Marie snapped on her rubber gloves and pulled her tint tray over to Jean, relaxing in the chair. She had two cancellations this morning because the rain had rolled in.
“They said, ‘What’s the point of getting my hair done and going out into the rain?’” Marie said. “Does no one in the Northwest own an umbrella?”
Jean laughed. “Maybe your business plan should partner with someone who sells those little purse-sized umbrellas. You could loan them, rent them, tack them onto the bill.” She opened the top of her purse on the floor. “Ta-da! Teeny umbrella, four bucks!”
Marie changed the subject. “You asked for his number, and …?”
Jean blushed her telltale blush and put her hands over her mouth. Behind her hands she mumbled, “Speak no evil.”
Marie put on her shocked face. “You little hussy, you.”
“Hah! Who’s the hussy?” she asked. “I saw a patrol car in your driveway at daybreak on my way to breakfast. Have an emergency? Besides, you gave me his number, what did you expect?”
Marie mixed the color agent to a darker shade of red. Jean’s gray no longer hid within her thin, reddish hair.
“I expected a report. Please begin.”
Jean sighed, leaned back for the shampoo and closed her eyes.
“He’s an insomniac, too,” she said. “We didn’t do anything but drink wine and tea and watch the stars. Well, clouds. Going to his place for dinner.”
“Yeah, right, ‘watch the stars,’” Marie said. “And I’m Mother Teresa. Going to his place … shouldn’t you go someplace public first?”
“What’s he going to do, seduce me? Besides, his sister will be there to chaperone, of all the damned luck. What’s the matter?”
Marie pinched the bridge of her nose and swayed a bit. She caught the arm of Jean’s chair to steady herself.
“Nothing,” Marie said. “Headache, a little queasy. I warmed up a piece of garlic bread for breakfast, didn’t agree with me.”
Jean made a wry face. “I love garlic bread, but not for breakfast.” She shuddered. “No wonder you don’t feel good.”
Marie rolled Jean’s chair up to the shampoo sink. “How do you feel?” she asked. “After the pack treatment, I mean.”
“Great! What little sleep I got was wild dreams, honey, and I mean wild! I still look ten years younger in the daylight. How do you think I feel?”
Marie mustered some enthusiasm and soaked Jean’s hair with the sprayer.
“Great. That’s great. That’s what this business is all about.”
James walked in wearing his work clothes.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Jean. I forgot it was teacher prep day for us. Do you have any work for me? I still need a hundred and twelve dollars for Art Camp.”
“I don’t, honey, Maybe Jean has something for you.”
“Sorry, James,” Jean said. “I sold the Vulgarette yesterday morning and I’m between projects myself.”
Jean turned to Marie. “What about Daniel? They’re doing all that work on their place at the bluff. I recommended Alice for the landscaping. Maybe she could use James out there with her.”
James straightened to his tallest and said, “I rode my bike out there when it was abandoned. That’s a huge job. Alice definitely will need some muscle.”
Marie winked at Jean.
“I guess that leaves you out, toothpick.”
James wasn’t flustered.
“Mom, please! Lucy’s bad enough. I can lift a lot more than Alice.”
Marie said, “If you can lift the garbage out of here and out of the house, then sweep the walk, I’ll give you a buck.”
“Oh, wow, gee!” he said. “Like, a whole dollar? Gosh!”
“Then you only have a hundred and eleven dollars to go,” she said. “Your choice.”
James shrugged, and without saying anything more he carried the nearly empty garbage can outside.
“I’ve got to find something for him to do,” Marie said. “He’s going to drive me crazy, and I don’t have money just to hand over to him.”
She toweled off Jean’s hair and set up the back of the chair.
“I’ll ask around the boat haven,” Jean said. “Whatever I find will be grunt work.”
“Fine!” Marie said. “Keep him out of my hair. And tired.”
She ran her dryer to take up the extra moisture in Jean’s hair and showed her the color mix.
“What do you think of this? Not much darker. More highlights.”
“I like it,” Jean said. “Maybe if I darken my hair my skin will get the hint and I won’t burn so much when I’m on the water. Next to Daniel’s skin, I’m almost as native as Alice.”
Marie sopped on cotton balls full of color and sponged off the excess. “It won’t be hugely dramatic, but if it talks your skin into a darker tone, let me know. Opens up a whole new line of work.”
Jean dozed while Marie finished up. Marie hummed a tune she couldn’t name and averted her face from the color fumes that aggravated her headache. She turned Jean’s chair to face the mirror and asked, “Okay?”
Jean flounced her hair, turned her head back and forth and said, “It’s great! Maybe next week a little trim?”
She fished some bills out of her purse and set them next to the cash register. “How about lunch for a tip? I don’t have anything on deck today except dinner with Daniel.”
“I can’t. Morning people cancelled but from noon I’m booked. Tom’s taking me and the kids to dinner if he doesn’t have to work late. How about tomorrow?”
“So you can get another goo salesman report?” Jean asked.
“Maybe.”
“I’ll see if Alice can join us,” Jean said. “She’s calling Daniel today about landscaping. I’ll bet she gets the job.”
“She looked pretty hot last night,” Marie said. “Maybe she and the sister …?”
Jean shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s pretty classy in an old-school way. His sister probably is, too. Alice always wears those baggy overalls. She should feminize a little. And accessorize. Even if she’s …”
“Meow!” Marie said. “She owns a landscaping business. How do you accessorize for that? Gravel earrings?”
“Well,” Jean said, “she has an art degree. Things represent other things.” She tapped her lips and continued, “Technically, diamonds are gravel.”
“Call me art blind, call me greedy,” Marie said, with an eye-roll. “I’ll take the diamonds.”
Jean started to say something but stopped.
“What?”
Jean reddened from her chest to her hairline and cleared her throat. “Well. Speaking of diamonds, has Tom—?”
“We’re friends!” Marie interrupted, louder than she’d meant. She felt her own face flush. “Sorry. I had a bad marriage, and Tom’s hardly dated. Ever. So we don’t talk about that.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Fishing,” Marie said. “And the kids. Movies. And food. We like food.”
“Wow. Underwhelming. I would’ve thought you’d talk about your clients.”
“Oh,” Marie said, and laughed. “You mean you? Are you accusing me of violating stylist/client privilege?”
Jean hesitated, hand on the doorknob. “Is ‘stylist/client privilege’ a thing?”
Marie waved it off. “No, but he doesn’t like talking about people he’s arrested, so I try not to get too gossipy about clients. You and Alice, however, are fair game.”