Wife-In-Law by Haywood Smith Page B

back to tell me, beaming, “This was the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since high school. Where can I sign up to join?”
    Sarah waved the membership forms. “I have the sign-ups right here. Everyone who joins is eligible for the makeover drawing. Who’d like one?”
    Hands went up everywhere as conversation swelled.
    Sarah started distributing the forms. “When everyone’s finished filling them out, we’ll draw three for the makeovers.”
    “Just as long as Betsy doesn’t do them,” a girl on my ALTA team (Atlanta Lawn Tennis Association) called out.
    Laughter evaporated the lingering tension, and the party went on as planned. Forty of the fifty-three guests present signed up as Republican Women, making the event a smashing success.
    All was well until thirty minutes later, when we were all sipping tea and watching Stephen give the first makeover winner, drab Helen Foster, a cute shag haircut.
    At the sound of cars and voices from the street, Sissy looked out and said, “Uh-oh,” immediately diverting everyone’s attention.
    I went to the window and saw that a Fulton County sheriff’s car had pulled up in front of Kat’s, and two deputies were standing on her front walk surrounded by gesturing protesters, all talking at once and pointing to my house, while Kat looked on from her front porch, doing nothing to stop it.
    My stomach ricocheted off my diaphragm. They had called the cops on me !
    That tore it. I’d been Kat’s friend, and this was how she repaid me.
    A subdued buzz swelled behind me as my guests started getting up to see what was going on. “Hold that thought,” Helen told Stephen as she joined them, still in her plastic cover.
    While the policemen were taking notes and trying to maintain order, the WSB-TV van pulled up behind the squad car, and a reporter and a cameraman started setting up on the sidewalk.
    A low moan escaped me. “Looks like I didn’t dodge that bullet, after all.”
    Cindy Ashe came up and put her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. If they try to make trouble, my husband”—an up-and-coming trial lawyer downtown—“will take care of this for you. Don’t you worry one little bit.” She looked to the others. “We’ll tell them what really happened, won’t we?”
    Affirmation surrounded me.
    Across the street, the camera cranked up as the reporter started interviewing the guy I’d skunk-striped.
    Sarah wrung her hands. “Everyone, why don’t we go back to the makeover?” She did her best to shepherd the girls back to their rented chairs, but the real show was outside.
    We all watched as the reporter tried to interview the deputies, then followed them up to my driveway, where the policemen motioned them back onto public property.
    Poised, the cameraman kept shooting while the deputies came up and rang the bell.
    Just damn. Kat had set me up, and now the law was at my doorstep!

Nine
     
    T he deputies looked truly apologetic. “I’m sorry to disturb you ladies,” the shorter one said, “but we’d like to speak to”—he glanced at his notepad—“Miz Betsy Callison, please.”
    This could not be happening. I’d never even gotten a traffic ticket, and here was the law on my doorstep.
    Act as if, act as if, act as if. My heart beating so hard I could hear my pulse, I answered with a composure I did not feel. “I am she.”
    “Miz Callison,” the deputy said, “two men across the street claim you cut their hair without their permission.” His partner grinned with approval. “Is this true?”
    “No,” I told them. “They, and all the others over there, were trespassing on my property and preventing my guests from entering.”
    “In a very threatening way,” Cindy piped up from beside me.
    One of her friends said, “I want to press charges! They blocked my way in a very menacing fashion.”
    The policemen looked to the others, who had gathered behind me. “Is this true?”
    They all started talking at once in