“No, I’m not in a hair rut.”
“Me?” Mom’s hair has been loose and unruly all day. “You’re the one who needs a trim.”
“You’d look good wit’ a bob,” Nancy helpfully suggests.
“Listen to Nancy.” Although a bob is pushing the extreme and I doubt Mom will go that far.
“I mean you.” Nancy hands me the credit card. “About an inch beneath your chin would frame your face pretty pretty.”
“Ha!” Mom smirks. “Told ya.”
13
Mom tests shock absorbers for her final journey.
I’m in pieces. She puts me back together.
NEVER LET your Alzheimer’s mother pressure you into getting a twenty-dollar “trim.” You’ll get what you paid for, and she’ll forget her role in your bad decision.
“It’s not ugly,” Mom assures me, sipping a Dr Pepper and eating from our huge Swamp Platter inside Lagniappe BBQ.
The worst part is, Nancy promised she’d take only an inch off the ends, and I knew better than to believe her. The most embarrassing part is, I knew better than to get a backroom haircut in a discount boot store.
Our waitress, Tana Mae, shakes her head as she refills my water glass. “Nobody round here lets Nancy near der hair.”
That might have been good to know an hour ago, before she cut my hair longer on one side than the other and just kept cutting to correct her mistakes. I stopped her after her third “Darn it, your hair’s curly.” Now it’s curlier and the right side is still shorter than the left. I’m trying not to freak out, and I just thank God I’m not on tour.
The bell above the door rings and Monique rushes in like there’s a fire. “Lord, I heard Nancy cut your hair.”
Good news travels fast. “How’d you hear about my hair?” I bite into a spicy hush puppy and wash it down with Diet Coke. I like hush puppies. I know what I’m putting in my mouth, unlike the rest of the Swamp Platter.
“Giselle called me after her pedicure, and I called Tana Mae and she said it’s true.”
“The gator’s really good,” Mom says as she chomps on a deep-fried hunk of meat.
I think of the skinned gators at Gator’s and say, “I’ll pass.”
“When I told Giselle you’re Lulu da Love Guru, she told Nancy, and Nancy yowled like a scalded cat and run out da back door. Last anyone saw, she was headed down da bayou.”
“It tastes like chicken.”
“I’ll stick with shrimp, Mom.” I recognize shrimp.
“Da frog legs are good and fresh,” Tana Mae tells us as she points them out.
I’m grateful. Now I won’t accidently eat one. I’m not a snob, but I draw the line at amphibians and reptiles. And rodents. I had a pet rat in the sixth grade. I don’t want to eat Miss Gertrude.
“Mais, la.” Monique raises her hands, palms up. “Nancy’s a good woman, bless her heart, but never let her near you with a pair of scissors in her hand, no no.”
Again, that might have been good to know know.
“I’m sure it’s trendy somewhere, très bien.” She drops her hands and tilts her head to one side. “I can recommend a good stylist.”
She’s also the woman who recommended the shoe sale at Boots ’N’ Roots. I thank her, but I’ll find my own. Someone who works in an actual salon. Someone who knows how to cut thick curly hair without butchering it. Someone who can get me in asap, but that’s the problem. Four-star salons are booked solid for months in advance, and I officially start to freak out. No one will book Lou Ann Hunter, but Lou Ann Hunter has an ace up her sleeve. I call my assistant in Seattle and have her book an appointment in New Orleans for Lulu the Love Guru and special guest Lindsey Benedict. Lindsey has to drive to make sure I don’t get lost, and she’s the only person I know who needs her hair cut more than I do.
I don’t like to use Lulu to get special treatment, but this is an emergency, and the owner of Shear Masters in the New Orleans Warehouse District gets us in after the salon has closed for the night. His name is Fabian LaFleur and he is a shears master. He corrects the length and thins the volume until soft messy curls fall to my jawline. It’s a nice change and I like it a lot—but there’s a reason I always wore it long and braided.
“When did your hair get so curly like that?” Mom calls out, her voice vibrating and arms jiggling from the plush massage chair where she sits attempting to drink tea.