Love Gently Falling (5 page)

“Probably be good for them both. That boy needs to stick with his physical therapy, too.”

Rita picked at some loose piping on a chair. “This place looks a little rundown, Charlene. I don't remember it being this bad last time I was here.”

Charlene shrugged. “Yeah…but that was a while back. And money is tight and upgrades are spendy.”

“Do clients ever complain?”

“Why should they complain?” Charlene looked indignant as she smoothed her short auburn hair into place. “They get quality hairdressing at an affordable price. If that means we can't decorate like they do in
Beverly Hills
, our patrons shouldn't complain—
should they
?” She gave Rita the exact same look she used when Rita was a teenager questioning something in the salon.

“No, no…of course, not.”

Charlene's tone softened as she led the way to the back room. “Sorry, honey. Didn't mean to bite your head off. But it's been a bone of contention lately. A couple of our best hairdressers quit last fall…complaining that we're not keeping up with the times.
Irksome
.”

Rita wanted to say she could understand why a good stylist wouldn't want to work here, but she knew that would offend Charlene—as well as be disrespectful to her mom. And she wondered…really, what was the point? As hard as it was to think about, how likely was it that her mom would return to work anytime soon? Or ever, for that matter?

“So what are you doing here?” Charlene asked as she hung up her coat.

“I brought Krispy Kremes,” Rita announced brightly.

Charlene laughed. “You came out here this early just to bring doughnuts?”

“Actually, Mom asked me to come. She wants me to help out.”

“She's talking now?”

“Not exactly.” Rita explained how they communicated.

“How does she want you to help out?” Charlene opened the dryer and removed a load of towels, starting to fold them. “What are you going to do, exactly?”

Rita reached for a towel, folding it as she considered her answer. “To be honest, I'm not really sure. But Mom seemed pretty determined and urgent. She wouldn't take no for an answer.”

“I've been handling her appointments.” Charlene reached for another towel. “It's not like we're real busy, Rita.”

“Why not?” Rita set her folded towel on the small stack.

“Well, winter is always a slow time of year.”

“Oh…?”

“And have you heard about
Zinnia's
?” Charlene made a sour face.

“Yeah…”

“Well, I'm sure that's eaten a good portion of our business.”

“That makes some sense.” Rita considered the salon's shabby condition again, wondering why Charlene couldn't see how uninviting it was. It certainly wasn't the kind of place Rita would feel comfortable getting her hair done in—well, unless she knew the people running it. But even then. A woman liked to feel special and pampered and important when she got her hair done. Hair and Now just couldn't provide that anymore.

“I've got a lady from the nursing home coming here for a perm at nine thirty,” Charlene told her. “I should probably start getting things set up.” She chuckled. “Well, as soon as I sink my teeth into one of those yummy doughnuts.”

“I'll make the coffee.”

“Good girl.”

“And then…I want to go over everything, Charlene. I want to study the appointment books and the inventory and the computer programs and everything. I want to see if I can come up with a business plan.”

“A business plan? Well, wouldn't that be something.” Charlene took a bite of a doughnut and smiled at Rita. “Maybe you're just what this place needs, honey.”

Rita wondered about that. Was she really what Hair and Now needed, or would she simply end up irritating everyone with her ideas and suggestions and criticisms—the same way she used to do?

Rita parked herself
at the reception counter with a cup of coffee as she studied the appointment book and some outdated computer programs, making notes of ideas that might improve business. She remembered the days when Hair and Now had employed a part-time receptionist—Zinnia—during the busiest hours of the day. Apparently that practice had gone by the wayside, too. One of Zinnia's responsibilities had been to keep track of the inventory of beauty products on the nearby shelves. But judging by the faded labels of bottles and tubes, everything on this shelf was probably at least ten years old. It should all be thrown out. Perhaps it could be considered a tax loss.

Around midmorning, the two part-time hairdressers showed up. Rita hadn't met them before and cheerfully introduced herself, but they both regarded her with suspicion and a general lack of enthusiasm. Clearly, they were not overjoyed to be employed here.

“There are Krispy Kreme doughnuts in back,” she told them in a friendly tone.

“Just what this figure needs.” Jillian patted her thick midsection. “More sugar.”

“Not that it will stop you,” Yolanda teased. “It never has before.”

“Just because you can eat anything and stay thin…” Jillian glared at Yolanda.

Before long, the two of them returned with their doughnuts, loitering around the reception area as if they were curious about the new interloper. “So you're the hairdresser to the stars,” Yolanda said to Rita. “Donna talks about you all the time.”

“Most of my clients aren't celebrities,” Rita clarified. “But, yes, I do work in Beverly Hills.”

“How's that compare to here?” Jillian asked as she chewed a bite of doughnut.

“Naturally, it's different.” Rita glanced around the lackluster salon and sighed. “I have to admit that I was a little surprised at how rundown Hair and Now has gotten.”

Well, that comment opened the floodgates, and suddenly Jillian and Yolanda started unloading long laundry lists of everything that was wrong with this salon. Fortunately, their appointments—a pair of elderly women—showed up, and they had to get to work. But Rita made notes of some of their more legitimate complaints. And when they weren't busy with customers, she invited them to list things they'd like to see changed and give them to her. She doubted they'd come up with anything she hadn't already observed, but she knew it would make them feel validated. Plus it would strengthen her case—which she planned to present to her mother.

As she finished dumping the dated beauty products, after listing their retail values for tax purposes, she realized it was past one and she was hungry. She told the other women she was going out for lunch and even offered to pick them up something, but with no takers, she got her coat and hurried out the front door. To her surprise, instead of the courtyard she remembered, she found some sort of construction was in process. Men and noisy tools and dust seemed to be everywhere. She knew that the lower level of the mall was considered the less valuable real estate, but with all this mess going on, it felt like the slums. She rode the escalator up and was immediately struck by how different the atmosphere was on the upper levels. She could still hear a little construction noise, but the piped music helped to camouflage it a little. And the shops up here looked light and bright and shiny and new. Many of them had inviting Valentine's Day displays in their windows. And the general feeling was of prosperity and success. So different than down below.

Rita went into Noah's Ark, which was located directly above Hair and Now. She hadn't been in here in years, but remembered how it had been a fun hangout when she was a teen. To her surprise, the original owner, Noah Goldstein, was standing behind the counter. “You're still here,” she said happily.

“You bet.” He grinned at her. “Good to see you, Rita. I heard about your mom. How's she doing?”

Rita gave him the update, then, as a couple more customers got into line, she placed an order for soup and bread and took a seat over by the back wall. She smiled to see the old Noah's ark mural still there, complete with the colorful rainbow above it. Her friends used to say, “meet you under the rainbow,” when they were headed here. And she used to jokingly tell her mom that Hair and Now was located beneath the rainbow, saying that it was like the pot of gold. It had seemed true then, when business was good. Not so much now.

As Rita ate her beef and barley soup, she wondered what was to become of her parents. She knew that Ricky's injury had depleted what little savings they had, and that her dad's decreased salary wasn't sufficient to support them without the additional income from the salon. She also knew that since the business wasn't thriving and her mom leased her space, there was nothing to be gained from selling Hair and Now. If only there was a way to fix it up. Rita considered her own savings, which she would gladly donate to help her parents, but she knew it wasn't enough to make a real difference. What Hair and Now needed most was a miracle. Maybe she should buy a lottery ticket.

As she waved goodbye to Noah, she decided it was time to pay her old best friend a visit. Johnny had said Marley's thrift shop was near Martindale's. That should be easy to find. As she walked past the various shops and stores, she noticed that a few spaces were vacant. Not as many as there had been the last time she'd walked through here—about five years ago. Hopefully the economy was picking up.

“Secondhand Rose,” she read the curly lettered sign out loud as she paused by the glass door. Marley's middle name was Rose, and sometimes, when they were little girls and playing dress-up, Marley would go by Rose. Rita peered in the storefront window, where a stylish selection of romantic outfits was artistically displayed. She marveled at the enticing layers of lacy tops and floral scarves and velvet vests and flowing skirts and a variety of interesting accessories—all in complementary shades of pink, magenta, red, and lavender. Perfect for Valentine's Day.

A bell jingled as she pushed the door open and stepped inside. At first glance, she could see the shop was charming. And if a person didn't know, they would probably never even guess it was a thrift store. It even smelled nice…an exotic mixture of spice and floral tones, but not too heavy.

“Welcome,” a cheery voice called out from the back of the store.

Rita caught her breath as Marley emerged from behind the counter, smiling and looking retro-chic in a short burgundy dress with black textured stockings and tall boots.
“Rita!”
Marley's dark brown eyes grew large in disbelief.

“Marley…” Rita felt a lump in her throat, wondering what she should do. Pretend to be shopping? Apologize? Make a run for it?

But before she could decide, Marley rushed toward her, threw her arms around Rita, and hugged her tightly. “Oh, Rita! I've missed you so much.”

“Me, too,” Rita said with a sob. “I'm so sorry, Marley. So sorry I said what I said back then. I was so stupid and immature and I was probably just jealous and—”

“Oh, hush!” Marley stopped her. “As it turned out, you were right.”

Rita frowned. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah…so am I.” Marley stepped back to look at Rita. “My elegant Beverly Hills friend has arrived.”

Rita touched her hair. “I sure don't feel very elegant.”

“Well, you look beautiful.”

“So do you.” Rita fingered a strand of Marley's long chestnut hair. “When did you grow this out?”

“Ages ago. In fact, I was just thinking it was time for a change.”

“I know where you can get a haircut real cheap.” Rita wrinkled her nose. “Although it appears they cater more to old ladies these days.”

“Your mom's salon?” Marley gave her a sympathetic look. “How's she doing anyway? I heard about her stroke. But Johnny said she's making great improvements.”

Rita gave her an update as she perused a rack of sweaters. “Your shop is fabulous, Marley. I love it. So creative and well done. It looks like you.”

“Thanks. It's been a fun project…a good distraction.”

Rita was pretty sure Marley was referring to Rex, but she didn't want to push her. Not with their history. It was so good being with Marley again. No way was she going to jeopardize their friendship.

“How long are you in town?”

“I don't really know. But I let my manager know I wanted two weeks.” Now Rita told Marley just how bad things were down in Hair and Now. “I don't even know if there's much I can do to help. But it needs help. That's for certain.”

“Well, it probably didn't help that Zinnia opened her salon.” Marley jerked her thumb over a shoulder. “Her place is right next door. Did you see it yet?”

“Not yet. But I wanted to take a peek. Unless that's rude.” Rita considered this. “I don't want to step on her toes. But I would like to spy a little.”

“It's pretty nice,” Marley told her.

“I hear that Zinnia is pretty nice nowadays, too.” Rita looked curiously at Marley.

“Oh, yeah.” Marley nodded. “I remember how she used to be so snooty, like she thought she was so much older and cooler than us. But, really, she's changed a lot.”

“I hear you're good friends with her.”

“Good friends?” Marley's mouth twisted to one side as if she wasn't quite sure. “Who told you that?”

“Johnny. He gave me a ride from the airport. He made it sound like you and Zinnia were buddy-buddy—best friends.”

“Well, we are friends, that's true. But best friends is a bit of a stretch. Maybe Johnny said that because he and Zinnia have been getting rather chummy.”

Rita was surprised, but tried not to show it. “Interesting.”

“Anyway, Zinnia is okay. Plus I've learned that it pays to be congenial with your business neighbors.”

“Very smart.” For some reason Rita felt relieved to know Zinnia hadn't replaced Rita as Marley's best friend. Not that Marley shouldn't have a new best friend. But hopefully someone a bit more reliable than Zinnia. Marley continued showing Rita around her shop, chattering happily and trying to catch up on the past ten years. But when customers came in, Rita felt guilty for distracting Marley from her customers.

“We should go to dinner or something,” Rita said.

“Yes!” Marley exclaimed. “I can't do it tonight. But I have my high school girls working here on Saturday. I could do lunch.” They exchanged phone numbers and worked out the details, then Rita continued on her way.

Zinnia's salon was impossible to miss. The windows were draped with bright-colored paper flowers—probably they were supposed to be zinnias. The zinnia motif continued inside the salon. Huge blossoms in canary yellow, bright orange, turquoise blue, and fuchsia went from floor to ceiling in a dizzying array. The chairs at the style stations and shampoo area were the same shades as the flowers, and everything else—the cutting stations, chairs, and floor—was all white. Very striking.

“May I help you?” a young woman with black hair tipped with sky blue asked Rita, speaking loud to be heard above the music.

“I'm actually just looking, thanks.” Rita made a stiff smile.

“
Looking?
” The woman's brow creased. “Oh, you mean for product.” She pointed to a tall, well-stocked shelf behind her. “It's all right there.”

Rita nodded as she moved toward the product display. “Yes. Thanks.” As she stood there pretending to study the containers of what she knew was a less than stellar product line, she was actually peering through the open shelving into the relatively busy salon. At least it was busy compared to Hair and Now. It was bigger too, and although this salon had eight hair cutting stations, it clearly was not only about hair. Rita spied a large mani-pedi section, a makeup counter with three chairs, plus what appeared to be a tanning spray booth in back. Zinnia was certainly ambitious.

As Rita picked up a bottle of conditioner, still playing the shopper, she noticed Zinnia emerging from the back. If she hadn't known this was Zinnia's salon, she might not have even recognized her. Certainly, Zinnia was still petite and pretty in that pixie like way, but her hair, which used to be mousy brown and kinky, was now sleek and blond and long—very similar to how Rita wore her hair, but longer.

Zinnia's eyes grew wide as she spied Rita through the shelving unit, and before Rita could make a slick getaway, which seemed a bit immature, Zinnia had joined her. “Rita Jansen?” she said in disbelief. “My stars! Is that really you?”

“Hey, Zinnia.” Rita made an uneasy smile. “I like your new do.” She fingered a strand of Zinnia's hair, which felt in need of a good conditioning. “Looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” Zinnia made a puzzled expression. “Find what you're looking for?”

“Not exactly. This isn't my brand.” Rita put the conditioner back on the shelf.