The Ladies' Room by Carolyn Brown

paper towel and
nodded. "I didn't realize how much until these past few days.
I'm a country girl at heart, not a modern one. I want a house
full of color and laughter."
    "That's the way you were when we were little. You liked red
and yellow and blue when we colored out on the back porch,
and you were always laughing," he said.

    "You remember me as a child?"
    "Sure. Y'all used to visit Gert, and I'd sneak through the
hedge. Your mother always had a bag with crayons and two
coloring books, and Marty and Betsy got one, and you always
colored with me"
    Talking about it jarred my memory. "And you colored so
perfectly, you made us girls look bad"
    "But you made everything so much fun. You colored hair
purple or blue, and sometimes the sky was green. You've always
loved color, Trudy. I'm glad you're going to keep the wood
natural and use bright colors in the house. It'll be you."
    "I may dye my hair purple or blue next week to prove the
real Trudy has been resurrected"
    "Please don't do that. Leave it brown. It's you just like it is
now.,,
    "And who is me?" I asked.
    "You are Trudy Matthews with kinky, curly hair and a beautiful smile."
    "Flattery will get you out of lots of explaining," I teased.
    At noon Billy Lee and I washed up side by side in the
kitchen sink. Our hands touched in the basin as we rinsed off
paint speckles and dirt. There weren't any tingles, though, and
the floor didn't wiggle a bit. I wasn't surprised. I never expected
to feel anything romantic again.
    "Mayonnaise?" I asked.
    He pulled paper plates and napkins out of the cabinet. "Mustard, please."
    "On bologna, lettuce, and tomatoes?"
    "And dill pickles. Ever try it?"
    I shook my head and left the mayonnaise in the refrigerator;
might as well do something different to celebrate my freedom.
"Is it good?"
    He opened the bread wrapper and took out four pieces. "If
you don't like it, I'll eat yours and mine. Here, I'll make them"
    "What kind of chips and soda do you want?" I asked.
    "Barbecue is good with bologna. And I'll have sweet tea if
you have it made up."
    I took a bag of mesquite-barbecued chips from the pantry, put them on the bar, and fixed two glasses of sweet tea. By
that time he had the sandwiches finished.

    He dragged a bar stool around and sat down across from
me. "We ready? You saying grace or me?"
    "Go ahead."
    His prayer was very brief. He thanked God for good friends
and the health to enjoy them. Then he thanked Him for the
food and a beautiful day. When he said "Amen," I looked up
to find him with his sandwich headed toward his mouth. I did
the same and was amazed. Pickles and mustard were meant to
go together.
    "Where'd you learn to make a sandwich like this?" I asked.
    "Gert always made them with mustard. Mayonnaise was
for ham and cheese. Mustard for bologna."
    "Wise old coot, wasn't she?"
    "That she was." He nodded and kept after the sandwich
until it was gone. Then he made himself two more.
    On occasion I've let myself have two sandwiches-like
when I'm upset enough to chew up railroad ties and spit out
Tinker Toys-but not too often. Not with my propensity to
pack weight onto my hips and thighs.
    He took in the whole house with a sweep of one hand. "You
still want to strip all this wood?"
    I nodded and swallowed. "Did Gert really leave you enough
money to work that long? I can pay you, Billy Lee. She left me
well-fixed for life. I can pay whatever you charge. Just give me a
bill once a week, and I'll write you a check"
    High color crept up his neck and around his angular jawline
to his cheeks, which were blazing in a matter of seconds.
"There's enough to take care of whatever you want done. I can
work for you for a whole year and not lose a dime."
    "Good! Then, yes, I want all the paint taken off and the
wood stained and shining."
    "High gloss?" he asked.
    The color in his cheeks began to fade. Maybe the mustard
took it away. Hmm, maybe it would work like that on cellulite.
If I ate mustard and