In a Hicktown

Ch. 3: Rough and Unfinished

Chapter 3


  Alyssa’s first trip to the small town of Oakesdale could only be described as eventful.





She had a great deal of housekeeping to do and made her rounds as she got to the next business establishment, a matter of walking the block and a quarter that made up the business section of the town. She had only one problem. This was a small town, first appearance were everything, and there was no way that she could go into that small town being the only scarred up face there.





Alyssa did something she had not done for quite some time. She looked into the mirror. Really looked to see what was there. The mirror was cracked, just as she felt, but it was something. She dug out a fishing tackle of her cosmetics, things that had not been used for nearly half a year. She dug through and pulled out her face wash foam, moisturizer. Gently, with movements that were rusty from months of disuse, she put on foundation and concealer, trying to blend the diagonal scar across her face with the rest of her skin. After a few minutes, she could hardly see the hated thing. She put soft brown shadows on her eyes, accenting the green eyes that once were instantly recognizable within certain celebrity circles. A touch of bronzer, some blush on thin blades of cheek, dark brown mascara and clear gloss made her seem presentable if not the sharp faced beauty she had once been.





Her hair was in tatters so she covered it with a handkerchief as she had been doing since the hospital. She slipped her feet into her comfortable leather mules and backed out of the driveway, out of the house for the first time all weekend. She passed the fence where her new friend placidly ate grass and made it to town in a short four minutes.





Her first stop was the bank. Not bothering with oversized glasses (who in this conservative town would admit to knowing a porn director?) she went into the small building. It had been built in the eighties she guessed, had been renovated for computers and had been well kept up. There were two tellers and the bank manager. There was no line at all. Again struck at how different life in New York was compared to here, she stepped forward, prepared for small town curiosity.


“Hello, I’ve come to set up an account please.”





A matronly woman with ingeniously cut and dyed hair came forward with a welcoming and distant smile.  “Hello, dear. What is your name?”





“Alyssa. Alyssa Gallagher.”





“Oh my, any relation to the Gallaghers down in Wheaton?”





“Er, no, I’m new here in town.”





“Oh I see.” She politely left the conversation open for Alyssa to fill in the blanks of where she was living, what she was doing in their fair town and where she had come from.





“Yes, I purchased the blue house a few miles from here, on the gravel road.”





The woman’s face went blank a moment. Then it resolved itself into dimples. “Oh yes, the McNearny place. Sorry story that one. You’ve heard of it of course?” She took paper to start the account while she let Alyssa say that no, she hadn’t heard of the story, then began to tell it. “Well you see, it was the saddest thing. Old Pa McNearny died at an old age, and he left three sons. Well, Pa McNearny had it in his mind that his boys should all be doctors or lawyers and such, and he got them all a college education, nearly worked himself into the ground to do it. The boys all graduated fine, and then moved out of town, and they haven’t been back. Oh, they used to visit, bless them, but they never took over the farm. Pa McNearny held onto it as long as he could, but old age you know. He leased it out to the farmer next to him, Adam Smith, you know him?”





“Um, no I haven’t met anyone yet, really.”





“Oh you’ll meet him, I reckon. A fine young man, very serious though. The only thing he thinks about is farming and John Deere.”





Alyssa missed the reference. “Does Mr. Deer live around here?” she asked, trying to be friendly and get to know people.


The woman across the counter stopped filling out the paperwork and looked at the newcomer. The ladies by the other end of the bank snickered. Fighting a smile the woman said warmly, “Where are you from, honey?”





Feeling her face go numb with embarrassment, Alyssa said blandly “New York.”





Reading her emotions correctly, the banker woman patted her hand. “Don’t take offense, honey. You see, John Deer is a company who makes, well tractors mostly, and other big pieces of equipment. You’ve heard of John Deer green?”


Alyssa shrugged, looking over the woman’s head.





Seeing how offended the new lady was, the bank woman, Marge, shushed the other two women in the bank and got down to business. “Well, as I was saying, young Adam only thinks about his tractors and semi –trucks and whatever fieldwork he has to do. He’s been keeping an eye on your house though, until you got there.”





Alyssa was startled, meeting the woman’s eyes. “Why would he do that? I don’t know him.”





“Honey, its Curryville. We’re real neighborly down here.” She settled a sheaf of paperwork to Alyssa for her to sign and took her glasses off. “My sister in law was raised in New Jersey, I remember how shocked she was when she started to live down here. It’s a different world, honey, but not a bad one. You’ll get used to it. You’ll see. Now, how much are you depositing to start your account?”





Alyssa kept her mouth shut and handed Marge a bank draft of an even quarter million dollars. She hadn’t wanted to transfer her whole fortune to a small town bank, preferring to keep it at one of the larger banks in New York until her life settled down a little bit.





Marge gaped when she saw the amount, but true to her sturdy character, she took the draft and processed it as easily as if it were ten thousand dollars. “Would you like a debit card with this or checks?”





“Debit is fine thanks.”





“We carry Visa and which design would you like for your card? We have eight to choose from.”





Alyssa looked at the clever little cube showcasing the myriad designs she could pick from. She chose a patriotic flag at random, meeting with the older woman’s approval.





“All right then. You should be able to use your funds as of nine in the morning tomorrow. Thank you for choosing our branch and you come down here and visit if we can do anything else for you.”





“Thanks,” Alyssa said, discomfited by the entire experience. She smiled quickly at the other woman and hurried out of the bank, discouraged already at what was going to be spoken of her. She went to her car, pulled out her purse and lists and went to the next store. Luckily for her, it was noon and everyone was going to the same place. The post office.


Two hours and twenty minutes later, Alyssa was back home. She met the man at the feed store, Mr. Allan and came away with a bag of horse treats, the promise of hay to be delivered and twelve small pullet hens in a small cardboard box usually reserved for adopted kittens from the humane society.





Alyssa  met the feed store owner’s wife Mrs. Allan as the Postmistress, a cheerful woman with iron grey hair, blazing blue eyes and a deep California tan. Mrs. Allan got her address changed and provided her with a bright orange envelop that would allow Alyssa to order stamps or other needed post office materials from the convenience of her home. “That should get you started,” said the intense and beautiful woman, “I do ask all of my clients to order their supplies through the Curryville post office.”





Alyssa nearly saluted and said, “Yes ma’am”. Instead she nodded pleasantly and ducked out to her next stop. The hairdresser.





The hairdresser was a very lovely young woman who owned the shop. She was a native of the town, had married another native of the town now a county cop driving a muscled and sexy Chevy pickup turned cop car. The hairdresser, Sandy, was cheerful and gentle with her suggestions to fix the wreck of hair she was presented with.





Sandy kept up a steady stream of tactful chatter while she trimmed the jagged tangle of dull red to a charming chin length bob that curled under. To her credit, Sandy never flinched when she pulled the bangs out of Alyssa’s face, exposing the scar that ran down one side of her forehead and the other side of her chin. Alyssa could not meet the other woman’s eyes but Sandy was so engaging that she couldn’t help but keep up with the lively gossip.





“I think we need to change your color. What color were you thinking about? Was there a color you’ve been daring to try?”





Alyssa shrank into herself.





“Oh come on, don’t be shy, what color….here,” Sand pulled out a color book with fake hair dyed to different shades from pale grey to punk rocker red. “Tell me what you think.” She played with Alyssa’s hair, getting a feel for its texture and possibilities. “What’s your natural color?”





“Red.”





“Hmmm, well what did you do with it? It looks, well, I’m not sure what color it is.”





Alyssa looked sheepish. “I bleached it and permed it so I had purple permed hair and then it all fell out and I haven’t really done anything to it since.”





“Uh, so you ruined perfectly good red hair then?”





“Yeah, I guess.”





“So here’s what we are going to do. We are going to go with this shade of darker red, you don’t want pumpkin-like color. Then we are going to lowlight it with a rich caramel and put in just three think streaks of apricot to frame your face. What do you think about that?”





“Sure, sounds good.”





“Ok then we need a cut. You have got all the straight hair genes, right? How long did that perm last?”





“Like a week.”





“Like I thought. You see this cut, like the one…”





“I am not having a Jennifer Aniston cut, just not happening.”





Sandy laughed. “How about the one Alyssa Milano has had for a while, that pixie cut with faerie points down in front of the ears? You have the face for it and those almond green eyes. I think you could pull it off.”





“You want to turn me into an elf?”





“Lord of the Rings was a great hit,” Sandy smiled. “What you have now is a straight plain jane A-line and you need somebody…and you really need to start over from when you butchered it with the bleach and product. What do you think?”





“Do I have a choice?”





Sandy leaned her hands on the back of the chair and waited for Alyssa to take a good look at herself in the mirror.


Alyssa took a deep breath in and looked at herself. She saw a heart shaped face, the bane of her existence showing livid red against the very white of her skin. She wouldn’t be able to hide any more behind her hair. She would have to actually face the world with the scarring she carried.





“Sweetie, it really isn’t that bad,” Sandy said, guessing the source of conflict. “Give it some time, put some vitamin E gel on it, keep concealer on it and you’ll be fine.”





“What are you a doctor or a psychologist?”





Sandy laughed. “Little of both, a hairdresser’s list of abilities knows no bounds.”





Alyssa continued to stare in the mirror. “I like the colors you picked.”





“Ok.”





“I don’t want the cut. I want something that will stay in my face a little.”





Sandy pursed her lips, torn between what she thought would be so good for the other woman and what the other woman thought she wanted. Finally she sighed. “Ok, here, how about this one?” She pulled out a magazine with a young rock artists who had made the front page of gossips rags with her A-line sharp new cut. Alyssa’s eyes lightened up.


“That’s edgy. I like it.” Alyssa looked at it some more. “Could we go warm blond with platinum highlights?”


“Yeah. And some darker caramel lowlights. This is going to be gorgeous. Thank God for Victoria Beckham,” Sandy laughed. “Ok, let’s do this.”





The young woman started to cut Alyssa’s hair. They talked about the weather, John Deer, what her husband had just started out doing on the farm with the spring work starting. Sandy’s husband came in half way through the coloring process, a small man built like a bull with sky blue eyes and a ready smile. He carried their son on his hip and mocha for his wife. He left with lipstick on his cheek and a skip in his step, going shopping with his friends for some equipment for the farming season at hand, and the little boy on Alyssa’s knees while his mother finished coloring her hair.


Alyssa hadn’t held a child since a trip in Africa several years before. She looked at Sandy often to catch any hint that something was amiss or wrong with how she was holding the child, but Sandy kept up a lively string of chatter. Sandy kept an eye on the other woman, somehow knowing that it would be good for her to just become a member of the community despite herself, making her a part of the one big family that the small town was. From the wide eyed looks that Alyssa shot her, she knew the child was in less danger on her knees than in his father’s pickup four-bying muddy hills with his buddies, which she knew perfectly well their “shopping” trip would deteriorate into with a couple thirty-packs of beer at the shop when they got home.