Free Perfect Little Ladies by Abby Drake Page B

husband was home when she got there. Duane was so particular about the way she looked.
    Ooops! For a minute, she’d forgotten he might be a blackmailer. And sleeping with Elinor.
    Yolanda brushed back Poppy’s hair and sealed it in a do-rag, as if Poppy belonged in a gang. Then she snapped the dial of a yellow plastic radio that sat on the counter. “Baby monitor,” she said. “My daughter is upstairs asleep. Would you keep an ear out for her while I go dig up the wigs?” Without waiting for an answer, she left the room.
    Poppy stared at the walkie-talkie. She wondered what sheshould do if sounds started coming out. She’d never really known if she’d wanted kids; if she was strong enough to endure pregnancy and childbirth, not to mention the crying and pooping and spitting up that followed, and the fact that you were totally responsible for their little lives. Yes, it was probably good that she’d never had kids. Momma said she might regret that decision in her old age, that kids were what kept you young. Alice and Elinor, however, always seemed older than Poppy.
    “Hello?” a voice called out, not from the plastic device, but from behind her. She turned to see a handsome, latte-skinned man. He had wide, sturdy-looking shoulders, a crinkly face, and happy, dark eyes. His smile revealed perfect white teeth. “Is Yolanda here?”
    She didn’t move, not one little inch. Was he Yolanda’s boyfriend? He was wearing nice pants, a short-sleeved shirt, a tie, and…a badge! Oh, no! He was a cop!
    “Hello?” he said again, stepping into the shop and waving his hand.
    “We’re closed,” Poppy replied. “It’s Monday and we’re closed.”
    He laughed. “I’m not here for a haircut.” He loosened his tie, then rubbed his head. That’s when she realized he was totally bald.
    “Well, then, go away,” Poppy said. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
    “Are you sure?” he asked. He kept walking toward her. She wished he wouldn’t do that. The presence of policemen always made it difficult for her to breathe.
    She tried to remember she’d come a long way. She sucked in her breath and slid off the chair. “Stop right where youare,” she commanded, “or I’ll call the police.” Well, okay, so it sounded stupid. Maybe he was an imposter. These days, you couldn’t be too careful.
    “You must be Poppy,” he said as he halted.
    She tore the do-rag off her banshee hair and ran her fingers through the tangled mess.
    “I’m Manny,” he said, extending his hand for her to shake.
    She shook. He looked older than Yolanda. Poppy had heard that Yolanda’s dead husband had been older than her, too. It wasn’t right for younger women to get the good ones and leave women like Poppy rummaging through the scraps.
    Oh, wait! Why should she care? She was married to Duane!
    Manny pressed his firm hand into hers. It occurred to her that she might gladly turn Duane over to Yolanda if she could have this one for herself.
    “I’m Veronica,” she said, but even as she said it, the name sounded foreign to her ears. She worked up a little smile. “Everyone calls me Poppy.”
    “I thought it must be you,” he said, his eyes staying on her a moment, his hand pulling away too soon. He gestured toward the do-rag. “Are you trying on wigs?”
    She watched him eye the knit cap that she held in her hand. She didn’t know what to say.
    He smiled again. “I think your hair is pretty just the way it is. The color’s nice, you know?”
    No, she didn’t know. “It’s a little red,” she said, trying to finger-style it again without the use of comb, brush, or mirror.
    “Well, look who’s here,” Yolanda said as she reappeared, carrying a plastic trash bag. “I see you’ve met Manuel.”
    “Yes,” Poppy said. “I thought he’d come to arrest me.” Shewas trying to make a joke, but she realized it wasn’t funny under the circumstances. She returned to her chair and tried to replace the do-rag by herself.
    “He