The Wisdom of Hair (22 page)

“Well, now, it’s a pleasure, a real pleasure,” she said. “But I’m here to tell you, Mr. Sawyer—Do you mind if I call you Winston?—you’ve got yourself the sweetest, most gorgeous single young thing in the whole county. But a beauty like Zora won’t stay that way for long, I assure you.”

I blushed, and she let out a laugh.

“Y’all come on in and get yourself a drink. Sara Jane’s in the living room, and Jerry’s got Jimmy over there bragging about that yard business of his to a bunch of old men, which just goes to show that miracles really do happen.” Connie pointed us in the direction of the bar, excusing herself to answer the doorbell.

“She’s sweet, but she’s like a whirlwind,” I said to Winston, who looked a little rattled by Connie’s ways. He nodded and ordered a Dewar’s, straight. I drank Coke, as I knew Sara Jane would because we never drank in front of her mama and daddy.

I found Sara Jane and could tell she was surprised to see Winston. She looked like a movie star in a cream-colored satin dress with her mother’s diamond necklace and dangly earrings. I kissed
her cheek, told her how beautiful she looked, and then introduced the two of them. She behaved herself and didn’t ask him his intentions, which I knew she was dying to do.

“Where’s Jimmy?” I said.

“Over there with Daddy.” She smiled, pointing to the balcony that overlooked the swimming pool. “I almost wish that he still hated Jimmy. Daddy’s turned him into his deer-hunting buddy, his fishing buddy, and his football buddy. It’s like Jimmy’s the son he never had, but I kind of liked it when I had Jimmy all to myself.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said, as I watched Mr. Farquhar slap Jimmy on the back as they both burst out laughing at a joke somebody had told.

“I almost came by the other night, when they went to the high-school football game together, but Mama made me work on the wedding invitations.”

I turned to say something to Winston, to explain the whole situation and what a miracle it really was that Mr. Farquhar had actually consented to the wedding, but he was gone. I found him at the bar with a funny look on his face.

“You okay?”

He looked down at his glass and shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

He threw back the drink, then nodded for the bartender to pour him another. The bartender looked at me like I was the one who could give him permission for such a thing.

“Dewar’s,” Winston said clearly. “Straight.”

Although we’d only been at the party a little less than an hour, there’s no telling how many drinks he’d already had. The
bartender looked at me again, shrugged his shoulders, and refilled the glass, but he didn’t look happy about it.

“And this is Zora Adams,” I heard Mrs. Farquhar say from behind as she put her hand on my arm. “Jerry and I love her to bits and we’ve all but adopted her.”

“Zora, this is Mrs. Grace Timmerman from my bridge club. Her husband, Bob, runs the paper mill here in Davenport.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Timmerman.”

“Well, aren’t you a lovely young thing. You’re Sara Jane’s maid of honor, aren’t you, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am…” I was going to introduce them to Winston, but when I turned around, he was gone. “Oh, uh, it’s a real nice party…isn’t it?”

“Well, sure it is,” Mrs. Timmerman said. “Connie Harmon doesn’t do anything halfway. You are coming to my party for Sara Jane now, aren’t you?”

“Next Saturday?” I said, and she nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m looking forward to it.”

Ladies like that love to chitchat, and by the time they were done chitchatting with me, Winston had been gone about fifteen minutes. I walked through the house looking for him, trying not to appear desperate, searching the balcony and the patio downstairs before making my way back up to the great room.

“Where’s Winston?” Sara Jane said, as she motioned for Jimmy to leave those old men and come to her. I watched him slip away and walk toward her with a look on his face that said he was hopelessly in love.

“I don’t know,” I said, as Jimmy wrapped his arms around his girl.
Sara Jane laughed and said something to him under her breath that I didn’t understand.

“How are you doing, Zora?” Jimmy said, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. He got that from the Farquhars, who are always hugging and kissing folks.

I gave him a little peck back. “Fine. I haven’t seen you in a long time. But I hear if things don’t work out with Sara Jane, you’re getting engaged to her daddy.”

“Well,” Jimmy said with a grin, “he may not be good-looking, but he never complains about me watching too much football.” Sara Jane elbowed him in the ribs, and Jimmy wrapped his arms around her again. “Is this not the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“Absolutely,” I said as I watched them slip into a room that looked like an office and close the doors.

“Now everybody wants to be swept off their feet by good lovin’ like that, don’t you think?” Connie Harmon said from behind. “I know I do.”

“This is such a nice party, Mrs. Harmon. Thanks for having me.”

“Well, honey, I couldn’t help but notice that nice-lookin’ man you came with easin’ out that side door over there, with a fifth of my good Scotch.”

I could feel my face was flushed and stung like I was going to burst into tears. She put her arm around me and we walked toward the door.

“Now, if I had a man as delicious as that, I’d be hot on his trail before he could stray too far. And as far as you and the Scotch are concerned, I look at it this way—the man does have good taste,
now doesn’t he?” She kissed me on the cheek, and then gently pushed me out the door.

It was windy and so cold my teeth were bumping together. I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing my bare shoulders, wishing I hadn’t forgotten my wrap. My feet were wet from walking the golf course, looking for Winston. I was too embarrassed and ashamed that he’d left to call out his name. But there was something presumptuous expecting him to come running toward me; there was also the possibility that, if I called him, he might just run the other way.

It was maybe an hour or more before I found him sitting in the middle of a green with the Scotch in one hand and the flagstick in the other. He raised his head and smiled at me, then must have remembered why he was there and dropped his head like somebody had snipped the imaginary string that had lifted it up in the first place.

“Why did you leave?”

He didn’t look at me, just shrugged his shoulders and started to take another drink.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” I said, pulling him up like I did that night he was in the hammock. He handed me the half-empty bottle and I threw it as far as I could before pointing toward the lights of the party. He could walk pretty well, but stumbled from time to time. I opened the car door, helped him in, and told him to stay put while I went inside to say good-bye.

I saw Sara Jane across the room talking to a bunch of ladies gathered around her. I waved good-bye. She cocked her head to the side like she didn’t understand and then smiled and waved me on. I looked around for Connie Harmon and saw Mr. and Mrs. Farquhar
along the way. I told them that Winston didn’t feel well, which was true. They said they were sorry they didn’t get to talk to him much, and they told me how pretty I looked and how much they loved me being a part of their family.

“You found him,” Connie said as I walked into the kitchen.

I nodded. “It really was a wonderful party. Thanks for everything and…I’m sorry about the Scotch.”

She hugged me, giving me a little extra squeeze. “Don’t mention it, darling, don’t mention it at all,” she said as she put her arm around my shoulder and walked me toward the kitchen door. “Now, Zora, I bet there’s more to that man than just good looks, and it appears that you have the dubious pleasure of finding out exactly what that is…or what it isn’t.” She kissed me on the cheek, and then wiped the print of her lipstick away like I was a little girl. “Just make sure he’s worth the effort.”

When I woke
up the next morning, Winston was watching me sleep. I smiled at him, then remembered Connie’s party and turned away. I picked up the alarm clock and looked at the time—eight o’clock. Setting the clock down hard on the nightstand, I rolled out of bed without so much as a single word.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom,” I said without looking at him. “I’m going to get a shower and go to church with Sara Jane, probably eat dinner over there.”

“You’re mad,” he said, without any indication as to whether or not he cared.

“I’m going to church.”

The water felt good and hot. I thought about those old musicals that came on Saturday afternoons on Channel Twelve and wondered if it really was possible to wash a man right out of my hair the
way that pretty blond lady did in
South Pacific
. Just in case it was true, I shampooed twice.

When I got out of the shower Winston had written sorry on a paper napkin and was gone. The note made me think about what Connie said the night before at the party, and I wondered if Winston really wasn’t worth the effort.

For the first time in a long time, I primped for myself, drying my hair, making sure my makeup was perfect and that my nails matched my dress. I looked at myself in the mirror and caught a glimpse of the girl who left the mountains just a few short months ago. It was like seeing an old friend.

As I strutted down Main Street, two boys pulled alongside of me and drove real slow. One of them was kind of cute. They eyed me until the car behind them blew his horn for them to move on. They said something flirty and peeled out before I went into the church.

“You’re looking spry this morning,” Sara Jane said as the choir filed in and we rose to sing the first hymn. I just grinned and sang “Onward Christian Soldiers” right along with the rest of the sinners.

Somebody different was sitting in old Reverend Lynch’s place in the pulpit that morning. He smiled a lot while the choir director introduced him and his guitar.

Connor Morris stood up, and thanked the choir director while he adjusted the microphone, and picked up a guitar that was leaning against the pulpit. I’d never heard anything other than the piano and the organ played in that church, and I noticed some folks didn’t look real happy as he began to play. But when he opened his mouth to sing, all was forgiven because he sang with such sweetness
and conviction that lots of folks had tears in their eyes. When it was over, an old man in the very back of the church started clapping, which Sara Jane said nobody ever did. Before too long the whole congregation was clapping, and folks were saying, “Amen,” even some of the women.

We sang a few more hymns and we sang them differently, like Brother Connor had given us permission to praise the Lord. I think everybody there was enthralled with that man, including me. I don’t know if it was because he was so handsome, tanned, and blond or because he was Spirit filled, but I couldn’t have taken my eyes off of him even if I had wanted to. Sara Jane and Jimmy paid attention, which they never did, because they usually had church all by themselves.

Connor Morris preached about love, real love. He said that it knew no bounds, that it was limitless and undying.

“Love is patient.” He paused for a moment and looked around the congregation. “Love is kind. Love does not envy or boast; it is not proud.” As he continued reading, I started thinking about Mama and how the only thing she ever did that was even close to being mother-like was read to me out of that old red-and-white Childcraft fairy-tale book. It was part of a forty-eight-volume set that came with some old World Book Encyclopedias that my daddy bought one time when I was in the first grade, to celebrate my learning how to read. Mama loved those stories as much as I did, and whenever I was sick, she would read her favorite story, a version of “Rumpelstiltskin” called “Tom Tit Tot.” Even though the two of us could recite the whole story by heart, she always read it with an excitement in her voice, like she was reading it for the very first time.

Mama never could sit still for very long without nodding off, so she usually fell asleep after the first couple of pages. If I felt real bad, I’d just go right on to sleep, too, but sometimes I’d slip out of bed, take the book out of her lap, and finish the story myself.

She always seemed to stop just short of the part when the king promises to marry the girl if she can spin a whole roomful of straw into gold. The poor girl tries and tries but can’t turn straw into gold, and nothing, short of making a deal with the devil, will get the job done. Now, I’m not saying here that Winston was the devil. What I am saying is that I sure could relate to that girl because no matter how much time Winston and I spent in bed, I could never turn what we had into love.

Listening to the preacher go on about perfect love, it was easy to see the difference, easy to step out into the aisle when the first note of the altar call sounded. Something had stirred inside me; it felt like God and yet it was a part of me. I stood in a long line of sinners who wanted perfect love, too. Finally, after I don’t know how many verses of “Just As I Am,” Connor bent over and I confessed my sins to him. I didn’t get more than three or four words out before I started sobbing and trembling in the presence of the Lord.