Sylvie's Cowboy by Iris Chacon

double take, twice comparing the
dog’s face with that of the obese newcomer. It was the same face.
Sylvie quickly placed the dog’s photo face down. She turned toward
Clarice and received a tiny nod of understanding.
    Clarice waved to the customer and called, “Go
on back and get shampooed,
Maude
.” She sent Sylvie a wink
when she emphasized the name. “We’ll be right with you.”
    Maude Stokes waved at Clarice and lumbered to
the rear of the shop, where she disappeared into the shampoo
room.
    Sylvie, on the telephone, said, “Okay, then,
we’ll see you next week. Regular time. You take care of that baby,
now.”
    “And take away that filthy pacifier,”
muttered Clarice. “That’s how they pick up every germ that comes
along.”
    On the phone, Sylvie added, “And Clarice
sends her love. ... Right. ... ‘Bye.” She hung up the phone and
scribbled something in the appointment calendar.
    “You never tell ‘em what I tell you to tell
‘em,” said Clarice from the first chair behind the desk, where she
was rolling up a permanent wave on a red-haired woman.
    “You never want me to tell them what you say
you want me to tell them,” said Sylvie with a smile.
    Minutes later, Maude Stokes emerged from the
shampoo room, towel around her head, carrying a cup of coffee. She
waddled to the empty chair beside where Clarice was working.
    The red-haired woman smiled at Maude. “Well,
don’t just sit there, get ‘em, out!” said the redhead. “We all know
you’re dying to show ‘em, and you know we can’t wait to see
‘em.”
    Happily, Maude put down her coffee and delved
into her shopping bag. She produced a photo album. “It was
gorgeous,” she drawled. “Sue Ann never looked so sweet.”
    A woman two chairs away, in the middle of
drying her hair, shouted over the din of the dryer. “Are those the
wedding pictures? I want to see those when you’re finished.”
    Maude Stokes waved acknowledgment and handed
the album to the redhead. Sylvie retired to the back room to
complete some chores there.
    While Maude waited for the return of her
prized wedding album, she looked at Clarice with the keen interest
of an accomplished gossip. “Clarice? Think you and Walt will ever
tie the knot?”
    “We’re just friends.”
    The redhead chimed in, “Saw his truck at your
place last night.”
    Clarice tried to appear calm in front of the
curious women. The rumor mill would churn into action the minute
these ladies detected any emotion in Clarice’s reaction. “I’d
appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about ... about me and Walt ...
about us keeping company. ... I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say
anything in front of Sylvie.” Clarice tilted her head toward the
back room.
    Ironically, Sylvie chose that moment to
return with a broom and begin sweeping around the beauticians’
stations.
    The redhead caught Clarice’s eyes in the
mirror. “Ooooh, so that’s how it is!” she told Clarice with a sly
smirk.
    Maude Stokes called, “Sylvie—”
    “Y’all behave!” Clarice whispered.
    “I’m behavin’,” Maude crooned to Clarice
before turning again to Sylvie. “Sylvie, how’s Walter? I heard the
poor boy’s all stove up. My Eddie loaded the truck for him
today—and Walter McGurk ain’t never in this world let nobody load
feed for him before. I could send Eddie over to the ranch in the
evenings to help out if y’all need him.” Maude licked her lips at
the prospect of a juicy story brewing.
    Sylvie kept sweeping. “Walt’s all right,” she
said pleasantly.
    “He’s fine, Maude,” said Clarice
dismissively.
    “You should know,” Maude murmured just loud
enough for Clarice and the redhead to hear. The redhead
giggled.
    Sylvie began sweeping toward the rear of the
shop, putting distance between herself and Clarice’s two
visitors.
    …
    A short while later the telephone rang on the
living room end table at the McGurk ranch. Footsteps approached and
stopped. A man’s hand lifted the