actual bracelet.

I smile.

By the second
bracelet, I’m getting the hang of it and requiring less of Dee’s time except,
for the final crimp. Otherwise, with my luck, I might make the bracelets way too
big or too small.

“Great job.” Dee
inspects both bracelets, and she notices the extra spacers I used on the second
one. “Awww, nice touch. You’re a pro already. Most beaders aren’t so bold until
the fourth or fifth time they come here.”

“Just my
creative side,” I say, surprising myself, and dangle my creations into the
light, one by one.

Each bracelet is
alike, with the exception of one bead. I put a different bead on each one that
reminded me of each of them.

I haven’t made
anything since the third grade when I crocheted my mom a book-mark that turned
out to be strings barely sewn together. God love her, she used that book mark
with pride, lame as it was.

The girls will
be surprised that I made these with my own two hands when generally my own two
hands are doing nothing more challenging than dipping down for my credit card.
I can’t wait to
see their faces!

“You’ll have to
visit a lapidary in Chicago.” Dee looks at me smiling.

Okay the jokes
on me.
What in the hell is a lapii…

“Excuse me?” I
ask, pretending not to hear her. I can’t say the word, much less know what it
means.

“Lapidary,” she
repeats.

I play along,
saying lapidary over and over in my head, so I can Google it when I get home.

“You know, a
bead store,” she confirms.

“Oh, you said
lapidary.” I fake-laugh, trying to play it off.
Bead store, duh!
“I
don’t know of any. I’ll have to check it out.”

“You are a
natural beader.” She is admiring the bracelets. “Usually people are shy and
timid their first time. But you, you came shooting right out of the gate and
got four completed. And the design is beautiful.”

Aunt Grace’s
phone numbers flashes on my screen.  

“Sorry, Dee,” I
say. “Hold that thought.”

“Hello, Aunt
Grace.” I cradle the phone in between my ear and my shoulder while admiring my
creations.

“I swear you are
psychic just like your mother.” Her voice is low and soft.

“Caller ID.” I
put down the bracelets and hold the phone closer to my ear.

“Are you down
here?” She questions me like she used to when I was a teenager.

“Here where?”

“Where do you
think, Hawaii? Downtown, of course.” There is a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Much better. She
sounds like my aunt I love. Her health is weighing heavy on my mind. 

“No, I’m at a
store in Hyde Park. Why?”

“I want you to
come visit,” she says.

Visit?
But I want to
bead.

“It is my only
day off and I wasn’t planning on venturing downtown today.” I don’t want to
fight the cockroaches, nor spend the drive itching all the way home and having
to shower again.

“We only have
nine more weeks, Hallie. You never know, I could be dead by then.
I’ve only seen
you three times.
”

Who the hell is
she kidding? Not only has she outlived all her siblings, she’s outlived most of
her nieces and nephews, plus a few great nieces and nephews. Heart disease has
taken most, in our family, but living past seventy-one is pushing it.

“Just because
I’m going home in nine weeks doesn’t mean I won’t visit again.” I refuse to
give into guilt and regret.
The beaders around me are all ears.

But of course I
give into the guilt. That is the one good thing my family is so darn good at.

“Dee, I must be
going.” I gather my belongings.

For the first
time since moving back, I’m enjoying myself. 

“Oh, okay.”
There is twinge of disappointment in her voice. “I know this sounds really
strange, but I really like the designs you made. I think a lot of my clients
would love your fresh young bracelets. Are you interested in making a few for
the store?”

She touches my
wrist, looking at my bracelets one more time.

She wants me.
Me
? Me to make bracelets and sell them here!

“I…I don’t know
what to say.” My cheeks flush from the flattery. “I have never made anything in
my life.”

“Of course, I’d
pay you.” She points to the display case with other bracelets for sale.

“I would be
honored.” Why not? I can make bracelets since I have nothing else to do with my
downtime.

“Great. You can
make them for about five dollars a bracelet and sell them for about twenty
dollars. You’d get ten dollars for each bracelet sold.”

I do the math. I
made four bracelets today, and that took about three hours. That included
learning how to do them. Plus the conversation with Dee and the other beaders
is enjoyable.

I don’t care
about the money. It’s the activity itself that makes me feel good. Isn’t that what
those endorphins are supposed to do? 

“Deal.”

We shake on it.

I know it’s a
quick decision and I’m new at this, but I’ve got a really good feeling.

“Great. Take
some beads, wire, toggles, clasps and get started. What you don’t use, bring
back. If you need more, come get them during store hours. You need to make
business cards to attach to them.” Dee helps me gather all my materials and
even throws in a bead board, crimpers, and pliers. All I need to get started.

My mind is
racing, trying to come up with different names. The pressure of a name. The
scene from
Pretty Woman
comes to mind, the one in which Julia Roberts’
character is next to the pool talking to  Laura San Giacomo’s character.

Still no name.
I’m going to sleep on it.

Chapter Sixteen

Why does the
city feel so much hotter than the suburbs? I pat the sweat from my brow while
looking for a safe place to park near Aunt Grace’s building.

The kids playing
in the water, shooting out from the fire hydrant, bring back memories of me
running around the same spouting hydrant years ago.  

“Hey, Uncle
Jimmy.”  

“What?” he
yelps. “What?” He’s sitting in the spot as always with a Cincinnati Reds
baseball cap pulled way down, covering his eyes. “Your aunt is upstairs. Crazy
old broad.”

“Now, now, Uncle
Jimmy. That’s no way to talk about your bride.” There’s no way I’m going to
fight with crazy. 

“Bride my ass.”
He still won’t look at me. “She’s always on me about having a little nip here
and there.”

A little nip,
right. He reeks of alcohol and I’m standing three feet away.

“Nothing wrong
with a nip, as long as it’s a nip.” I laugh and climb up the stairs behind him.

The lingering
heat compounds the stagnant smell of urine, vomit, and bugs. It’s just dirty
here. Many times, members of my family had tried to get Aunt Grace out of here
and move her to the suburbs.
She’s always refused.
Now that burden is all on me.

“Aunt Grace?” I
push open her slightly open door and launch into my speech. “You really should
think about moving. All the kids running around, you probably never get any
peace and quiet.”

The hot plate is
sizzling, the television is blaring. Aunt Grace is under her bed.   

“Here.” She
hands me a dingy yellow bag, and motions me towards the door.  “Now get out of
here.”