She wasn’t ever big on conversation, and she never asked me about myself, but that day she saw something different.
“You’re different today,” she said. “Something’s changed. Something is different about you. Did you change your hair?”
“No,” I replied as I massaged hair dresser’s oil into her scalp. “Would you like a hand massage today as well?”
“No,” she snipped. “What’s different about you? This is going to bug me until I figure it out.”
“Ha,” I laughed, trying to pass her off. “It’s nothing.”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. She wasn’t buying it. She probably just sensed that I was a little out of sorts, a little distracted. I wasn’t being as chipper or talkative as I normally was with her.
“Let’s go shampoo you,” I said.
She followed me back, wrapped in a black cape, and took a seat at one of the shampoo bowls. I selected some lavender shampoo. The purple would help rid her blonde hair of some of the brassiness and the lavender scent would calm me. It was win-win.
“Ugh,” she sighed. “What are you using? It smells awful!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, taken aback. “Do you not like lavender?”
“Ew, God, no,” she said, as if I was supposed to know that.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as I worked to rinse it out as fast as I could. “I’ll use something else. How about raspberry?”
“I guess,” she huffed. She was such a grump.
I massaged copious amounts of raspberry shampoo into her hair to rid the lavender smell and followed up with a matching conditioner. I couldn’t get her back to my chair fast enough. I was ready for the appointment to be over already.
We made our way back to my station where I clipped and snipped her hair into her usual style, sprayed and misted several products into it and blow dried it into nothing short of a masterpiece.
I handed her a mirror and spun her around so she could look at the back. After several discerning seconds, she cracked a small smile that told me she was pleased and handed me the mirror back. I walked her to the front and let the receptionist take care of the rest. I was just glad to be done with her.
“Your next appointment is here,” the receptionist whispered. I checked my schedule and didn’t recognize the name, so I knew it was someone new. I sometimes loathed new clients because building up that relationship took a lot of effort. You had to connect with them and keep the conversation flowing so they’d want to come back to you in the future. Sometimes you could do really bad hair, but if they really like you as a person, they’ll want to come back.
“Melanie?” I called out. A shy, awkward, overweight teenager stood up from one of the chairs. She walked towards me with her head down. “Hi.”
She said nothing and just nodded as she followed me back to my station. I was 0 for 2 on the good clients so far that morning. I knew it was going to be like pulling teeth to get any sort of conversation out of Melanie, and I didn’t have the energy for it that day.
“So what are we doing?” I asked with a smile.
She shrugged one shoulder as if to say she didn’t care. Her hair was the mousiest shade of brown I’d ever seen. I needed trimmed badly. She could use some layers and some hi lights, but I wasn’t about to tell her any of that.
“Just do whatever you want,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She nodded.
“How about I give you some layers and paint on a few hi lights?” I proposed.
“Okay,” she said. She reached forward and grabbed a People magazine from my station table and began rifling through it.
“I’m going to go mix up the color. I’ll be right back,” I said.
I walked off towards the back room to mix color, but before that I happened to glance outside the shop windows. There was a pickup truck parked in one of the spots, and I could see someone sitting in the driver’s side spot. My heart leaped up into my mouth as it pounded hard and fast. Instinctively, I ran to the backroom and hid.
“What’s wrong with you?” Tess asked as she walked to the back room after me. “Why are you acting so weird?”
I sighed, not wanting to get into it with her. I didn’t need another lecture. I knew I’d fucked up.
“You going to tell me or what?” she asked, as if I owed it to her to tell her what was bugging me. She was really getting on my nerves lately, but we were business partners and I refused to let drama ruin that.
“I thought I saw a mouse over by the shampoo bowls,” I lied, terribly.
“Seriously?” she asked as she shuddered. “That’s disgusting. Should we call an exterminator?”