Laura Bowers - Beauty Shop for Rent

Copyright 2007 by Laura Bowers

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

www.hmhco.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Bowers, Laura, 1969
Beauty shop for rent: fully equipped, inquire within/Laura Bowers.
p. cm.

Summary: Raised by a great-grandmother and a bunch of beauty shop buddies, fourteen-year-old Abbey resolves to overcome her unhappy childhood and disillusionment with the mother who deserted her.

[1. Mothers and daughtersFiction. 2. Interpersonal relationsFiction. 3. Determination (Personality trait)Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.B6766Bea 2007
[Fic]dc22 2006016761

ISBN 978-0-15-205764-0

eISBN 978-0-547-53726-9
v2.0117

This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, places, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously to lend a sense of realism to the story.

For Broc, Cooper, and my husband, Bob, who told me I could do this

In loving memory of
Stacy L. Kjeldgaard
(19692000);
You are missed.

Prologue

Ill be a millionaire by the time I turn thirty-five. Successful. Independent. Abbey Garnerself-made financial genius. Then, and only then, will I consider getting married and having kids.

Not like my mom, who traded her pom-poms for diaper duty at the age of sixteen. Only two years older than me and walking around high school with the scarlet letters D-O-O-M-E-D etched on her forehead. Not like my grandmother Evelyn Somers, pregnant with my mom at seventeen. Or my great-grandmother Polly Randall, having a daughter at sixteen.

Of course, Granny Po said her generation got married young, had children young, and thats the end of that, but I think theres more to the story.

I think its a curse. Not only did the women in my family inherit overly fertile eggs, they each married men who were total, complete, and absolute duds.

But it all stops with me.

Im not going to continue the family tradition. Two simple rules will guarantee I wont. Number one: Be financially successful so Ill never have to rely on anybody but myself. Number two: Always remember that fairy-tale endings rarely last after the final page. Its sad but true, and after hearing all my mothers stories, I should know. Ive seen what happens when love ends and desperation begins.

So Im lucky. Most people dont know their future until theyre too old to do anything about it. I do. The story of my life will never be written by a curse.

And never by a man.

Hypothetical Question of the Week: If you were forced to have an extra body part implanted on your back, which would you choose? A finger, ear, breast, or nose?

Abbey Lynn Garner! Granny Po exclaimed from the manicure table, pointing at me with her emery board. Where did that crap come from?

I smiled and held up a wrinkled tabloid. From your magazine.

Granny Po rolled her eyes and went back to filing Caddies nails. Hmph. Well, what are you doing reading that trash, anyway? Not exactly appropriate for a fourteen-year-old.

Fifteen, I reminded her. My birthdays in a few weeks.

My great-grandmother shot me a look that said the extra year didnt amount to much. I could be twenty and shed still think its not appropriate. The beauticians chair squeaked as I leaned back and propped my feet up. Tabloids really arent my style, anyway, but there was nothing else to do. Id already cleaned, folded towels, organized a messy array of curlers, and taken a quick inventory. We hadnt had a single customer all evening except Caddie, but she practically lived at Pollys Parlor and didnt count.

Come on, Granny Po. Answer the question, I teased. You know you wanna.

No, I dont wanna. Sounds like something from all those reality shows on TV. Lord. Granny Po sighed. Well, if I must... then, no breast. Couldnt sleep with a boob on my back.

Caddie, named after her fathers Cadillac, turned from the table with a confused gaze, her dangling pearl earrings slapping back and forth against her plump neck. I dont understand the question. Good heavens, why would someone want a body part on their back?

Nobodys really going to do that, I explained. Its a hypothetical question, Miss Caddie. You know, just for the ps and gs of it.

What, pray tell, are the ps and gs? Granny Po asked, as the shop door opened and Edith walked in, her cowboy boots thumping on the hardwood floors.

Poops and giggles, Edith said, pulling off her barn jacket and throwing it on the sofa. You never heard of that? Abbey, how about a quick trim. No shampoo.

Granny Po picked up the cuticle lotion. Should have known. Edith Jones, dont you corrupt my Abbey with your talk. Lord knows what else shes picking up from you.

More than that. At her horse farm next door, Edith uses a different word for poop. I stood, pulling up on the low-rider jeans that always make me feel like my rear is about to pop out, and reached for a cape from the shelf. Edith sat and raised her chin as I snapped the vinyl cape around her neck and repeated the question.

A finger, ear, breast, or nose. Interesting, Edith mused. She grimaced, pinching her nose shut with weathered fingers. No nose. I wouldnt want to walk around with a nose on my back, and I dont think I gotta explain why.

Why? Caddie asked, picking up a frosted beige polish. A look of comprehension crossed her face. Oh,... never mind.

Edith grinned. If you picked a finger, you could scratch your own back!

Or stick yourself up, I added, raising her chair by pumping my foot on the lever. The worn hydraulics moaned with each inch.

Well, I still dont see whats funny about the question, Caddie said, in her soft Southern accent, while taking out the new hearing aids that always made her uncomfortable. If the good Lord wanted something extra on our back, Hed put it there Himself.

Caddie primly smoothed the floral smock over her rounded hips and accidentally dropped her hearing aids to the floor. The seams of her pants stretched to capacity when she reached down for them.

Granny Po snorted, her eyes taking on a mischievous gleam. She said, Yeah, and I think the good Lord certainly gave Caddie something extra in the rear-end department.

Like two giant pumpkins stuffed in polyester, Edith added, while Caddie grabbed the table ledge to keep from falling out of her chair. Just like her dearly departed husband, Gary, after eating her greasy cooking for thirty-one years, God rest his soul.

God rest his soul, repeated Granny Po.

I tried to hide my smile but wasnt quick enough.

Whatd you say, Polly? You know I cant hear good without my hearing aids. Caddie strained to sit up, then glanced at me. Abigail, dear, are these nasty women making fun of me?

I sprayed Ediths gray hair with some water, then picked up my scissors. After living with Granny Po for the past four years, Ive learned its best not to get in the middle. But still, I couldnt help myself. Miss Caddie, if you chose an ear, youd hear everything they say behind your back.