“Julie,” Sandra said, entering the little room behind me.
I turned from the staff fridge where I was reaching in to grab my empty water thermos and my polka dotted reusable lunch bag.
“Yes?” I asked, mentally going over my station to make sure I hadn’t left anything lying about.
Sandra was the owner and top stylist of the Razor’s Edge Salon. She was the queen bee around here. She employed all the staff and paid us all an hourly rate. We were allowed to keep all the tips we made and didn’t have to split them. We also received a percentage of commission from the designer line of hair care products we sold in the salon.
She was a nice woman, but she was slightly intimidating. She was very business oriented, which I respected, but sometimes her anal ways gave me a stomach ache.
“I saw that woman’s hair,” she began, leaning in the doorway and crossing her arms over her white blouse. “It looked stunning.”
Relief washed through me. “Oh, thank you. I thought it looked great too.”
She nodded, approval in her eyes. “Your talent has really grown in the last year,” she said.
“I really appreciate you noticing and saying so, Sandra.”
She nodded. “Of course. When my stylists do well, so does my salon. Every client that walks out of here is like a walking advertisement. You make us look good.”
The compliment made me feel good.
“I was wondering if perhaps you might be open to more responsibilities around here?”
I hadn’t expected that. Not at all. “What about the senior girls?” There were lots of stylists who had been here much longer than me and they were great.
“You have the youth and young image I would like to represent the salon.”
Wow. I was flattered. “That would be wonderful.”
Sandra smiled. “Great! Maybe we can meet tomorrow after your shift and sit down in my office to discuss the details?”
I agreed and then she disappeared. I grabbed my water and lunch bag and returned to my station to make sure it was tidy, grabbed my oversized leather purse, and headed out into the parking lot.
I checked my cell and I had a couple texts from my bestie Dee.
Where are you?
Sorry. Running late. B there soon.
I’m starving.
Eat without me.
No!
I smiled at my phone. Order for me?
Will do.
I smiled. I’m sure she would enjoy ordering me all her favorites so she could eat half my plate.
I climbed in my Hyundai and drove toward the Applebee’s where I was meeting Dee. The parking lot was full and it took a minute to find a place to park. I hurried inside, stopping at the bathroom to wash my hands, and then found Dee sitting in a booth near one of the windows.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping into the booth and taking a sip of the Diet Coke that was waiting for me.
“Food should be here soon,” she said, tucking her smart phone into her purse and looking up.
“What did you get me?”
“Oh, the usual. A big hamburger and fries.”
I rolled my eyes. There was no way she ordered me a cow on a plate. I was a vegetarian. “Care to try again?”
She sighed. “I ordered you that pasta dish with the veggies in it.”
My stomach growled appreciatively. “Yum.”
“I ordered a cow so try and hold back your gag when it gets here. I’m starving.”
It didn’t bother me to watch other people eat meat. I just didn’t like the taste and texture of it. I hadn’t always been a vegetarian. I just felt much better when I didn’t have a pound of rotting meat in my gut. (Fun fact: meat can take up to two weeks to make its way out of the human body. If you ask me, it’s the reason so many guys fart and stink. All that meat rotting in there.)
“So what’s been going on?” I asked my friend.
“You know, the usual. Threatening Craig about leaving the toilet seat up, throwing his laundry all over the place, and never refilling the toilet paper roll when it’s empty.”
I laughed. “Sounds like living together is all you dreamed it would be.”
She snorted and took a drink of her bright-green martini. “He’s driving me nuts, Jules.”
I patted her hand. “You two will get used to being together twenty-four-seven.”
“Speaking of boyfriends…” she began.
I groaned and started digging through my bag, mining out the tips I made that day and putting them together so I could stick them in my wallet.
“There’s this friend of Craig’s—”
“No,” I said, effectively cutting her off. “Don’t even think about it. I am not going out on a blind date.”
“I’ve seen him. It isn’t blind.”
“No.”