Chapter 11

Karen

School clothes? Oops. Forgot. What is ABBA wearing when they’re not wearing the cat outfits?

I need a music magazine. Does the college? Yes.

Autumn colors and heavy Scandinavian sweaters. No bras, though. Not that I need the support. Collared white undershirts. Anna is soo sexy. Yup. That’s it. I need a phone.

“Janie?” I asked the phone.

“She’s out,” said Janie’s mom.

“NO! Wait!” I begged.

“What’s up, Karen?” She asked.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked. Big step.

“I guess,” she said.

“I don’t have a mom ... and I need to know,” a slight hesitation, “Do you know anyone who dyes her hair?” I asked.

People in the country know how many times you spit, whether you use tampons or pads, or if you like onions. No secrets in the country. So, I knew that Janie’s mom, Mrs. Ferguson ... brightened her tresses. But I couldn’t jump in and accuse her ... ya know?

There were a couple of umh’s and a hem or three, if the phone wasn’t in the way I suppose I could see her squirm.

“Why? Were you thinking of doing it?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.

That’s called Shifting Responsibilities, parents do it all the time. Hairy was NOT a parent. I didn’t have an out. I had to carry my own weight.

“Still there?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.

“Umh, Yes.”

“Yes, I’m still here ... or ... Yes, I’m thinking of doing it?”

“Both.”

“Why don’t you come over and we’ll talk about it?”

“Is Janie?” The last thing I wanted was gossip ... I get enough of that as it is ... I AM living with a man. The guys ... it only takes one knee to the crotch ... and the word does travel. The girls know I’m innocent ... but ... living with A MAN? Really! Still ... intriguing.

“Janie is at Band Camp ... or is it Cheerleader Camp this week? She’s not here,” Mrs. Ferguson said.

The jeep is less pretentious than the Mazda. I took the Wagon.

The Ferguson’s lived at 4th and Bridge in Dayton, sorta behind Crochan’s Hall, the Mercantile. Before it was the Mercantile, Crochan’s was a bar ... and a house of ill repute. Now it’s what passes for a general store. The little old lady who runs it also sells spinning wheels ... and she spins. I wouldn’t mind learning.

And I can afford a wheel ... now. Hmmm.

It’s a huge house ... or maybe it’s a little house with big rooms ... anyway, Mrs. Ferguson answered the kitchen door.

“Hello Karen. Come in.”

“Mrs. Ferguson.”

“Gwen, please.”

We sat at the table, she had a selection of beauty shop brochures and color charts laid out on the white enameled kitchen table.

“I thought we’d do it in here ... the colors show up better against white. Let me look at you.”

And she did ... very close.

She muttered, “Uh huh, oh my, very good ... not blonde. Blonde wouldn’t work at all. Oh ... such translucence. Freckles? Hmmm. Just a smattering. Excellent. Green eyes. My dear, you should have been born a redhead. Not a Ginger ... a deep red almost maroon. Run to the Mercantile and ask Abigail for Lady Clairol Red Velvet. Tell her I sent you. Do you have any money? Of course you do. Shoo!”

I shooed.

Abigail was the spinning lady.

“Red Velvet?” She almost scoffed. “Come stand in the light. Ah ... I see ... over the brown base ... excellent. You have perfect hair, Karen. Twenty five dollars.”

“Uh ... and a spinning wheel.”

“I only sell Ashford’s. They’re Australian. And a kit. Can you work with your hands? Of course you can ... girls can do anything.”

She walked to the back ... I wonder ... couldn’t be ... she walks like a model ... but she’s so tiny.

When she came back she was carrying a box.

She said, “The Ashford is most popular spinning wheel in the world. The separate drive band and bobbin brake adjustment is easy to understand and simple to operate. The bobbins are quick and easy to change. Scotch tension and 4 speed flyer allow for a wide variety of yarn to be spun. Horizontal adjustment of the maiden bar allows perfect alignment with the 4 speed whorl. Four bobbins and bobbin stand included. Four free classes. Wednesdays at 7 o’clock

“Models weren’t always tall, dear.”

How did she know what I was thinking?

“When I was a girl ... but ... that was long ago and it’s a different world. Two hundred twelve dollars and fifty cents ... cash or charge? Visa or MasterCard.”

“Visa ... MasterCard is for the house.”

“A spinning wheel is furniture, Karen. MasterCard.”

“You’ll need cards ... for the wool. Never mind ... Wednesdays ... we’ll figure it out. Bye, dear. You’ll look stunning.”

Gwen greeted me at the door, “Let’s see the package? Oh, my, Abbie agreed. Red Velvet.”

Two hours later I was a redhead. It was confusing, complicated, easy, simple ... and perfect. The sun caught the color as I spun to get in the Jeep. I wasn’t prepared. It was amazing ... the change was subtle. Gwen had said no one would know, “ ... it’s been three months since Junior year, and people forget. Not one in ten can tell you what they look like ... let alone remember you.”

Every now and again I saw my reflection and I had to wonder ... Who is that girl?

For the first time ever I had to use my shower cap.

“Wait a week to wash it,” Gwen had said. “Just brush it good.”

I was bundled up in my robe and headed for the shower ... wait ... Hairy’s not here ... he won’t be here ... he’s not coming home.

I shucked it. Standing in front of the full length mirror, I did the hair model spin; it was stupendous! Then I examined every inch I could see. I put a pencil under my breasts ... it fell out. I tried a toothpick ... nope ... fell out. My nipples perked. Hmmm. I have freckles! When did that happen? The deep red set off my green eyes.

It hit me ... I’m as pretty as the prettiest girl in school.

I looked ... you have a cute bellybutton. What about the rest? Uhoh ... need a trim ... some of the girls shave it all off. Not me! Took too long to grow it. A Bikini? Does the College have a pool?

I felt around my backside ... kinda flat ... horses ... you ride.

The baby fat was gone ... long and slim. Wow!

It turned dark while I was surveying. That ... What? Two hours? You spent two hours looking? Why? I don’t know. Get in the shower girl.

I put on the cap, and washed. Such a letdown.

“Good night, Hairy.”

ULP ... I was alone! I might have cried ... just a little. Then I got scared. I popped out of bed ... unlocked my door, went to the gun cabinet and fetched the Makarov. Back to bed. Back up ... check the doors ... back up ... turn on the outside light ... back up ... I curled up in Hairy’s bed ... at least I could smell him. I guess I slept.

At rooster crow, I was up. Not my rooster. John and Helen’s rooster.

Get with the program, kid.

I unloaded the Jeep into the guest house. God ... CASES! Toilet paper, Towels, Tampons, Pads ... What were you thinking? Oh yeah ... Winter.

Load the Jeep. The .36 flinter fullstock, the maybe fifty stock and the partly forged barrel and the iron fittings. The .36 was coin silver inlaid ... Hairy said I done good. I was pretty damn proud of it, my own self.