On Archimedes Street by Parrish Jefferson

Author:Parrish, Jefferson [Parrish, Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2013-11-19T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

LOTTE COULD clean up well when the occasion demanded it. And if any occasion demanded it, this one did, she ruminated, fresh from her scented tub. She reconnoitered her closet. Black, as befits a widow, and her mood, on this errand. But with some white about the face, for brightness. Heels, of course. She finally settled on a suit with faille lapels, pleated white dickey, and unexpected circle skirt. Raymond had grumbled over the $800 he’d had to shell out for this, over twenty years ago. But quality was quality, and this was timeless. Black-and-white spectator pumps set the dress off nicely. She surveyed herself in the mirror with satisfaction. Since Raymond’s death, Lotte didn’t bother much with her looks. “Mebbe I should look after myself bettah,” she told her reflection.

The spectator pumps rattled a step-step-slide-step tattoo on the sidewalk as she made her way to the Hair by Claire Salon (“Men Welcome, Too!”).

“Ooh-whee, Miz Lotte!” said Claire, principal stylist and proprietor of Hair by Claire, as Lotte stepped into a miasma of hairspray. “Lookin’ bad-ass! Gotta hot date?”

Lotte made a dismissive, haughty gesture in reply. “Hey, Claire. Shampoo, trim the split ends, condition, and wrench again, please. Blow-dry.”

Claire handed Lotte a smock to protect her black suit. “Oh, Miz Lotte. You look so nice! How ’bout we do somethin’ special?” Claire fingered Lotte’s chestnut locks. “I’m thinking we could feather it, lighten it up, real saucy and now.”

“Fedders!” Lotte snorted. “No fedders! Jes’ a nice french twist—an’ no hairspray, Claire.”

Claire sighed a weary sigh. Leave it to LaNasa to pinch every penny. The woman was as tight as the wallpaper on sheetrock. Imagine, a dollar tip! Once a week, for over fifteen years!

If Lotte made anything of the sour look Claire was giving her, it didn’t show on her face as she gave herself a final once-over in the salon mirror. Then she stepped out of the shop with determination and paused under the Hair by Claire awning to root in her black envelope pocketbook. Behind the salon plate glass, Claire craned her neck to try to make out the writing on the tattered paper Lotte had fished out of her purse. “Lost Cat.” Claire could hardly miss the big, bold legend. “What in the world that woman’s up to, dressed up like Astor’s horse in the middle of the afternoon? And cats? That woman’s never had a cat in her life.”

Dominic happened to be returning from school in time to witness the dignified sway of Lotte’s hips under the black circle skirt as she set off to Seneca Street on her errand. He spent his life now looking at girls and women. The girls wouldn’t give him the time of day. He might have better luck with an older woman, he’d decided recently. And this one was hot. Then he took a closer look.

“LaNasa!” He was so taken aback he’d shouted it.

Lotte turned her head and turned it again in disdain when she spotted Dominic. “You run along home now, an’ don’t eben be thinkin’ of goin’ in my store while I’m away, Mr.

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