Isle of Palms (41 page)

“Anna! This place is unbelievable! I love it! I absolutely love it! Was that your
daughter?
She’s brilliant!”

Maybe she wasn’t such a bitch after all.

“Yeah, that’s my Emily. She goes to Georgetown. Home for the summer.”

“Oh! I didn’t know they had a college in Georgetown, South Carolina.”

“No. She goes to Georgetown University in D.C. Gonna be a sophomore.”

“You’re kidding. How in the world did she get in
there?”

Okay, she was still a bitch.

“Her great-great-grandfather’s uncle was John Carroll, who founded it.” That was a complete lie and I didn’t even flinch. “Plus, she made pretty good grades and got a sixteen hundred on her SATs.” While you’re lying, why not go whole hog? “Yeah, we’re real proud of her. She’s a whip.” Stuff that up your pedigree!

“I guess you
are
proud of her!” Her blue eyes were Frisbees. “I would be, too. You know my son has a pack of learning disabilities.”

Okay, not a bitch.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“Oh! He’s very smart and all that, but he’s always had a problem with writing. Verbally? He’s amazing. A vocabulary like I don’t know what. But your daughter goes to Georgetown. That’s really fabulous. What a kid!”

I smiled at her in the mirror, thinking this conversation with her was proof of why it was better to listen than to talk, and said, “Yeah. Want a smoothie? Cup of cappuccino?”

“Cappuccino would be great! Gosh!”

“Thanks,” I said and walked over to the coffee machine. Bettina was standing there, hovering below boiling, having heard her and ready to kill.

“Just who the hell is
that?”

“She’s a good client,” I said, “stay cool.” I put the pod in the coffee machine and foamed the milk, waiting for the coffee to drip.

“Lemme give her a
Brazilian
bikini wax, Anna.
That’ll
fix her.”

“Simmer down, Brooklyn.” I gave her a light punch on her little arm. “Why don’t you offer her a manicure? You busy?”

“I’m on it.”

Before I could return to Caroline with the coffee, Bettina was standing there.

“You know what, sweetheart? You oughta let me do your nails for ya.”

“Well, all right, why not?” Caroline said. “I haven’t had a manicure in weeks!”

“Here we are,” I said, handing her the mug. “Now, what are we doing today?”

“I need an updo, I think. I have a wedding tomorrow morning and it’s outdoors. In this humidity, I need my hair practically nailed in place. I have these little waves here and here.” She pointed to her forehead.

“Or, I could rebond your hair. I mean, it takes a while, but you’ll have stick straight hair for six months.”

Her eyes went from normal back to Frisbees again. “You mean for six months, I don’t have to use a straightening iron?”

“Yep. Guaranteed. It’s no bargain, but it’s foolproof. And, you’ll be here until about nine tonight.”

“How much would it cost? Shoot! Who cares? Go ahead! Lemme just call my boyfriend.”

She pulled a shiny cell phone from her bright red Louis Vuitton bag and hit speed-dial for the Man.

I went to mix the conditioner and solutions I needed, thinking about her wallet.
How much could it be? How’s four hundred dollars—one hundred extra for keeping me here until nine o’clock.

She was still talking to him with her free hand when I returned. Bettina had moved in on her and was filing away at the same speed she chewed her gum. I would have to talk to her about that gum.

“Jack says hello,” Caroline said, smiling up at me.

Jack says hello. I don’t know Jack and you don’t know Jack either!
“That’s so sweet! Tell him I said hey and to come on in here and let me make him look like Tom Cruise,” I said, thinking that one day I would accidentally get a mind reader in my chair and then the jig would be up.

“He
already
looks like Tom Cruise!” she said, in that girly gush voice that men loved. “Well, maybe Tom Cruise’s older brother.”

“Yeah?” Bettina said, piping up, “then tell him to
definitely
come on in here! I’ll give him a massage on the house!”

She started that snort laugh of hers and we couldn’t hold back the giggles. I was getting punch-drunk tired. The problem was that our giggles—mine and Caroline’s—had an empty sound, like we were all starved for something to laugh about, and maybe we were. Maybe there was something I had in common with Caroline Wimbley Levine—some kind of starvation.

I saturated her hair with heavy conditioners and put her under the dryer for thirty minutes. That was to protect and prepare her hair for the process. I handed her the latest issues of
Skirt
,
W
, and
Town & Country
. She was oblivious to what we said under the hum of the hood.

It was just after six o’clock and most of the staff were ready to leave for the day. Brigitte was the first to say good night.

“How early can I get in here tomorrow?” she said.

“When’s your first appointment?” I said.

“Wedding party. They’d like to start at seven. Bride, six brides-maids, mother of the bride. Ugh. I hate wedding parties.”

“Want a hand?”

“Would you? Oh, God! Thanks, Anna. I owe you one.”

“No sweat. See you at seven! Bring doughnuts!”

“They need manicures, don’t they?”

“You bet!” I said.

“No problem!” she said and out the door she went.

I watched Brigitte leave, thinking to myself that she had worked constantly all week, one client after another, and that she was quietly bringing in tons of new business. On the aggravation meter, wedding parties only ranked slightly higher than prom girls. The stress of a bride and her mother were bad enough; add one pregnant bridesmaid, one cranky sister-in-law-to-be, and at least one other newly married-someone-cuter-and-with-more-promise-than-the-bride’s-intended to the lineup. It was enough nervous anxiety for a stylist to keep Zoloft in the drawer. It also meant that by ten in the morning we would all be fried for the rest of the day, but with a substantially fatter wallet. You’d have to be an idiot to turn away a wedding party, from a business point of view, and anyway, there was something really nice about being a part of someone’s wedding day.

Lucy did the bank deposit for the next day and turned to Emily.

“Y’all going out again tonight?”

“Yeah. We were gonna go eat Mexican food and then see a movie. You wanna come with us? David wants to see
Star Wars
.”

Lucy and I eyed each other. She was flattered. I knew better. For Emily to invite Lucy on her date carried meaning. Either Emily was trying to score points with Lucy for a reason beyond fathom or she didn’t like David anymore. She was crazy about David and didn’t care what Lucy thought. Everyone knew that. Or, and this one had the highest probability, it was that they intended to sneak off someplace after the movie but invited Lucy so Aunt Lucy and I would think,
Aren’t they great kids,
when they sneaked in the house at one in the morning.

“Emily, I want you in the house by eleven tonight. I’m gonna need you in the morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Damn it!”
she said.

Did I know this kid or what? “David will understand. You have a job, right? We have a wedding party at seven. Put a buck in the box.”

“Damn it!”
Emily repeated as she stomped to the back to get her purse. “Well, there goes the movie. That’s just
great.”

“Two bucks!” I said.

“What does all that mean?” Lucy said, in a whisper to me.

“It means you don’t have to sit through
Star Wars
,” I said back, under my breath.

“Well, thank God. Em, honey, thanks for the invitation, but I think tonight I’m just gonna put my feet up. You and David go on and have a good time, okay? Come on, I’ll give you a lift home.”

I was checking Caroline’s timer when I heard the door open.

“Well, hel-looo!”
said Lucy.

I looked up to see a very handsome man, late forties, with a bad haircut, looking all befuddled.

“Jack!” Caroline said from under the dryer. She lifted her hood and stood up to greet him. “Y’all! This is Jack!”

Bettina and I said hello to him. I caught Jack’s eye and something mildly electric passed between us.

I averted my eyes immediately, hoping he would let it go.

“What kinda salon is this? Who owns this place? Tarzan?” He started laughing, thinking he was hilarious.

“Nope, it’s mine. You can call me Sheena. Can we get you something to drink?” I said. “Coffee?”

“Uh, no, thanks,” he said and turned to Caroline. “What are you doing? Spending the night? I thought we were going out for dinner.”

When the irate
other
shows up and begins to bark, the smart stylist steps away and makes herself busy doing anything so she won’t appear to be eavesdropping, even though she never misses a single solitary word.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Caroline said, “it’s just that I had a chance to straighten my hair and Anna had time, so I said okay. Why don’t we go out for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night I’m on call,” Jack said.

Hmm. Doctor. Not bad, I thought, and then quickly dismissed the thought of being Mrs. Doctor Jack. Besides, HMOs have ruined the lifestyle. It didn’t take much to push old Arthur aside.
Still . . .

“Well, can we go late?”

“What time will you be done?”

She was standing on her tiptoes, which was entirely unnecessary, and kissing his cheek when I came back around the corner.

“She’ll be out of here by nine-thirty,” I said. “God, I’m sorry to have ruined your plans. I didn’t know.” Now, first of all, I meant what I said. I don’t know why I felt obligated to apologize to them, except that I didn’t want this Jack to think ill of me. “Unless you want to do this another time.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Anna. We go out to dinner all the time; don’t we, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, we do,” Jack said. “It’s true.”

“Jack? If you’d like, I have a nice bottle of wine in the back and some cheese in the refrigerator. Bettina? Why don’t you show him where it’s at and let’s make this whole process as painless as possible?”

Jack brightened a little so Bettina said, “Come with me, doll.”

Jack shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why not? I could use a glass of wine.” For a second we all seemed to be watching Bettina wiggle as she walked and grinned as Jack followed her.

“She’s a little number,” Caroline said, “is she married?”

“I wouldn’t worry about Bettina trying to snag Jack in the back room. She’s as safe as they come and
very
married.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

It occurred to me that if she was so worried about Jack why was she willing to throw away dinner with him?

I rinsed her hair, put her in my chair, combed her out, and blew it dry.

“Alright. Before we start this, I have to give you follow-up instructions. No ponytails, bobby pins or clips, or shampoo for forty-eight hours, okay? You can’t even put your hair behind your ears. Do we agree?” I stood there stirring the chemical soup in my mixing bowl like one of Macbeth’s witches.

“Okay. But why?”

“You’ll make marks in your hair with rubber bands and a shampoo will neutralize the whole deal, just like you’re not supposed to shampoo after a perm.”

“I’ll tell you, this is some world we live in, isn’t it? My momma used to always say, Pride knoweth no pain.”

“Your momma was right about pride and everything else too. I loved her to pieces.”

“I miss her so bad I could die.”

“Well, if you die, at least you’ll have great hair in the box,” I said, and began to section her hair.

I applied the straightener section by section, waited ten minutes, and towel-dried her hair until it was bone dry. Then I ran the flattening iron across each section with the neutralizer to seal it, taking an occasional sip of wine while everyone chatted away. I couldn’t remember if this was the exact order of steps I was supposed to use, but it seemed okay since her hair wasn’t falling out on the floor. That was a relief. Bit by bit, Caroline’s hair began to shine like it was waxed and we all marveled at it.

“Amazing,” Bettina said. “Can you do mine too?”

“Yeah, but not tonight,” I said, “next week.”

Bettina had already talked Jack into a shampoo and a neck and shoulder massage on the house.

“Go tell everybody you know that Bettina gives the best massage you ever had,” she said, throwing all her weight into Jack’s muscles. “Man! You’re tight! Lotta stress?”

“Yeah, I guess. That feels so good!”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to learn how to do that too!” Caroline said.

I was trimming her now stick-straight hair into some layers to give it movement. If Jack had been mine, I would’ve known every muscle group he had by name. Some women had all the luck.

Her hair looked wonderful and even she agreed.

“Gosh, Anna! It’s a miracle!”

“Yes,” I said, “it’s rather stunning! I’m glad you like it.”

“You look gorgeous, Caroline. Let’s pay the bill and let these ladies have what’s left of their evening.”

Bettina cleaned up and was turning out the lights. I handed Caroline a bill for four hundred and twenty dollars. It was nearly ten o’clock and I was dead on my feet. She handed me her American Express card and when the machine accepted it and expelled the receipt for her to sign, she added a fat tip.

Bettina came up beside me and handed me my purse. She turned on the night-lights and turned off the coffeemaker. I just stood there watching him open the door of her car and making sure she was safely inside. I was jealous of her and ashamed of myself for it.