“Mmm… I love buses.” I manage to free a finger to tickle his arm pit until he loosens his grip.
Snickering while he chases me down the stairs, I lift my hair in a messy pony tail, slip on my flip flops, and shout behind me. “Bye honey.”
“Don’t run in those things.”
“I won’t.” I trip on the sidewalk once or twice and out of breath, arrive at the salon door as Rose unlocks it.
“Oh my God.” She pushes me through. “Bathroom. You look thoroughly fucked.”
“I’m a newlywed, it’s allowed.”It can’t be all that bad.
Mia shakes her head and follows me in.
“Sit.” Taking a brush to my hair, she manages a messy yet fashionable look. Then, she retrieves a giant bag of makeup from her knapsack-purse and goes to work.
Aunt Marion arrives a few minutes later and calls out from the front door. “Girls?”
“In here, Mom. Just trying out some new cosmetics.” Rose pinches my cheeks, hard.
“Well, Mrs. Murphy is here. She’s asking for Samantha.”
I take one final glance in the mirror and groan. With my cousins greeting their mom, I wipe off a ton of greasepaint, and rush past the haircutting stations to the sink at the back.
“So? What happened?” The old baker grabs my hands, eyes gleaming, mouthwatering.
And we’re off…“Well, I was in Bed Sty, taking pictures of a guy cheating on his wife-”
“I knew little Bobby was a douche.”
“You know I can’t talk about my clients.”
She pats my hand. “Of course not dear, go on.”
I begin to tell my story but two other salon ladies arrive, so I have to start over. Then, I show the teen’s video of when I fake died which slows me down even more.
My aunt steps to the back. “Sam, move it along, hun. The waiting chairs are full and there’s a line out the door.”
“Everyone, grab a chair. I’m only telling this one more time.” I share my titillating story of murder, naked chase scenes, and how I’m almost gunned down by a mob boss.
“You should write a book.” Mrs. Nardo, a former client, now divorced nods sagely. “But you would need to make it fiction. No one would believe the heroine would be quite so…”
“Klutzy?” One woman breaks in.
“No, no… that’s not it.”
“Prone to disaster?” Another blue-haired dear butts in to help.
“Alright, enough. Thank you all. Show’s over.” Rose ushers everyone to the front.
From there, it’s just question and answers until noon.
“Did you die?” one asks.
“No, Mrs. Rossini, I only pretended.”
“I thought you said someone murdered you?”
“It was all made up.”
