Hard Adjustments

Janet Cameron switched off the lights and walked out the front door of Carole's Cut 'N' Curl hair salon, pausing to lock it behind her. Another day's useless energy spent, she thought glumly as she began to make her way to her car across the parking lot of the seedy strip mall. The fading twilight increased her wariness: gang thugs, wild-eyed crackheads and other forms of human flotsam took possession of the area after dark. Her eyes flitted nervously from one lengthening shadow to another and she tightened her grip on the little can of pepper spray at the end of her key chain. It seemed an absurdly feeble self-defense weapon. Janet reached her car and hastily got behind the wheel of the worn-out '88 Taurus, managing to start the engine on the third try. She exited the lot, heading west on Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd.

I guess I have to stop at Sav-A-Lot to get some groceries. Shit.... she thought, rolling her eyes as she flipped on the right turn signal.

Janet's mind replayed the dramatic events of the day as she wearily pushed the noisy cart up and down the aisles: she'd finally had the big showdown with her boss, Carole Steinberg. The tension between them had been building for a long time. Janet knew that Carole had taken an instant dislike to her when she went to work at the salon 4 years before, and the feeling was mutual. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried to please, nothing she did was quite good enough. She would glance up at the mirror while styling a lady's hair to see Carole standing behind her, arms crossed, a pickle-sucking expression on her ugly face. Or she'd kvetch about there being too much hair around Janet's chair. Or that her section of the counter was untidy - all in that nasal Brooklyn whine that had the same effect on Janet as nails on a blackboard. Needing the job, she'd held her tongue through all the nitpicking and petty carping.

Until this morning. Janet had rushed through the door breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, Carole," she said, putting her purse down. "I-"

"You're late," Carole interrupted coldly.

"Yes. I'm really sorry. I won't make any lame excuse - I just overslept..."

"Twenty three and a half minutes late, to be precise."

"Well, I -"

"You know, Janet, I'm afraid I really don't understand your attitude. After all, I somehow managed to get here on time."

"I've never done it before, and I promise it won't happen again..."

Carole continued with her infuriating tone of exaggerated patience, as if she were talking to an idiot child. "And as you can see, Marcy & Paula showed up at the correct hour as well." They avoided Janet's gaze, embarrassed for her.

"Carole, please..." Her neck was turning a bright crimson, like mercury rising in a thermometer on a Baghdad afternoon.

"So do enlighten us: Have you hit the lottery? Or maybe you've discovered that you're a princess who no longer has to find the strength to drag her lazy ass outta bed like the rest of us, hmm?"

"YOU FUCKING CUNT!!" Janet screamed, exploding like Vesuvius. "I'VE TAKEN ALL THE SHIT FROM YOU I'M GONNA TAKE!!"

Carole's involuntarily took 2 steps backward and her eyes bugged - as did those of Marcy & Paula.

"Y-You can't talk to me like th-"

"I'll talk to you any motherfuckin' way I please, bitch, and make you like it!! I've put up with your bullying for 4 long years because I need to keep a roof over our heads, but you've treated me like dirt for the last time!! ," she roared, thrusting her white-knuckled fist within inches of Carole's ashen face.

"Now loo-"

"Shut your goddamn mouth before I wipe the floor with you!!" Carole quailed, terrified.

"When I think of all I've done for you, of all the long hours I've stood on aching feet..." she shook her head and gritted her teeth. "And for what? Insults and chump change!" Janet thundered on, years of stored-up venom bursting forth. "You've always hated me because you're jealous! You know damn well that you owe most of your business to me! Those are MY customers! And you can't fuckin' stand that - can you? CAN YOU?!"

"J-Jan.."

"Get this through your nappy, henna-rinsed head, you fat sow: I don't need you. You need me! My customers are loyal - they'll follow me wherever the hell I go! So for all I care, you can shove this shithole up that saggy cottage cheese butt!!" Janet had a maniacally triumphant grin on her face as she snatched up her purse and stormed out...

But of course she didn't go very far. Oh, she'd intended to make a clean break right then and there, but Marcy & Paula had shaken themselves out of their open-mouthed stupor to chase after her. They calmed her down enough to guide her into the coffee shop at the other end of the strip mall. Once seated, they began cajoling her:

"Of course you were absolutely right to tell the mean ol' bitch off - no doubt about it!" Paula said soothingly, patting her hand. "Who the hell does she think she is anyway, talking down to you like that?! You did what we've fantasized about doing for years - only we don't have your guts!" she said with a laugh, eliciting a slight smile from Janet. "Right, Marce?"

"Oh yeah! She deserved every word and more! You told the hag off but good, sweetie - the look on her face was priceless!"

Paula nodded, then leaned forward and spoke in quieter voice. "But you shouldn't be too hasty about quitting, hon, you really shouldn't. We know you're in a tight spot financially right now and -"

Janet flared. "Tight spot or not, there's no friggin' way I'm gonna go back to that cow with my tail between my legs and beg -"

"No, no - God forbid!" Paula said hastily. "It never entered my mind! There'll be no begging at all. You think we'd advise a good friend like you to shame herself?" she waved her hand dismissively as Marcy shook her head. "Look, she's had a few minutes to cool off now and see the error of her ways. She knows she was in the wrong - and more importantly, she knows you were right about the customers! You're the golden goose, sugar. She don't wanna fire YOU! Just wait here while we go talk to her for a minute, and things'll be much better than before, I guarantee it..."

And the girls did smooth things over enough for her to hang on to her job - but Janet knew that it was only a makeshift bandage on a gaping wound. She had seen the vengeful way Carole dealt with longtime suppliers who dared to refuse her imperious demands even once. The hated employee who'd insulted her so gravely in front of witnesses could hardly expect better treatment.

There's no telling what revenge the evil old bag's cookin' up for me right now.... Janet thought grimly, as the bored, pimply-faced boy bagged her items...

It was nearly 7:00 when she finally got home, exhausted. "Vince! I'm home! Come put away these gro-," she stopped abruptly when she saw the small mess in the living room: empty soda cans, a potato chip bag and a crumpled candy wrapper were strewn on the coffee table; chip bits were sprinkled on the couch and the rug. At any other time, Janet would've just let out a sigh of exasperation at teen sloppiness - but this was the wrong day for it.

"Hi," her 19 year-old son Vincent said as he came downstairs. "Damn - it's late. She must've made you close up again -"

"What the hell do you call this?!" she shouted, stabbing a finger at the debris.

Vince was taken aback at the suddeness of her fury. "Oh. Well, um, when I got home, there was nothin' to make for dinner, so I grabbed a snack..."

"And spread it all over the damn room! You filthy hog!"

"Look, I was getting ready to clean it up when you walked in..." Vince flared.

"Oh, I bet you were! Just like you always do, right?" Janet snarled. "You might as well clean this up while you're at it!" She furiously threw the grocery bag against the wall. Food flew in all directions; a carton of eggs splattered, running down the wall behind the couch.

"What the shit're you doing?!" Vince shouted as he quickly pulled the couch away and snatched up the ripped bag to try to catch some of the eggs before they hit the carpet. "You gone crazy?!"

Janet looked at the terrible mess she'd made for no good reason. She burst out crying and ran into the kitchen.

"Mom! Hey - oh, for chrissake!" Vince exclaimed as the egg yolks began to soak through the paper.

Janet quickly reappeared with a roll of towels and started to help him clean up, her face streaked with tears.

"Why the hell did you do this?" he asked angrily as he gathered up the food that was still edible.

"I've had an awful day, Vince ..." she sniffed miserably. "Carole started giving me a real hard time about being late, so I finally had the big blow-up with the bitch, and I really told her what I think of her. Then when I came home and saw the little mess you'd made, I just..."

"Went apeshit! Well, what did you say to her?"

"I called her a fat sow with a cottage cheese butt."

"Ha! That's no lie!" Vince snorted. "Anything else?"

"Nothing she didn't deserve."

"Come on, tell me"

"And I, um... also called her a cunt..." Janet muttered sheepishly, her face reddening.

"Jesus!" Vince exclaimed, his eyes widening. "You really musta been pissed - I've never heard you say THAT before..."

"Oh, I was - I nearly hit her."

"You can bet your days there are numbered after all that."

"Without question."

"You still glad you said it?"

Janet paused to think. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"So am I," Vince said with a thin smile. "Well, I think we've got it all up," he said, looking around the living room. "Let's get the rest of it in the fridge before it spoils..."

Janet took another sip of wine as she luxuriated in the bubble bath. The sweet scent of the aromatic bath oils filled the room as the warmth of the water soothed her tired muscles. She adjusted the small pillow her head was resting on; her rich auburn hair wrapped in a snow-white towel. Janet looked forward to her baths, since they were practically the only time she had to herself these days. They were her times to relax and reflect. She looked idly around the bathroom with heavy-lidded eyes: at the cracked plaster on the wall; at the water stain on the ceiling.

"So different from Druid Hill..." she whispered dreamily. Janet's mind flew back to that other bathroom; the one with the huge Italian marble tub, the faucets in the shape of lions, and the heated floor. Back to the massive Tudor Revival mansion with its fan vaults, heavy oaken doors & pointed arches. Back to the days of wonder when the world had been hers...

"Why did you leave me, Dack?" she asked the Silence for the millionth time.

Janet Anders had been a fresh-faced 19 year-old just out of cosmetology school when her path crossed that of Dack Cameron. A 36 year-old Virginian, he was already a successful developer of shopping malls, well on his way to amassing a great fortune. Like all self-made men, he didn't lack confidence and he knew what he wanted, so when he saw the beautiful girl with the creamy white skin & saucy figure sitting primly at her table in the sidewalk cafe, he quickly - and illegally - parked his Porsche at the curb, strutted up and boldly introduced himself with a flashing smile any used car salesman would kill for. Janet had been impressed by the handsome, well-tailored older man (and his car), but even at her tender age, she was sophisticated enough not to let him know it as she politely but coolly responded to his smooth chit-chat. Then an ugly meter maid came along and put a ticket on his windshield.

"She might take the ticket back if you rush over and tell her you're leaving right now."

"She might, but since I'm not, the point is moot," he replied mischieviously. "You really must try their tiramisu - it's the best in town..." he said casually, signalling for the waiter.

After dessert and more breezy banter from him, Janet put her coffee cup down. "Well, Mr. Cameron, thank you for lunch. I've enjoyed our conversation, but it's time to go." She reached for her purse. "Goodb-"

He took her little hand gently but firmly. "Janet, I must see you again...' he said with a tone very different from his previous flirtatious talk.

"Oh, I, um, don't think so, Mr. Cameron..." she replied, taken aback by his sudden sincerity.

"Please don't let this moment pass..." he said urgently, his ice-blue eyes riveted to her wide green ones, willing her to comply.

"A-Alright," Janet said reluctantly. "My number is 749-3896. Now I've really gotta go!." She took off like a startled bird...

What followed was exactly the sort of thing the cliche "whirlwind romance" was coined to describe: Elegant dinners in the finest restaurants; jetting down to Palm Beach for weekend getaways; expensive gifts, and lots of laughter. Janet found herself bedazzled by it all. Suddenly the cute little hairdresser with realistic expectations for her life was hobnobbing with multimillionaires - and more than holding her own, too. As if by magic, her previously humdrum world was all roses & Godiva chocolate.

And the master magician who'd conjured up this wonderful transformation was Dack Cameron. From the beginning, Janet was deeply appreciative of his generosity toward her, and she liked him very much, but she still reserved her most secret heart in order to keep it safe, needing to be sure about the true motives of this dynamic man. But as the weeks turned into months, Janet observed him carefully, becoming increasingly convinced of his basic decency, and of his genuine devotion to her. And so little by little, she lost ever more of her heart to him, until at last he possessed it all. Even her parents, who initially had been opposed to their romance because of the age difference, were won over by his irresistable charm.

The Big Moment came soon enough: After dining on filet mignon & Baked Alaska at Tavern on the Green, Dack leaned forward, taking both her hands in his. "Janet darlin'," he began quietly with his gentle Southern drawl. "When I saw you that first day sitting in the sidewalk cafe as was driving by - so dainty & gorgeous - I knew I simply had to stop and meet you. From that instant I knew that you were the most adorable lady I'd ever seen, and our relatively brief time together has been enough to convince me of your maturity, feminine dignity & just plain goodness as well - all so rare in one so young. To me, you're just the most wonderful girl in the world, baby. I can't help feeling that fate has led us both to this time & place. So..." He reached into his pocket and produced a little green velvet box. He opened it with an almost shy smile. Janet gaped as she saw the blue-white 5 carat diamond set in a filigreed platinum band. "Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"

"Oh, Dack!" she cried out, bursting into tears of happiness. "Yes - oh yes, my darling!" Janet wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply as the other diners erupted in applause...

And so that was how Janet became Mrs. Dack Cameron, and the mistress of Druid Hill, his great estate in the rolling emerald fields of Virginia's Shenandoah Valley. Soon and to their immense joy, Janet became pregnant with Vincent. He turned out to be such a cute little fellow: intelligent & bold like his father; sweet-natured like his mother. They took great pleasure and satisfaction in raising him, chuckling at his mischevious childhood capers. He proved himself a keen student from the beginning of his school years, never getting anything less than a "B" on his report cards. And as he began to grow into strikingly handsome young manhood, he would also prove himself to be a fine natural athlete, excelling at swimming & wrestling. His active life gave him a trim, muscular physique that was the envy of the other boys - and the panty-moistening delight of all the giggly young girls.

All things considered, it was an idyllic life they were leading when the ever-capricious hand of fate intervened. Dack worked hard, and he liked to play hard as well. In addition to his sports car collection, he was an avid motorcycle aficionado. He had several dirtbikes, a big Honda Gold Wing (the "La Z Boy on Wheels" he called it), an old Moto Guzzi that he was always tinkering with, and of course, a Harley. But his most prized bike was his sleek $115, 000 custom chopper. The irridescent blue paint job alone cost him over 10 grand. He loved nothing more than hopping on and heading up into the Blue Ridge Mountains to roar along the Skyline Drive. His craving for speed was both thrilling and cathartic for him - but it frightened Janet. The powerful exotic cars were bad enough from her perspective, but the bikes were what really scared her, and the deadly-looking chopper most of all. It demanded a skilled, experienced rider - which she knew Dack was - but that did nothing to alleviate her fears. She gently nagged him to sell it, causing one of the few arguments they had:

"Look, will you just knock it off?" he said with irritation. "Hey, I could get splattered while drivin' to the store for a loaf of bread in the Range Rover, for God's sake - or I could just drop dead!"

"But that bike is the most dangerous thing of all, honey! Riding it is just tempting-"

"If your number's up, there ain't a damn thing you can do about it!"

"But you-"

"Enough!" Dack barked, slamming his fist on the table. "I know you you're scared for me, and I love you for that, but there's no way in hell I'm selling my favorite bike! I don't wanna to hear another word about it, understand?"

A majestic canopy of autumn leaves covered the slopes on that perfect October day, a robin's egg blue sky above. The weather report hadn't called for rain, so Dack was surprised by the sudden squall. The mountain curves which had given him so much exhilaration now became treacherously slick, and his vision was hampered by the rain. He didn't see the big-eyed fawn standing in his path until the last instant. He jerked the handlebars in a desperate attempt to avoid the little creature, and somehow managed to do so - but he also lost control of the unforgiving machine. The front wheel hit the hairpin corner guardrail, crumpling the long fork into a chrome pretzel and flinging the howling steel beast over the rail and into the void. A hypnotically beautiful gold & crimson blur was the last thing Dack Cameron would ever see in this world...

...

No one really thinks they'll die at 51. The mind naturally recoils from the contemplation of such a grim possibility. No, there's always tomorrow; plenty of time to correct previous mistakes. Dack Cameron had been no different. He'd quietly been experiencing a serious crisis in his business affairs at the time of his death: several big mall construction projects around the country had become stalled due to anti-corporate/environmentalist protests, and a general downturn in the economy forced many retailers to fold, which of course meant suddenly empty spaces in his other malls as well. All this came at a particularly unfortunate time, since his bankers (or "banksters," as Dack contemptuously called them) were demanding immediate payment on the huge construction loans. He'd tried reasoning with the hard-eyed men - but what did they care about the merit of his arguments? The Almighty Dollar was what they were after, period.. When his pleas didn't move them, he'd lost his temper, calling them "the international tribe of camel-faced parasites!" That, of course, did little to help his cause.

Janet had been oblivious to all this. She'd been perfectly content to take care of the day-to-day running of Druid Hill (a not inconsiderable task), and to be a good mother to Vince. So it came as a massive shock when, right in the midst of her grief over Dack's death, the bankers began demanding from her the tidy sum of $597 million. Appalled, she turned in desperation to Dack's trusted vice president Bob Harris for advice. All he could do was raise his hands in a gesture of helplessness: