Split Ends (27 page)

“Kate . . .” I rake my hand though my hair. “My mother's in jail here because she did something at the airport. I have no idea what yet. Scott is feeling crowded, and my job at Yoshi's is anything but secure—how can you choose right now to become unstable?”

“Did I ask you for anything?”

This feels like a slap across the cheek. “Well, no, but I can hardly let you stay in that dump.”

“Sarah Claire, my grandmother's money is now well over twenty-five thousand dollars. I can stay anywhere I want. If I wanted to head to the Wilshire, I could. But you know, I passed the Chinese theatre, the Galleria, the Roosevelt, and I didn't want to leave Hollywood. I wanted to experience it, so here I am. There was no one to tell me it was a stupid idea, and I did what I wanted to do. It's powerful, you know?”

“Couldn't you have experienced it
at
the Roosevelt?”

“They were full.”

“Can you use some of that money to take classes at Yoshi's?”

“No, Sarah Claire. That's your shot. I'm going to use my money and play at the beach for a time, figure out what I want to do with my life. Maybe I'll go to college. Who knows? Do you think I'd be a good coed?”

I feel myself start to tear up because Kate was who I always wanted to be, and here she is mimicking my train wreck of a life. “Kate, can you come here at least? Scott won't mind.”

“If you're going to do that weird thing where you look in my eyes to see if I'm telling the truth, I am. I'm young, Sarah Claire. I don't want my life laid out for me I at twenty-six. I think I might go to college, major in something people would never expect of me. Maybe engineering.”

“Engineering? Gosh, I want my life laid out for me.” look at the door and imagine my roommate. “In fact, if Dane came in here right now and said the elevator could take us to another era . . . if he whisked me away to a new life, I'd totally go.”

“You would not.”

“He wears a fedora. I totally would. He makes me believe it could work with a
have
, know what I'm saying?”

“What's a
have?
He wears a hat and you're going to bet your life on him? Maybe you should just call Al now and get a deposit in on your first bail bond.”

This makes me laugh out loud. “Dang, I missed you. Get over here. Who do you think you are coming into the town where I'm living and not seeing me, you little snot.”

She laughs too.

“I just don't want you ending up like your mother 'cuz a guy wears a hat, know what I'm saying?”

“My mother ended up the way she did because she had an amazing ability to throw back a vodka tonic, not a hat fetish.”

“Sarah Claire, you're here to be the next Vidal Sassoon.... Focus!”

“Exactly what Scott said. Go back home, Kate. Not before you see me, but go back home. It's not what you think here. It's like sitting outside one big popular table in high school. Everyone who was homecoming queen or head cheerleader is here trying to make a living out of being beautiful. Go back home where the people are real. Where the traffic reports are not six minutes long but consist of ‘Joey Billing's truck broke down again on Rocky Road. Stop and give him a jump if you can.'”

Kate's still giggling. “I need to try it, all right?” She pauses. “Wait a minute, back up. In the midst of you and your elevator fantasies, did you say your mom was here? Here in California?”

“Yeah, we know she got arrested for using false ID at LAX, but we're not sure why or where she is just yet. They arrested her in my coworker's hallway. She'd left the false ID with them. At least that's as much of the story as they'll tell me on the phone.”
Granted, I haven't exactly scoured the
town for her yet.
“Their police department called the sheriff when he found out there was an arrest warrant, so I got most of the story from back home.”

I look at the clock.

“I've got to go get her.” But in my heart I don't want to. Not one bit. I don't want to rescue her anymore if she's just going to keep living this life. I can't help her if she chooses this life.

“Ryan will follow me here,” Kate says. “You know he will.”

“You said he wasn't interested if you wanted a career.”

“That doesn't mean he won't try to convince me of the error of my ways. I need you to do me a favor.”

“Noooo,” I whine. “Kate, I don't want to hurt Ryan, even if he does think I'm a loser.”

“Please, Sarah Claire. You know he won't listen to me.”

“I'll do it on one condition.”

“You don't even know what the favor is yet.”

“Like heck I don't. Kate, I' have known you since kindergarten. I know exactly what it is. Since I was five I've been doing your dirty business so that the whole town sees you as the sweet girl. Your reputation is intact.”

“All right, what is it then, smartie?”

“You want me to break it off with Ryan.”

She's silent.

“And give back the ring, because I know you're still wearing it,” I continue. More silence. “Is there more?”

“No, that's it. I just hate you for getting it right.”

“He's going to blame me anyway, but I still think it's weird you're not doing it yourself. You'll never be able to show yourself in Sable again.
I'll
never be able to show my face in Sable again. You do realize they'll say I corrupted you and that they warned your mother not to let me hang out with you.”

“What's the condition? You said there was a condition.”

“You have to check out of the seedy motel and get over here to Scott's. There's someone I want you to meet. I need the opinion of a trusted friend, because my logic isn't working so well at the moment.”

“I hate men in hats.”

“You won't hate this one.”

“I'll come in the morning. I want to watch Letterman and sleep.”

“I should go look for my mother anyhow.” But for the first time in my life, I am truly not tempted to seek her out and fix her problem. For the first time in my life, I have something I want, and I see that my continual quest to fix Mom's issues hasn't fixed a thing. I don't want to rescue her anymore if she's just going to keep living like this.I can't help her if she chooses this life. “On second thought, maybe I'll catch Letterman too.”

“It's not selfish to avoid enabling, Sarah Claire.”

“It's so much easier to know what the right thing to do is when it isn't a real person. I mean, anyone else and I'd be telling them to let her go, she's never going to get out of trouble. But she's my mother, and I want to have hope. God forgive me, somehow I still have hope for her. I keep seeing her having this dramatic conversion and becoming the mom I always wanted.”

“What do they put in the water out here?”

“I'll see you in the morning. Come by Yoshi's when you wake up. But you have to meet Dane. I'm not doing your dirty work until you meet Dane.”

See, this is how life is: you change your life so there won't be any problems, and then all new ones crop up that you can't possibly anticipate happening. My issue is the same old issue that keeps popping up. And her name is Janey Winowski.

chapter 20

If I had my career over again?
Maybe I'd say to myself, speed it up a little.
~ James Stewart

H
oping to find solace and escape in someone's world that sucks more than mine, I reach for my ragged copy of
Camille
. The book, which I bought for a quarter at a library sale, always brings me peace. It's not exactly a happy story—it's about a courtesan (a nice French word for a kept woman or your basic high-end prostitute, but I digress) who falls in love with a young man of means, and his father asks her to leave him for the son's sake. Basically, your typical
have/have-not
love affair, and once again, the
have-not
ends up in the gutter while the
have
goes merrily along. Maybe merrily is a little harsh, but she's dead at the end, and that's definitely worse off than the young man. He is still alive and rich.

When Sable would call my mother names, I'd think of Camille, the woman who loved Armand so deeply she sacrificed everything for him only to die alone. I guess I hoped my mother would come to this place and give it all up for me. I hoped that deep in her soul it wasn't about her, and she'd dramatically tell the men it was over. She needed to be a mother!

Considering she's in jail and I'm out my latest thousand bucks, I'd say that dream has gone up in smoke once again. Unrequited love is mine once again. The gift that keeps on giving.

Camille loved Armand with a purity of soul and his
best interest in mind. (Though he never appreciated the gift until she was gone. Typical.) She proved her love in the end. That's my goal. It's so biblical, really. Didn't Rahab prove her worth? My mom is clearly not going to do it, so I'm going to try to die to self and make it up for her. I will change the direction of the Winowski family single-handedly.

I'm trying, God.
I pray that counts for something.

There's a knock at my door and I throw my tattered copy of the book at the wall. I should have watched Letterman.

“Sarah Claire, come out here. I need your help.” I open the door and see my cousin looking pale. “I have a hair emergency.”

“Your hair looks fine.”

“Not mine! Come out here.”

I walk out to the living room to find a woman crying. Her hair is a pale, sickly, pond-scum shade of green. I've seen this before. It's the kind of color mishap that isn't going away with a bottle of anything, but I know better than to say that to a grieving woman. These are the moments that great hairstylists are made from.

“Did you use henna?”

She sniffles and nods. “Can you fix it? I had to wear a hat to get over here. I snuck out the back.”

I walk over and finger a few strands. It's like straw. Fresh spring straw.
It's bad
, I think to myself, worse than when Carrie-Lynn went ballistic with the
Sun-In
and lemon juice. But one never wants to let someone hear their greatest fear out loud. Hair emergencies in Hollywood make a hair emergency in Wyoming look downright comical. This girl is stressed.

“Please say something,” she sobs.

I give the prognosis as gently as possible. “There's no way you're ever going to get it back the way it was, and it's not strong enough to hold extensions, but that doesn't mean we don't have options. Your cheekbones give us a ton of options.”

Full-blown blubbering ensues. “I have a screening for the studio tomorrow night! I've got my dress borrowed from Badgley Mischka!”

“
I've
got her dress borrowed from Badgley Mischka,” Scott corrects.

“Scott, we have a hair emergency. Little easy on ego, all right?” I mean,
really
.

“Do you have a great wig?” She sniffles. “Maybe I can just sweep it on top of my head or wear a bathing c—aa—More sobbing.

“Just calm down for a minute.” My voice is soothing, like a country creek. “We're going to talk options.” I'm all business; it's going to do her no good if she doesn't trust me or think I'm not in complete control. “It's not going to retain any form of blonde like this.” I finger a few strands to let her hear that crisp, crunchy sound. “The green is going to peek through.”

“So a wig?”

“A wig is too dangerous at a premiere because there will be so many photos, and you don't know which angles you'll be taken from. It's impossible to ensure.”

“She's right, Flora, we can't do a wig,” Scott adds, as if he has any idea what I'm talking about. I purse my lips at him.

“If we could do extensions or a hairpiece, that might work, but I don't think your hair is strong enough for that.”

More whimpering ensues.

“I think you should go shorn and dark,” I say resolutely “Cover up the problem until new hair grows out and it's strong enough to take a lighter pigment again.” I shake my head slowly. It's the hairstylist's equivalent to, I'm
sorry, ma'am, there's nothing more we can do
. “I know that's not what you want to hear, but with these cheekbones and the right makeup, it's going to look like you planned this for your premiere.”

She's weeping, cradling her face in her hands. “What am I going to do, Scott? I'm the
new
blonde!”

“They're calling her the next Marilyn Monroe,” Scott explains.

Please. They call everyone that. And in my lifetime, there has never been another Marilyn. Nor another Elvis. Nor . . . the list goes on and on: Cary Grant, Clark Gable, William Holden . . . Hollywood needs a new promoting their wannabes.

I try to console her by patting her shoulder and fingering her hair to see if there's some way.
Any
way. But it's not going to happen. It's toast.

“All the more reason to go dark,” I reason. “You can show them you won't be boxed in to any corner.Like Madonna, you can be anyone you want to be. Blonde, brunette, redhead—you are Fawn Flora.” I have to spit out the last part.
That name!

“It's
Flora Fawn
, actually,” she says quietly.

Scott rolls his eyes.

I just shrug. Is there a difference? What can I say, really? It's a stupid name. I mean, Winowski at least sounds real, am I right? “If you let me go ahead, we'll have to lift this product out of your hair. It will look worse for a while tonight. Are you willing to see it through?”

She fingers her hair. “I'm going to lose my hair!” Her face crumples into a wail.

“You already did lose your hair, Fawn—I mean Flora. We're just going to remove the dead body.”

She's reduced to a loud squeal.