“Oh my! Must have dozed off,” stammered Ermadine Johnson.

“You’ve had a nice wash, Mrs. Johnson. Everything is all clean and fresh.” The unfamiliar male voice surprised her. “Now, just relax while I fix your hair. Take a nap if you like. I’ll be done soon.”

“Just who are you and where is LaWanda?” she barked out at the young man in the gray smock. “Everyone knows she’s the only one I let do my hair.”

“I’m Jerome,” he said, massaging her head with supple fingers. “Did I forget to mention that LaWanda wasn’t available on such short notice? Now, relax.”

Ermadine drifted off.

The cool water on her scalp brought her back.

“. . . so your daughter, Rita, brought you here. I assure you, we come highly recommended. Now, just a quick rinse to get the soap out,” said Jerome.

“I’m confused. Rita brought me here? Where is here?” asked Ermadine.

“You are at Rose’s.”

“I go to Bei Capelli,” Ermadine huffed. “LaWanda has been doing my hair for years. Do you know how long it took me to find someone who could do my hair properly? And now you’ve washed out my perm. I just had it done. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I always start with a thorough wash. It gets you all clean and soft. That way I can work my magic.” He let her hair sift through his fingers while he gently waved the blower back and forth. “I don’t know why you let LaWanda give you a blue rinse—your hair is such a lovely white without it.”

“Somebody told me it looked yellow, so I asked LaWanda to fix it. She said the blue rinse was the trick.”

“Well, I can do it if you like, but your natural shade of white is much more attractive.”

“Leave it then. To be honest, I never did like the blue tint all that much, anyhow.”

“Excellent,” cooed Jerome. “This won’t take long.” He picked up a round brush and began to gently work her hair. “I used some conditioner to give you more volume. It has just a hint of lavender, soft as a kitten’s purr. Now, we’ll brush out the bangs, then mist lightly with a flexible hold hairspray to set the style, and you’ll be done.”

“LaWanda always had me sit under the dryer.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Johnson. First of all, I’m not LaWanda, and second, there’s no sitting under a dryer here at Rose’s. Now, relax.”

Something soft brushed Ermadine’s cheek. “Oh my, did I nod off again?” she asked. “That’s not like me at all.” Again, something brushed her cheek. “What are you doing?”

“Putting on the finishing touches. Just some blush.”

“Makeup!” Ermadine huffed. “I don’t like anyone to do my makeup for me—not even LaWanda. I’m certainly not of a mind to let a stranger do it.”

“Am I still a stranger after all we’ve been through? Now, Mrs. Johnson, I couldn’t let you leave without a little color in your cheeks, could I? At Rose’s, all our clients get the full treatment. Don’t worry, I won’t go overboard like some people. It will be very subtle, trust me. I like to emphasize your natural skin tones. Some color in your cheeks will complement this lovely necklace,” he said, gently touching the string of plump pearls.

“My Aunt Lilly left them to me when she died,” Ermadine said. “There was a pair of matching ear-rings and a bracelet too.”

“They’re all here,” said Jerome.

“But. . . I don’t understand… I gave them to Rita years ago.”

“Yes, she told me. But she thought they would go well with your navy jacket dress and I must agree,” Jerome said, straightening the collar on the jacket. “Rita said she wanted to see you wear them again.”

“She did?”

“Yes, she did. Now, don’t you agree it was a good thing I washed your hair? You couldn’t have worn this lovely dress with that old blue rinse in your hair. Whoever did it last left it in too long and it was a bit on the purple side. They would have clashed.”

Ermadine was silent for a moment. Then she whispered, “I haven’t worn this dress since Fred died.”

“That’s what Rita told me,” Jerome said softly. He paused before continuing. “I removed the old polish from your nails, but I didn’t put any back on. All they needed was a light buff.”

“Thank you. Oh, what about my shoes?” Ermadine asked.

“The white open toed with the gold buckles were the ones Rita brought along.”

“Perfect.”

“Let’s see, that about does it. Hair, nails, makeup, jewelry, dress, and shoes. Have I forgotten anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then my work here is done.” Jerome smiled. “It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Thank you, Jerome. LaWanda may be out of a job.”

“Yes, I am afraid so. Are you ready to go?” he asked. “Rita will be here soon.”

Ermadine paused. “I don’t know? Am I ready to go?” There was a knock on the door.

“I believe you are, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Well, if you say so, I must be. Goodbye, Jerome.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Johnson. Say ‘Hi’ for me.”

“Say ‘Hi’? To whom?”

Before he could answer, a tall, balding man in a black suit stuck his head in the door. “Jerome, what’s taking so long?” he asked. “The family will be here for their private viewing in less than fifteen minutes.”

“As I’ve told you before, Mr. Rose,” Jerome answered, closing the casket lid, “sometimes the dead need to talk a little before they go.”

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PAUL STANSBURY is a life long native of Kentucky. He is the author of Inversion - Not Your Ordinary Stories; Inversion II - Creatures, Fairies, and Haints, Oh My!; and Down By the Creek – Ripples and Reflections as well as a novelette: Little Green Men?