Page 8 of Stuff My Turkey
“Now don't you worry,” Laverne said, giving me a reassuring pat. “I'll have her done up right – leave her with me for the day."
"What am I, a kindergartner on the first day of school?" Honey protested. "You can't just drop me off like—"
"Heath, you go on and handle your business," Laverne interrupted, already taking Honey by the arm. "Come back around four—make that five—and I promise you won't recognize her."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Honey muttered.
I hesitated, suddenly unsure about this plan. "You sure about this?"
Honey released a dramatic sigh. "Go. Ride a horse or swing a lasso or whatever cowboys do in the morning. I'll survive."
"There's a boutique in back," Laverne explained, leading Honey toward a beaded curtain. "We'll find you proper clothes first,then tackle that hair. When's the last time you had a deep conditioning treatment, sugar-plum? Those ends are drier than a cowboy's canteen after a cattle drive."
As they disappeared through the curtain, I heard Honey say, "If you try to put in anything bedazzled, I swear to God..."
Laverne's cackle followed me out the door and all the way to my truck.
***
I spent the next few hours checking on the breeding pens, discussing feeding schedules with Jake and Miguel, and repairing a section of fence that had come loose in last night's rain. I took extra time with my prize tom, Thomas Jefferson, who seemed agitated after his brief bird-napping. The old boy had sired most of my best stock—turkeys with the broad breasts the market wanted but who could still mate naturally, unlike the factory farm varieties with chests so oversized they couldn't reproduce without human intervention.
The whole time, my mind kept wandering back to Honey sitting in Laverne's shop, probably being tortured with hot rollers and makeup brushes. The thought almost made me smile.
When I returned to Fringe Benefits later that afternoon, Laverne was flipping through a bridal magazine with a satisfied smirk.
"Right on time," she said, clapping her hands together with a look of glee. "Your girl's in back under my magic chair. Just wait till you see her. She's magazine-worthy now compared to that plain-Jane style that wasn't doing a thing for her bone structure."
I frowned at her description but held my tongue. "How'd it go?"
"Well, she drew the line at acrylic nails," Laverne sighed. "Thank heaven she at least let me color. But otherwise, she took to the backcombing like a duck to water."
That didn't sound like the Honey I'd left here this morning. I felt a twinge of concern.
"Laverne?" a voice called from the back. "Is he here? Because if you're just talking to yourself again, I'm going to need more reading material. I've gone through everything back here. Twice."
"He's here, sugar!" Laverne called back. "Come on out and show him the new you!"
There was a rustling behind the beaded curtain, and then Honey stepped out.
My mouth went dry, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.
She wore jeans tight enough to count as a second skin, with rhinestones running down both sides. Her boots—also rhinestone-studded—added three inches to her height. The western shirt was deep green like pine needles, with pearl snap buttons and—God help me—fringe across the chest. Her hair had been highlighted with caramel streaks and teased into a style that defied both gravity and reason. The makeup was just as extreme—bright crimson lipstick, heavy eyeliner, and enough mascara to make her look like a startled raccoon.
"Well?" she asked, spreading her arms. "Do I pass for a rancher's girlfriend now?"
Words failed me. She looked nothing like herself. She looked like—
"You look like you stepped off a CMT music video," I blurted, immediately regretting it when her expression dimmed.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Laverne asked, eyebrows raised.
"Um," I managed weakly.
Laverne's hand flew to her chest in offense. "Well, I think she looks adorable. The higher the hair, the closer to heaven, you know!"
Honey examined herself in the mirror. She touched her hair cautiously. "How much hairspray is in this?"
"Enough to violate several EPA regulations," Laverne declared proudly. "That style will outlast a twister."
