The hairdresser called – out of the blue, the very next day – to ask if Tess could be there at 11 a.m. because of a cancellation. She’d had plans for the day and weighed up for a moment or two if the plans could hold and if she could do the LA haircut thing. She decided that yes, she could. She could! It was just hair – if it was hideous, or ridiculous, it would regrow. And, it was just money, if it was outrageously, burn-a-hole in the wallet expensive, well… it would be a regret, but she would earn it back. She wanted a change… in everything. And visiting the funky LA hairdresser was part of that change.
‘Yes!’ she told the receptionist. ‘That’s great! I can be there at 11 a.m.’
So she rushed around putting on a different outfit and more thorough make-up, getting the dogs out for a little jaunt although they would be with Tom at lunchtime, then she left River’s apartment and hurried in the direction of the swanky salon.
She was there on the stroke of 11 a.m. and walked into the reception area. From there, she was directed to a comfortable sofa and given a glass of iced water and a selection of pristine new magazines, which was just as well as she now began an extended wait. Who knew what Miguel, her ‘senior style artist’ was up to this morning? Maybe he was posting on SnapChat, or playing Fortnite? Maybe he was dealing with an extremely demanding LA Diva who was making him re-blowdry her entire head, but wait Tess must. After twenty minutes, she went to check with the receptionist that Miguel was, in fact, alive and well, and planning to see her sometime before the end of time.
‘Oh, of course,’ she was assured, ‘he’s just dealing with something unexpected and he’ll be right with you.’ But another twenty minutes crept by before, finally, she was greeted by a very friendly girl with swishy waist-length green and blue hair, who wrapped her into a gown then tucked her into a chair in front of a mirror. Again, she was assured that Miguel would be there in an instant. But still Miguel was delayed. And now there was no iced water, and no magazines to flip through. Tess looked at herself in the mirror, as she knew she was supposed to. Hairdressers were the most powerful psychologists of all. They knew women, all their foibles, desires, inner secrets and insecurities. And she knew that she had been placed in this chair, in front of this mirror, with an overhead spotlight shining on her roots to make her feel as insecure as possible. Miguel, like the handsome star of the am-dram production, was no doubt hidden away off stage waiting to make his grand entrance, to swoop down, dazzle her and make it all better.
She faced herself square on in the mirror. Her hair wasn’t a particularly bad point. It was dark brown, thick and straightish. It fell to her collarbone in a layered bob – a version of the cut Courtney Cox had sported on Friends all those years ago. In fact, Tess wasn’t sure she’d had much in the way of a radical change since requesting ‘the Courtney’ back in the 1990s. Despite a regular eight-weekly hairdressing schedule, and a box of those stupid little eye-shadow powders you touched your roots up with, she had a half centimetre of hair at her parting that was whiter than she expected, although maybe that was the effect of the glaring spotlight.
And beneath the hair, she wasn’t too downbeat about the changes that age was bringing. Her skin was holding up because she was pale and a fan of sunscreen. Well, her jawline and neck were starting to look a little more like her mother’s and those lines, the ones that went from nose to mouth and mouth to chin, were beginning to deepen. She took issue with her boobs… and properly didn’t like them. Weight seemed to gather only on her stomach and her boobs and this weight had expanded a generous bosom into a shelf that was far too matronly for her liking. The shelf required jacket alterations and strategic buttons and hooks on work shirts. It called for underwear that was more like scaffolding than lingerie.
Lingerie… her thoughts snagged on that word. When had she last worn nice lingerie? Or planned any kind of romantic encounter with the man she was supposed to be in love with? What was she supposed to do about the fact that she just didn’t want to? What did you do when you loved someone but were no longer in love? Could anything be salvaged at this stage? Or would it be much better for them both to move on? These were the questions that plagued her. Went round and round in her head. Would these weeks on her own bring her answers? It was too early to tell.
‘So, hi there! It is Tess, right? Hello, I’m Miguel, I am your creative style artist.’
So, here he was at last. And, finally, this haircut could begin.
Miguel was a lean guy in jeans and a vibrant shirt. He looked Latino and a little older than she expected, wore those clear-framed glasses and had a touch of grey in his 1950s style crew cut with a quiff.
‘Hi Miguel, nice to meet you… what kept you?’ she had to ask.
‘Oh! You’re British! That’s a bit different. It’s been some time since I last cut a British lady’s hair. Right, I am going to look at your hair carefully and you are going to talk to me. Okay, let’s go.’
And with that, he skated right over his lateness, settled onto the wheeled stool and with his neat comb began to lift sections of her hair and feel, look and evaluate it.
‘So… I’m in LA for a long holiday… by myself,’ Tess began. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been here. It’s the first time I’ve gone on holiday by myself… in fact. I got a sabbatical from work for a few months and I was going to go on this big trip with my husband and my kids, who aren’t really kids any more, they’re young adults… I was thinking Thailand, Cambodia…’
What was she doing? Why was she telling him all this? Couldn’t she just have left it at here in LA on holiday?
‘Wow, that sounds amazing,’ Miguel broke in.
‘Yes… I know, but no one wanted to come.’
Shut up, Tess!
‘Really?’
She met his eyes in the mirror and felt a tug at the back of her throat. Oh help, she wasn’t going to cry about this here in a hairdresser’s chair, thousands of miles from home? No!
‘I don’t think it was me,’ she added with a half shrug, ‘everyone just had other things they wanted to do… busy lives… and a great long family trip didn’t… didn’t do it for them.’
‘Even your husband?’ Miguel asked.
‘Dave wanted to stay at home… he always wants to stay at home… and then he broke his ankle, so he had to stay at home.’
Perhaps sensing this was a sensitive area, Miguel encouraged her with the words: ‘So, you came to LA by yourself, that’s an amazing idea. So what are you doing now you’re here?’
Walking dogs and tidying my hostess’s dump of a flat, Tess decided to leave that bit out.
‘Taking time for myself…’ she said, ‘which is a new thing for me. This is my first week and I’m just exploring the neighbourhood, but planning to see art, go to the beach, go hiking…’ and when this sounded a bit dull, she added: ‘I’ve started a dance class…’
‘That’s so brave! And exciting,’ he exclaimed.
‘Yes… I was hoping it would be. But it’s actually scarier than I expected. Dancing is hard when you’ve been sitting at a desk for years. And, of course, I’m here for a brand-new haircut,’ she said. ‘So, what do you think?’
Miguel was still running his fingers through the hair, squeezing it between his hands and really sizing it up.
‘Okay, some questions from me now,’ he said and they both looked at Tess’s reflection in the mirror.
‘I’m thinking you have quite a corporate job,’ he began.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I’m a senior accountant for the local branch of a big firm.’ But not a partner, she thought, but didn’t say it aloud.
‘And I’m guessing you’ve not changed your hairstyle for a while?’
‘No… not really.’
‘Or the colour?’
‘I suppose not,’ she said looking at the dark brown football Miguel had in his hands.
‘And you’re not very good with styling tools?’
‘No.’
How had he guessed?
‘And you don’t use a hair mask much?’
‘No again… sorry.’
‘And you swim in chlorinated water?’
When were the LA insults going to stop? Really… was it so unusual not to use hair tools? Or a hair mask? Or do whatever it was you were supposed to do to your hair when you went in the pool? These people were so unbelievably high maintenance and rude.
When she confirmed this, he shook his head.
‘Tess, Tess, Tess… this is not good. Okay, so the first thing you’re going to promise me is that from now on, Tuesday night is mask night. No one does anything on Tuesday nights, so now you can just put it into the weekly schedule. On Tuesdays, you go to bed with the mask I will give you on your hair every week. Okay?’
Tess nodded meekly. Well, she could try, couldn’t she? For a week or two anyway… see if it made any difference.
‘Promise number two: don’t swim in chlorinated water.’
‘Really?’ She wasn’t sure if she was ready to take orders like this about her life from a hairdresser.
‘You can swim in rivers, swim in the sea! If you have to swim in the pool, then put the hair mask on, then a tight ponytail, and two tight swimming caps on top – not one, two. I’m serious!’
Tess would have liked to give him some instructions of her own, like, ‘How about buying yourself a watch and turning up for your clients on time for a change…’ and ‘Whoever sold you that shirt was having a laugh,’ but as this man was wielding the scissors over her hair, she simply nodded in meek agreement once again.
‘So, once we do the cut and the colour, I’m going to show you some simple styling tricks, and you will practise until you’re good at them. This is not rocket science, clever accounting lady, this is just hair styling. You can do it!’
She found herself smiling at him, warming to him and, all importantly, trusting him.
‘So…’ he was ruffling through her hair, ‘this is nice, thick hair, strong hair, but it’s dry. It has a nice wave; it’s a good length for you. We’ll go a little shorter, but only a touch. So… we need a haircut that is fresh, that is LA; this is the new you. You need a style that puts a spring in your step, makes you happy to look in the mirror, happy you came to see me. And I think I want to add just something extra, something just a little wild for your LA sabbatical that will fade right away by the time it’s back to work. How does that sound?’
Tess couldn’t help smiling.
‘That sounds wonderful,’ she said, while thinking: can he do all that with one haircut? This was definitely a change from Loulou in Leamington, who kept a note of her colour on file and told her last time that she’d been using the same one for the past eight years.
‘Okay, leave it with me,’ Miguel said. ‘I’m going to go and make up some colours.’
And then he was gone.
And Tess was left somewhat open-mouthed in the chair. Leave it with me? Was that it? Didn’t she get any further say in the matter? What if he was planning a blue and green display, like the girl who’d taken her to the chair?
When Miguel came back with a trolley full of colour dishes and an assistant, Tess took it up with him.
‘Aren’t we going to discuss the colours?’ she asked. ‘Look at some options, maybe? I’d quite like to know what you have in mind.’
‘Nope,’ he said, but with a charming smile. ‘I can tell you’re a busy, busy boss lady. You’re running your life, running everyone’s life, busy, busy, making all the decisions, all the time. So just for today, I want you to sit back and leave it to me.’
What?!
Leave it to him? The man in the silky turquoise leopard-print shirt?
And quite frankly, no she was not making all the decisions. Otherwise she would have landed that partnership, somehow, on her terms… and she’d be in Thailand or Cambodia with her family. No, unfortunately, people made their own decisions. And you had to hope they weren’t too far away from what you wanted… or that you could learn to live with them.
‘You will love this, I promise,’ Miguel added. ‘If not, you can walk out of here without paying one cent. How does that sound?’
Tess cast her eye over the trolley, it was full of black plastic dishes with white, blueish and caramel-coloured creams. Was this madness? She could just take her gown off and walk away now. Instead, she decided to try to relax down into her chair and, for once, let a hairdresser get on with what they wanted to do.
‘Okay,’ she told Miguel, ‘it’s a deal… I’m not sure why I’m agreeing to this… but okay… over to you.’
And for the next forty minutes or so, her hair was painted with the creams and bundled into foils while Miguel told her all about his favourite beaches and gave her some ideas on where to hike with the dogs. Then she sat and waited as the dyes took effect. She could smell bleach… yes, there was definitely bleach involved. She had never bleached her hair before and didn’t really know what to think about this. Would it be coppery? Gingery? What was the final effect he was going to create? How much would she hate it? Before she could return to work, was she going to have to ask Loulou to look up the files and dye her hair back to the exact colour it was before?
After some time, the colour was checked and then she was off to the neck-straining sink for foils to be pulled out and a lengthy lathering and rinsing process. The smell of bleach was strong… making her eyes water. Natalie’s warning was running through her mind: ‘Promise me you won’t go blonde. Absolutely no middle-aged blonde lady moment for you, okay?’
Rinsing, lathering, rinsing, lathering… half of LA’s available water for the day must have been poured on her head by now. And then squeezing and towelling and more potions and brushes were brought to the sink. Now something that smelled of delicious strawberry flavouring was being painted on. And plastic was wrapped round and then, finally, she could sit up, and more magazines and iced water were brought, and she was told to sit for fifteen minutes to let everything take effect.
After this, a final round of rinse-lather-rinse was done. And now, as she sat bundled in her towel, Miguel asked if he could cut, then blow dry and style her hair away from the mirror for maximum surprise. In fact, he suggested that she just keep her eyes down, or ideally closed, until he was done.
By now, Tess was a strange combination of excited and exhausted. She would have paid double if she could leave right now and be finished… be done! Maybe she was overcome with bleach fumes, but she agreed to the mirrorless request; anything to bring this session, now entering its third hour, to a close. And, she looked downwards, through slightly closed eyes, at the magazine on her lap. She read words about so and so’s plans for an unforgettable summer on Nantucket island, but none of it meant anything to her. Her heart rate felt a little elevated and she wondered what on earth she had allowed to happen here. She’d let some hip LA hairdresser loose, completely unsupervised, on her hair! Her head was pushed down so he could trim the back of her hair, but she opened her eyes wide and tried to take in a side view. Bright baby blonde strands! It was so shocking, she thought maybe she should just close her eyes again.
Okay, okay, she told herself… hadn’t she already reasoned that she could dye whatever Miguel had done straight back to her usual colour again. And surely whatever this weekly mask was, it could undo the damage of a severe bleach job. She kept her eyes shut tight through the cutting, through the blasting of the dryer and the finickity fiddling of what she guessed was a hot curling tong.
At last, the frenzy of activity around her head slowed and then, after a final tweak or two, it stopped.
‘Oh my gosh,’ Miguel said. ‘Tess, I’m almost nervous about showing you now, but I have got to tell you, I absolutely love it.’
‘You’re nervous?’ Tess said. ‘I’m frightened to open my eyes.’
‘Wait, wait,’ Miguel said and they whizzed her, in her chair, to a different place.
‘Okay, you have a mirror now,’ Miguel told her, ‘it’s time to take a look.’
So there, she finally opened her eyes and stared and stared some more at her reflection.
It was terrible…
But it was also wonderful…
It was laugh-out-loud outrageous… and totally wrong.
But maybe… it was also totally right…
She couldn’t decide. She was so shocked!
She was a blonde, definitely a blonde.
A bright, straw blonde, but with a deep, punky two inches of dark roots. She had a fringe… a fringe?! Something she’d not looked out from under since she was twelve. And then there was all this twisting, turning movement of gentle corkscrew curls… and… oh good lord… was that pink? Pink? Oh yes, indeed… the bottom half of her hair had been dip-dyed a beautiful shade of coppery pink. In the course of one morning, she had gone from Courtney Cox to Courtney Love.
‘Oh my God…’ she whispered.
‘But it’s oh my God good, right?’ Miguel asked.
He was squatting so that his face was level with hers as they looked in the mirror.
‘You look ten years younger, Tess. It’s a cliché, but in this case, it’s true. You look late thirties, less serious, less weighed down. You look like someone who is enjoying life again.’
‘Pink?’ she said.
‘This shade washes out in around twenty washes. So it can be totally gone by the time you get back to the office. But if you love it, come back in a fortnight and we’ll put something more permanent in.’
‘Blonde?’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to go blonde…’
‘You’re remembering our talk about weekly masks and avoiding chlorine? Plus, I’ve left roots, so you’ll only need a little top up every three months or so. I can write down the details of what I’ve done for your stylist back home.’
‘And curls?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Miguel held up the curling wand, ‘now, we’re going to do just a tiny mini tutorial. This is a curling wand, not a Geiger counter. You are a smart lady, and you can work out how to use this.’
‘Pink and blonde with curls?’ Tess was still transfixed by her reflection. She would have to re-think her make-up… she would have to re-think her clothes… maybe she would have to re-think her choice of career. And her children? Dave? Her office? What would any of them make of this?
In something of a daze, she over-thanked Miguel and his assistant. She endured the mini curling tutorial and then, finally, it was time to leave the chair. Miguel kissed her goodbye and she paid the gigantic bill, plus tip… about twenty per cent, the receptionist informed her when she asked what was right.
And as she stepped out into the blasting sunshine of a summer’s day in Studio City, LA, she put her hand every now and then to her bouncy blonde curls just to check that they were definitely real. She felt shocked, but she also felt amazing! Somewhere underneath her enormous sense of surprise, she knew that this was the push she had needed. This was the first of many pushes. Blonde and pink-haired Tess was ready to be bolder and braver. She’d been almost ready for this haircut and Miguel had made it real. She was ready for other things too… it was time to not just step but to jump out of her comfort zone. Time for new things, new beginnings… a whole new chapter.
Natalie!!!!! Wait till you see my hair!!!!
she messaged, and couldn’t help noticing that there was still no word from Alex.