Echoes

For Ross
,
the other half of my heart
,
who said all the right things
when I came home after a perm disaster
.

L
auren Phillips flipped the magazine page and stopped. There it was: The garden gazebo she had been trying to describe to Jeff.

“Would it be okay if I tore this page out?” she asked the hairdresser who stood over her, busily unrolling the perm rods from Lauren’s long hair.

“Sure. That’s an old copy. Did you find a good recipe?”

“No, I found a gazebo.” She held up the picture. “This is where I want to get married.”

“Romantic,” the stylist commented, tugging out another rod. “Looks like the one at Belmont.”

Lauren had heard about Belmont University and the 150-year-old mansion on the campus that was available for wedding rentals. She would have to look into that.

The stylist continued working on Lauren’s blond hair. “Gazebos aren’t especially practical for weddings, you know. Where do all the guests sit?”

Jeff asked the same question last week when she tried to describe the gazebo setting to him. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” she glanced at her watch. “Do you think this will take much longer?” For nearly four hours she had endured the torture of getting a perm. Her tender head was protesting the treatment, and Jeff would be waiting at the restaurant. He didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Almost done.”

Lauren nervously twisted the large diamond ring on her finger and wondered why she ever thought getting a spiral perm was a good idea. It was her first perm since she was fourteen. Since that experience ten years ago, she had worn her silky blond hair the same way—straight down her back, hanging almost to her waist. Then, a few weeks ago, Lauren’s supervisor at the bank had come to this salon during her lunch hour. She was transformed from drab to dynamite and that had convinced Lauren to live a little and surprise Jeff with a new look.

With a yank, the stylist pulled out the final rod and maneuvered a wide pick through Lauren’s long locks. Suddenly the comb-out stopped, and in a thin voice the stylist called for her supervisor. He joined her, and the two seemed to talk in code, both touching the ends of Lauren’s hair and pulling their fingers through the underside. She wished they would spin her chair around so she could have a look in the mirror.

“Have you been in the pool a lot this summer?” the supervisor asked.

“No.”
It
was
only the end of June. Why would he ask such a question?

“We’ll include a bottle of our 911 conditioner for you to use at home,” he said. “Wait two days before you wash your hair.”

Lauren noticed as he walked away that strands of her
blond hair were between his fingers.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Lauren turned herself around to face the mirror before the stylist could stop her. The sight of her reflection was shocking. Instead of soft waves of caramel cascading down, as shown on the model in the
Hairstyles for Today
book, Lauren’s hair had turned into wild, crumpled straw, zigzagging from the crown of her head.

“What happened?” she cried.

“Sometimes it takes a day or two for the perm to calm down,” the woman said brightly. “You need to give it a little time to relax. Be sure to use the conditioner.”

“This is not what I wanted,” Lauren said. She fingered the dry ends of her hair and ran her hand over the back. “It’s … it’s not what I wanted. I want my old hair back.”

The stylist unclasped the drape from around Lauren’s neck and said, “It should relax in a few days.”

Lauren reached for her backpack and walked the ten feet to the register, certain the customers waiting in the front of the shop would all look up at her and burst into laughter.

“Here you go,” the manager said, handing her the conditioner. “And I gave you a 20 percent discount.”

“A 20 percent discount? Why?”

“As a courtesy, that’s all.”

Lauren was too numb to ask any more questions. She signed the Visa voucher and filled in the tip portion of the form with a hastily figured 15 percent. “Thank you,” she mumbled, bolting for the parking lot.

Why did I leave her a tip? She probably ruined my hair! That’s why they gave me the discount. I can’t believe this happened!

Lauren quickly unlocked her door, slid into the driver’s seat, and jerked the rearview mirror in her direction.

“Oh, no. No, no, no!” she moaned. “My poor hair! What am I going to do?” She ran her fingers through the clump of
hair hanging over her shoulder, and a dozen strands came out. A repeat finger-combing brought out more hair.