To The Nines

From the time I sat down in Starbucks and took in the sight of the group of women, I had one of them pegged.

Nine of them were dressed to the nines, all in skirts and heels and jewels. But the tenth? She was dressed to the tens. Her nails bore none of those tell-tale gaps between the cuticles and the acryllic, the funky, not-found-in-nature spaces that speak of several neglectful days of missed manicures. Her coif would not have moved even if she’d thrown her head back and guffawed, which I instantly realized would not happen with this woman in this crowd—ever.

The ten ladies, five of whom appeared old enough to be the mothers of the other five, circled around a small table as if it was a campfire. There they told their stories, which I could not hear. It didn’t matter, of course. I could read them like a book, and did for two long hours.

The Tenth had the kind of Mona Lisa smile I find infuriating. After all, she didn’t outclass the others by that much, but she sure acted like she did. The two ladies to her left whispered to each other and she stared straight ahead. I caught a glimpse of the ladies across the table, wondering if she might be completely absorbed in their conversation, but they also talked among themselves.

The high and mighty one failed to turn her head to the left or to the right, in case she might be called upon to actually interact with one of the lowly Nines.

I wondered why they’d even invited her, since they didn’t seem to know her very well, and she plainly didn’t care.

An hour into their party (for a celebratory atmosphere did eventually set in), I couldn’t help but notice that the Tenth let her left arm dangle over the arm of the upholstered chair upon which she’d enthroned herself. Her other hand remained in her lap, and her expression never changed, but her fingernails began systematically digging into the corded trim of the unfortunate chair.

Up and down slid her bony hand, gnawing at the brown velvet, punishing it for crimes unspoken, relentlessly slitting the chair’s narrow throat with each slice of her sharpened fingers.

Once, her lips moved. Her head even turned, though her hair somehow failed to follow. It was then I saw that a single long-stemmed pink rose had been laid in the center of the table. Within a moment, a woman on the far side of the group opened a little gift book—the kind Hallmark produces for occasions like this—and read it aloud.

I couldn’t hear the words, but each member of the group paid rapt attention. I saw one turn to another with tears running down her face, and that’s when I knew the event must have been in her honor. Ah, yes. The stillettos should have given it away from moment one. These women—pharmaceutical sales reps all—gathered to celebrate the recent promotion of one in their ranks to Regional Sales Manager.

So that was it, eh? The Tenth’s jealousy drove her to distraction.

The party wound down, the coffee dregs completely drained, and one by one the women trickled from the shop. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five.

The rose remained, untouched, thorns and all. I could not leave until I saw the new Sales Manager pick up her rose, until I knew for certain.

Four, three, two. Two. Would the Tenth congratulate the party girl, or not? A phone rang out, and suddenly I realized that my ears had been opened.

The unblinking woman halted her attack on the upholstery, reached into her purse, and pulled out the intrusive object. She looked at the number displayed on the screen and acted as if she’d ignore the caller, too.

“I’d better go,” said the other woman. She hugged the Tenth and walked out the door, leaving the rose on the table.

The last woman sitting answered the phone. “Come get me, will you, honey?”

As I watched, she picked up the pink rose and wept into its open bloom.

“Yes, the doctor called, right before the party started. The girls have been so good to me, honey. And they’ve all been through so much, you know. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them, but I have to tell you…”

A few seconds passed, and then an entire lifetime.

“Six weeks.”

Posted by Katy on 10/10/06 at 08:13 AM

Fallible Comments...

*stunned into silence*
Posted by Tess on 10/10/06 at 09:54 AM
Okay, Katy, this story has to be fabricated, as it's too unrealisitic to be true. Fess up.
Posted by Bridget on 10/10/06 at 11:35 AM
Wow!
Posted by Suzan on 10/10/06 at 12:06 PM
Tess--What? Silence from the girl whose blog is titled "Tess Talks?" ;)

Bridgie--Completely factual, except for no phone ever rang (at least not hat I heard). I left the store before the last two women, never knowing which one the rose belonged to--or why. My imagination supplied the reasons for the Tenth's odd behaviors.
Posted by Katy on 10/10/06 at 12:09 PM
Meant to write, "at least, not THAT I heard." No hats were harmed in commenting on this post!

Suzan--That's how I feel about you!
Posted by Katy on 10/10/06 at 12:14 PM
Just riveting, Katy! Well done!
Posted by Sabine on 10/10/06 at 01:52 PM
Sabine--I'm so glad you checked in here! Now I've caught up on your blog, too. Am again amazed by our similar experiences....
Posted by Katy on 10/11/06 at 06:01 AM
Glad a stopped by. Powerful story. Thanks, Katy!
Posted by Deborah on 10/12/06 at 06:27 PM
Deborah--I'm glad you stopped, too! I've visited your site recently, and definitely will return. So much good stuff there.....
Posted by Katy on 10/13/06 at 01:25 PM
A nail biter...it takes a real talent to write about a group of women having coffee and make it a nail biter for a guy. And the worst part was not that it seized my heart and brought the tears to the edge. No, the worst part was that after I enjoyed seeing the lights come on the playing field where we judge one another's hearts out of lack of submission to God's heart, and after I embraced that moment transparently behind my computer monitor where nobody could see me laid open for a moment wondering just how far into the marketplace I was willing to walk closely with my God, I then looked at your expression from behind the mug and could swear I heard you say: "Ha ha ha...Gotcha!"

Case in point, I guess...?
Posted by Mike on 07/16/11 at 06:48 AM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	To The Nines From the time I sat down in Starbucks and took in the sight of the group of women, I had one of them pegged. Nine of them were dressed to the nines, all in skirts and heels and jewels. But the tenth? She was dressed to the tens. Her nails bore none of those tell-tale gaps between the cuticles and the acryllic, the funky, not-found-in-nature spaces that speak of several neglectful days of missed manicures. Her coif would not have moved even if she’d thrown her head back and guffawed, which I instantly realized would not happen with this woman in this crowd—ever. The ten ladies, five of whom appeared old enough to be the mothers of the other five, circled around a small table as if it was a campfire. There they told their stories, which I could not hear. It didn’t matter, of course. I could read them like a book, and did for two long hours. The Tenth had the kind of Mona Lisa smile I find infuriating. After all, she didn’t outclass the others by that much, but she sure acted like she did. The two ladies to her left whispered to each other and she stared straight ahead. I caught a glimpse of the ladies across the table, wondering if she might be completely absorbed in their conversation, but they also talked among themselves. The high and mighty one failed to turn her head to the left or to the right, in case she might be called upon to actually interact with one of the lowly Nines. I wondered why they’d even invited her, since they didn’t seem to know her very well, and she plainly didn’t care. An hour into their party (for a celebratory atmosphere did eventually set in), I couldn’t help but notice that the Tenth let her left arm dangle over the arm of the upholstered chair upon which she’d enthroned herself. Her other hand remained in her lap, and her expression never changed, but her fingernails began systematically digging into the corded trim of the unfortunate chair. Up and down slid her bony hand, gnawing at the brown velvet, punishing it for crimes unspoken, relentlessly slitting the chair’s narrow throat with each slice of her sharpened fingers. Once, her lips moved. Her head even turned, though her hair somehow failed to follow. It was then I saw that a single long-stemmed pink rose had been laid in the center of the table. Within a moment, a woman on the far side of the group opened a little gift book—the kind Hallmark produces for occasions like this—and read it aloud. I couldn’t hear the words, but each member of the group paid rapt attention. I saw one turn to another with tears running down her face, and that’s when I knew the event must have been in her honor. Ah, yes. The stillettos should have given it away from moment one. These women—pharmaceutical sales reps all—gathered to celebrate the recent promotion of one in their ranks to Regional Sales Manager. So that was it, eh? The Tenth’s jealousy drove her to distraction. The party wound down, the coffee dregs completely drained, and one by one the women trickled from the shop. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five. The rose remained, untouched, thorns and all. I could not leave until I saw the new Sales Manager pick up her rose, until I knew for certain. Four, three, two. Two. Would the Tenth congratulate the party girl, or not? A phone rang out, and suddenly I realized that my ears had been opened. The unblinking woman halted her attack on the upholstery, reached into her purse, and pulled out the intrusive object. She looked at the number displayed on the screen and acted as if she’d ignore the caller, too. “I’d better go,” said the other woman. She hugged the Tenth and walked out the door, leaving the rose on the table. The last woman sitting answered the phone. “Come get me, will you, honey?” As I watched, she picked up the pink rose and wept into its open bloom. “Yes, the doctor called, right before the party started. The girls have been so good to me, honey. And they’ve all been through so much, you know. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them, but I have to tell you…” A few seconds passed, and then an entire lifetime. “Six weeks.” Posted by Katy on 10/10/06 at 08:13 AM Fallible Comments... stunned into silence Posted by Tess on 10/10/06 at 09:54 AM Okay, Katy, this story has to be fabricated, as it's too unrealisitic to be true. Fess up. Posted by Bridget on 10/10/06 at 11:35 AM Wow! Posted by Suzan on 10/10/06 at 12:06 PM Tess--What? Silence from the girl whose blog is titled "Tess Talks?" ;) Bridgie--Completely factual, except for no phone ever rang (at least not hat I heard). I left the store before the last two women, never knowing which one the rose belonged to--or why. My imagination supplied the reasons for the Tenth's odd behaviors. Posted by Katy on 10/10/06 at 12:09 PM Meant to write, "at least, not THAT I heard." No hats were harmed in commenting on this post! Suzan--That's how I feel about you! Posted by Katy on 10/10/06 at 12:14 PM Just riveting, Katy! Well done! Posted by Sabine on 10/10/06 at 01:52 PM Sabine--I'm so glad you checked in here! Now I've caught up on your blog, too. Am again amazed by our similar experiences.... Posted by Katy on 10/11/06 at 06:01 AM Glad a stopped by. Powerful story. Thanks, Katy! Posted by Deborah on 10/12/06 at 06:27 PM Deborah--I'm glad you stopped, too! I've visited your site recently, and definitely will return. So much good stuff there..... Posted by Katy on 10/13/06 at 01:25 PM A nail biter...it takes a real talent to write about a group of women having coffee and make it a nail biter for a guy. And the worst part was not that it seized my heart and brought the tears to the edge. No, the worst part was that after I enjoyed seeing the lights come on the playing field where we judge one another's hearts out of lack of submission to God's heart, and after I embraced that moment transparently behind my computer monitor where nobody could see me laid open for a moment wondering just how far into the marketplace I was willing to walk closely with my God, I then looked at your expression from behind the mug and could swear I heard you say: "Ha ha ha...Gotcha!" Case in point, I guess...? Posted by Mike on 07/16/11 at 06:48 AM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: A Win Situation Previous entry: Author, Author! << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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To The Nines

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri