Wife-In-Law by Haywood Smith Page A

of the prone protesters said from behind the hand shielding his long moustache from potential attack.
    “No, it’s a tacit agreement,” I said, eliciting more applause from the onlookers. I stepped over to stand behind the head of another longhair. “Once again, anybody who doesn’t want a makeover must go to the sidewalk. Failure to do so will constitute your permission for a makeover, complete with shave and haircut.”
    “This is pure crap!” Moose thundered. “I’m gittin’ outta here and callin’ the cops.”
    “Feel free to use my phone,” I told him sweetly as he stomped toward Kat’s house, “but be sure to mention that you and your friends are criminally trespassing and assaulted my guests.”
    “You’re not getting rid of us this easily,” the ex-law student said, flopping back down beside the others, who stayed put.
    I turned to ask them, “Anyone else like to leave? ’Cause if you don’t, you’re all going to get a shave and a haircut.”
    “Betsy, stop it,” Kat said from her spot on the ground, “before things get out of hand.”
    “You stop it,” I told her, the first hint of anger creeping into my voice. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. No best friend would embarrass me like this. Why would you do such a thing?”
    “You know I’m an activist. It’s a matter of principle,” she shot back, “not personal.”
    “Well, it feels pretty personal to me,” I retorted. “I’m against smoking pot on principle, but you don’t see me calling the cops, do you, when these bozos start toking at your house, in plain sight?”
    A shocked murmur went up from the onlookers.
    Kat turned beet red. “I cain’t believe you’d bring that up in front of all these people.”
    At least I hadn’t included her in my accusation. I motioned to the twenty women on the other side of the human blockade. “And I can’t believe you would keep all these people from coming to my party. It’s typical of you liberals. You want your freedom, but don’t want anybody else to have theirs.”
    Applause and approval from my guests.
    Suddenly I became aware that Kat and I had become the main attraction, so I forced myself to calm down and get back on plan.
    I smiled and turned the clippers back on. “Okay. Since our first makeover winner decided to leave, I’ll choose somebody else.” I did a quickstep to the next protester and, catching him by surprise, grabbed a hank of his greasy bangs, then managed to buzz a strip from forehead to crown before his shock wore off and he escaped.
    Cussing a blue streak, he told his cronies I was crazy, and he was leaving, and they should leave too, before I struck again. Apparently, the rest of the men decided the game wasn’t fun anymore. I mean, principles were one thing, but hair was another, and anybody who tells you men aren’t vain doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
    “I didn’t sign on for this,” one of them complained as he got up and collected his placard.
    “Me neither,” said the one with the moustache. The rest of the men got up and headed for Kat’s too, leaving her with only a handful of women.
    Immediately, my waiting guests shot the gaps and headed inside, congratulating me on their way.
    “All right,” Kat said to me as she got up. “You win this one, but I’m not through.”
    “Bring those people back onto my property,” I said firmly, “and I will have you all arrested.”
    “Why didn’t you do it in the first place?” she challenged.
    “Because I thought you were my friend.” Turning my back, I shepherded the last of my guests inside, then closed the door behind me.
    I had trusted her, let her into my heart, told her my secrets—well, some of them—and she’d betrayed me … for political principles . My stomach roiled.
    Sissy Adams, sitting in one of the wingback chairs, looked out the front window. “The last of the protesters are going across the street,” she announced. “Thank goodness.” She turned