A Mother's Homecoming(35)
Why not? If Pam was going to continue dealing with complicated mixed emotions and her newly acquired money pit, she might as well look good while she did so. Never underestimate the power of a good hair day.
“All right, show me to your booth.”
While Dawn wrapped sections of Pam’s hair in foil, Nancy finished her share of the cleaning and stormed out, taking the tension with her.
“Whew!” The stylist who’d been working on Red let out a low whistle. “I know Nancy’s not always Little Miss Sunshine, but that was extreme.” She met Pam’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m Beth. And I’m guessing you must be the Wicked Witch of the West?”
Pam’s lips quirked. “Something like that.”
Beth nodded. “Which would explain your familiarity with the broom. You want a regular job sweeping up? We could sell ringside seats for the locals to come watch the fireworks between you and Nancy.”
Considering the number of people in town who no doubt shared Nancy’s opinions of Pam and her late mother, that idea sounded like hell.
Dawn painted another strand of hair and expertly rolled it up, the aluminum crinkling as she went. “Actually, Beth, people probably would turn out in droves to see Pam. But not because of any crazy grudge Nancy has. Pam was a real live TV star!”
“Star is too strong a word,” Pam protested. “Even personality would be a stretch.”
Dawn clucked her tongue. “Well, I watched you every single week while you were on, and you were way better than that girl who took your spot when you left … or anyone else they had after. In fact, I think losing you was why Country Countdown stopped airing on that channel!” She stopped what she was doing, tilting her head to the side. “Speaking of careers, Beth may be on to something. Would you have any interest in some part-time work at the salon? Only temporarily, of course.”
Nancy would hate the idea. “We already established that I don’t have any cosmetology credentials,” Pam said diplomatically.
“That’s okay, we can’t hire another stylist full-time and still hold Stacey’s spot for her. With her being pregnant, she’d already cut back to a minimum of select customers. She didn’t need to be working directly with chemicals and couldn’t stand on her feet all day. So she was doing receptionist stuff—taking payments, answering phones, scheduling—along with just a few appointments and some light housekeeping.”
Beth was nodding enthusiastically. “Like sweeping up the stations and doing laundry. None of it’s too difficult, but it’s hard for us to keep up with that stuff when we’re already down a stylist.”
“Especially since she won’t be back until after the baby!” Dawn added. “We weren’t expecting her to be gone so soon. I’ll bet Maxine would appreciate the extra manpower to help us transition.”
Pam knew that Dawn was just trying to help an old friend and didn’t even have the owner’s authorization to make such an offer. Still, it was nice to be wanted for something, to be thought of as useful and competent—the mirror opposite of how she’d felt all morning while pieces of her former home fell down around her. “Thanks for asking me, but I am going to be swamped trying to remodel that house.”
Then again, she did need to finance the remodeling.
And she’d certainly taken worse jobs before, notably a waitressing gig at a truck stop just off the interstate. If she could survive that, she could manage some dirty looks from Nancy Warner. Now that the other woman had vented, she would probably give up trying to rile Pam and simply ignore her. Pam’s aunt and uncle had assured her that they were glad to help, but she was a grown woman. She didn’t want to feel like a teenager who had to come to them for her allowance. Besides, they weren’t made of money, no matter how successful Uncle Ed said his wife’s jewelry-making had become.
Pam sighed. “So, this hypothetical job we’re talking about—how much do you think it would pay?”
Chapter Nine
Faith shrank into the sofa, doing her best to disappear while Morgan and her mother argued in the adjacent kitchen. They were both yelling at top volume. It was so different here than at Faith’s house.
On the flipside, at least Morgan had a mother.
Not that Morgan currently appreciated that blessing. “She is driving me crazy,” she complained once after her mom had stormed out of the house for an after-school meeting with the assistant principal. Morgan flopped dramatically into a beanbag chair, next to the coffee table where Faith had spread out their research articles. Ignoring their homework, Morgan continued her rant. “The assignment was creative writing, wasn’t it? So I wrote a creative piece of fiction. Fic-tion! I’m not sure why everyone’s making such a federal case out of it.”