We, the Coronado Scribes, consist of both professional and amateur writers. We have in common a desire to learn, by sharing our efforts and listening to other writers. We hold pressure-less sessions every Wednesday, at the Coronado Library conference room, starting at 1:30. Often we have guests who wish to just listen. They are welcome, and so are you.
Each week on eCoronado, we feature a different piece of prose or poetry produced by one of our writers. Please feel free to comment or ask questions in the comment section below.
The Life and Times of Marlayna, Part 3
Marlayna is an expert at getting people to do things they never intended. She uses flattery, telling them they would do it better than she could. In school, she got a friend to do her homework. It amazed me when she passed her beautician’s exam as she didn’t like to study.
She traded a shampoo-and-set to anyone who would rearrange the shelves in her shop when she brought home new purchases from the Denver Market.
If she bought anything at a craft show in the park, she would ask them to deliver it as part of the deal.
She bought shrubbery only if she could convince the seller to plant it for her, too. But she would ask these favors with a flirty smile and no one ever turned her down.
She would ask me to write her press releases and make brochures for her artwork.
One day when I kept my weekly appointment, she put a bright idea to me. She had read in one of her Salon magazines that there was a contest. They were accepting nominations for the best beautician in the country. The top prize would be a week for two at a famous spa in Arizona.
Of course, my part was to write the article about how wonderful she was. I was to cite her good qualities and when she won, I would share the trip. I didn’t mind doing it as I saw sterling qualities in her I thought she just may be the best in the country. I wrote and rewrote it until it shone! I described how, besides knowing instinctively what hairstyle would flatter each client, she boosted the spirits of each customer. Having a hair appointment with Marlayna was as good as seeing a psychiatrist.
We didn’t win first prize. We won second. The prize was a book, The Secrets of Beauty. As Marlayna doesn’t like to read, she handed it to me.
How did I first meet this unique friend? The beauty operator that I had gone to for years retired. I knew Shirley, who owned “Adam and Eve” along with Marlayna. Her appointment book was filled with regulars, so she handed me off to her partner. I was impressed right away with her assessment of my hair, as she lifted strands here and there, and said she had a better style for me.
Later, she told me that she was very nervous that day as she thought I was famous. She had seen my name and picture in the paper for art awards.
We hit it off. Sometimes when you meet someone, you just click. We found ourselves going to lunch and attending movies and before long we painted together once a week.
She told me that when she was little, her mother always complained about how hard up they were. She wanted to help. So she sold eggs door to door. The problem with that plan was the eggs came from her mother’s refrigerator.
She was a Daddy’s girl. In late summers they would take a camper and follow the harvest. He always had his violin along. Only, the way he played it, with his fingers flat on the strings, he told her it was a fiddle. In the evenings he showed Marlayna how to hold it. She was a quick study. Before long she was playing the tunes she heard him play. She never learned to read music as he did. She played by ear.
One year she took her violin to the annual Autumn Art Workshop at Halsey Forest. There was always a talent show on the last night. She played a rousing song that amazed everyone. Most acts were played for laughs, not with genuine talent.
After the talent show, the custom was for all eighty artists to go into the little town of Halsey to the one bar. There was live music at The Longhorn that night and she had her fiddle with her. She asked the band leader if she could play one song with them.
He looked skeptical. But he agreed. She listened to two bars of the music, then joined in and sounded like she had practiced with them all along. The leader was so impressed he asked her to play with the band for the rest of the night.
She told me later that she looked out at everyone dancing and wished she could dance, too, but was stuck up there on the stage. Although she didn’t know what songs they would play, it didn’t matter. She adapted. She could play anything the band did.
Our Community Playhouse was putting on a production of “Fiddler on the Roof.” At the last minute, the man who was to play the part of the fiddler took ill. Someone thought of her. She listened to the record of the music once and stepped into the role.
Besides the violin, she played piano by ear. She could play any song a guest mentioned; adding lots of flourishes and runs.
Another year after we drove to the Autumn Art Workshop at Halsey, she announced her new plan for the talent show. She had rented a full-body dog suit and packed it. She sprung her idea on me, thinking I could not turn her down. But I did. Her plan was for me to be Elvis and sing, “You Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog,” to her shaggy large animal.
“No!” I exclaimed. “You don’t ask someone to impersonate Elvis when they can’t sing or play the guitar!”
Cheerfully, she went to Plan B. She talked two strangers into singing a duet of that song, (safety in numbers,) and instead I was to play an angel.
“I don’t look like an angel,” I protested.
“I have my white satin robe packed,” she said, “and I brought an extra blonde wig.”
I tried them on and had to admit I did look like a scruffy angel. Someone had a blue metallic cheerleader skirt which we made into wings. For a halo, a clever craftsman bent one clothes hanger into a circle and used other hangers to make shoulder harnesses that fit under the robe for support.
To make the halo sparkle, the angel had to steal gold foil from the mixed media class. But the total effect was unmistakably angelic.
It was finally our turn in the program. The girls mimicked Elvis, singing “You Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog,” to a dejected shaggy brown dog as tall as I was. I patted her on the shoulder, said, “Buck Up, Buddy. You are more than that,” and I led the mangy mutt to the piano.
The head of the suit was so large that her eyes did not match up with the costume. There was no way she could see either the piano or the bench. I gently sat her down and lifted her huge paws to the keys; the paws had slits under them for her fingers.
She tentatively started with a few notes, and then began a tune that was recognizable. Before long she was playing Classical Gershwin. It was concert-grade. Good enough for the big stage. She could not see the keyboard but her fingers flew across it. Everyone who was there that night will remember her stunning performance.
©Mary Beth Dodson
