Page 20

THE GLOVES COME OFF

“I’m not sure.”

“Sheryl, you can’t miss out.”

She shoved a broom in my hand. When I didn’t start sweeping, she made a grand gesture, stepping out of my way. Her gum smacked louder than the music on the radio.

“It’s not going to sweep itself. Don’t tell me you forgot how this works.”

I huffed. I might as well have stepped into a time machine and traveled back to my childhood. There weren’t many job opportunities for the kids of Firefly. Babysitting had been the occupation of choice, but the girls cornered the market.

When Mom told me I’d have to buy my own comics, I nearly fainted. Apparently, the tab at the grocery store had gotten out of control. Determined to keep myself drowning in superheroes, I went from one store to the next, asking if they had any work. Sheers by Sheryl had been my last stop.

“Geez, Sheryl, when was the last time you swept?” I could barely see the floor under all the hair. Either she had been going non-stop since she opened, or Sheryl needed to hire herself another shampoo boy.

She pushed those cat-eye glasses up her nose, making sure I could see the displeasure on her face. “This is why I fired you.”

Sheryl, more than any other person in Firefly, had a rigid exterior, almost as rigid as the perm she had since the 80s.

After weeks of scrubbing scalps and prepping customers for her scissors, I noticed things weren’t as they seemed.

When Carol came in, only weeks after her husband passed, Sheryl convinced her to try a new look.

The boost of confidence had Carol smiling ear-to-ear.

When I told her I was heading for college and had to cut my hours back to just weekends, she fired me.

“Did you ever think you’d go off to school only to come back and clean the floors again?” She picked up a can of hairspray and gave her hair a little spritz before giving it a little lift.

I pushed the broom around the two barber chairs. The amount of gray and white hair on the floor reminded me of who usually sat in these chairs, my mom being one of them. The older ladies treated Sheryl as one-part town gossip and one-part therapist with scissors.

“I have nightmares about cleaning hair out of the drains.”

“You and me both.” Sheryl climbed into a chair. I had always wondered who did her hair? Nobody in Firefly had an answer, and that alone made the information worth gold. “I think half of it belongs to Sandra. She’s done found herself a new man, and she wanted to switch it up.”

“Did she shave it all off?”

“Almost!” Sheryl spun the chair around as I swept up the last of the hair. It was enough to make two wigs. The next time I did my laundry, it’d be caught in the lint trap, another thing that haunted my dreams.

“She got one of those pixie cuts. I was skeptical at first, but she’s quite the hot momma now.”

Sandra went to school with my mom. They had been rivals on the cheer squad. Mom still told stories about how Sandra once dropped her during a stunt. That’s what happened when the coach appointed them as co-captains. She clung to that grudge as if it had happened yesterday.

“I would help my favorite shampoo boy in a heartbeat.” It took a moment before I realized she switched topics to the convention. “There’s nothing a crazy old woman with scissors can do at a comic book convention.”

She had a point, but I wasn’t leaving until she joined the cause. We had teenagers volunteering to help keep the event running smoothly. Sheryl would slap me silly if I had her working with a bunch of kids.

“Run the store?”

She raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. I put away the broom and sat in the chair next to her, spinning around in circles. “During the convention, I’m going to be busy. I can’t be in Legends the whole time. You’re not open on Saturdays. You could help Jon.”

“Jon.” She spoke his name with disdain. If I thought the grudge against my mom was hilarious, I wasn’t sure about the one she held with Jon. When I didn’t ask, she proceeded as if I had.

“He came in here one time for a haircut. He wanted the sides shaved, a little length on the top, nothing unusual.” This was news to me. I didn’t even know Jon spent time in Firefly without me. “I saw the bastard the next day at Walmart, and do you know what he did?”

“You’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”

She jumped out of the chair. “He shaved his head. If that’s what he wanted, he should have asked. I can only assume he didn’t like his haircut. The audacity of that little whelp.”

Who knew hair choices created such hostility in Sheryl? I remember Jon and his bald phase. He regretted it. Not everybody has the skull to pull it off.

“So, I take it that’s a no.”

Her arms crossed over her chest as she shook her head from side to side. “Oh, I’m in.”

“Huh?”

“Jon won’t be able to get away.” She picked up a pair of scissors off the counter. I could see her face in the mirror. It bordered on sinister. “I’m going to?—”

“You can’t kill Jon.”

Sheryl spun about. She opened her mouth before looking down at the scissors. Even her laugh had a sinister edge. “I’m not killing nobody. I’m going to give him the best haircut of his life.”

It’d be a disaster, at least for Jon. I had little choice in the matter. I needed coverage, and I wanted as many people invested in the convention. Would I be coming back to Jon’s body lying on the floor with a fresh haircut? Probably.

“I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Don’t tell him,” she said with a smirk. “I don’t want him shaving his head to avoid me.”

Today had taken a very weird turn, and it had barely begun. I offered Sheryl the broom. “Promise. I’ll keep it a secret. I’ll give you a call before the convention with all the details.”

I had almost made it to the door when she shouted, “I’ll see you at Bingo tonight?”

The best way to advertise the convention would be to meet them where they’re gathered. I’d be a fool not to show up to Bingo and spread the gospel. More than that, a certain somebody needed to experience the grandeur of small-town living.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be there.” And I wouldn’t be there alone.

I stood in front of the American Legion, watching as people filed through the front door.

I must have been twenty years younger than the average participant at Bingo Night, but I wasn’t nearly as rowdy.

As Rupert held the door for his wife, Millie, I overheard her talking smack.

She was going to bring Gladys’s winning streak to an end.

I gasped when I spotted Simon. We had exchanged a dozen texts about the event, specifically about the dress code. My comment about looking like a lumberjack had been in jest. The way the red flannel hugged his upper body, I was already thinking about the wood I wanted him to handle.

“Do I look like I’ll fit in?”

“We can skip Bingo.”

“That bad?”

I adjusted myself. “That good.”

Under the light of the American Legion sign, I watched his cheeks turn red.

His humble nature only made him more appealing.

Simon knew he was handsome, but he didn’t think others agreed.

I didn’t care about their opinions. Right now, he was close to being thrown against the building and stripped naked.

Gladys strolled toward the door, slowing as she eyed the two of us. “Keep the hanky-panky out of Bingo.” She smiled as I held the door open. “So says the reigning queen.”

I gestured for Simon to head in. “What have you gotten me into?”

“Welcome to small-town anarchy.”

We walked into a hundred people milling about.

The only time I saw more Firefly residents in one spot was at a funeral.

Thirty tables, three wide and ten deep, all facing the front of the hall.

Each held a few old metal folding chairs.

The die-hard players brought seat cushions.

That’s how you knew they were in it for the long haul.

A small speaker system had been set up, and the Bingo sign, with its glowing numbers, shone bright. It looked innocent enough, but if I waited, I’d see the glares between players. Any other night, they would be the best of friends, but on Bingo Night, only one person walked out the victor.

“Should we grab a seat?” He reached for a chair.

“No!” I pulled his hand away from the seat. “That’s Millie’s seat.”

“I’m sensing there are a lot of unwritten rules.”

“Be careful. This one time, Roger sat in her chair, and let’s just say we haven’t seen Roger since.”

“She killed him?”

I laughed. “Nothing so sinister. Millie put salt in his birthday cake. Revenge is a dish best served baked.”

I pointed to a couple of chairs. “Far enough away from the die-hards and the trolls.”

“Trolls?”

I pointed to another table. Bingo was a game of chance, not skill.

That meant everybody brought their luckiest of luck charms. Some had lucky rabbit’s foot, others had a magical locket, but Ingrid brought a dozen of those toy troll dolls.

It bordered on OCD how she kissed them between each round.

So far, they hadn’t gotten her very far.

“You’re all crazy.”

Simon took his seat while I went to the counter along the back wall. On Sundays, they had spaghetti dinners, giving the proceeds to families in need. It was one of the things I loved about Firefly. In a time of crisis, they banded together. Somehow, it always involved pasta.

In the pass between the kitchen and the dining room, Walter sold Bingo sheets. When he spotted me, his eyes lit up. I hadn’t seen him since the park. He’d want details before he let me buy my Bingo sheets.

“So?”

“So?” I asked.

“How was your ‘not a date’ date?”

I couldn’t fight the smile. Which one? They had all been magical. When I didn’t answer, Walter put his hands over his heart. “I know that look.”

“Yeah, it went well.”

“Get lucky?”

“Walter!”

“Just a couple guys talking?—”

“Nope. No. Never.” I’m pretty sure my entire body had turned red.