We were used to the odd person who had a last-minute hair emergency trying their luck; but once we closed the register for the day, any pleas for service were ignored.
My steps faltered when I spied a tall, dark-haired woman framed at the doorway. She was wearing a trucker cap that obscured part of her face, blue boyfriend jeans; and a white T-shirt. She was also carrying a duffel and a garment bag; the latter which she held above her head.
"Oh, my God! You have to help me," she panted.
Despite the stranger's curious appearance, I was unmoved. We were both tired and I really wanted my bed.
"I'm sorry, but we're clo-clo…" My sentence petered out when the tall and gorgeous stranger whipped her hat off. My eyes bugged, and a strangled gasp came from beside me.
"Is that...? Linda started.
The not-so-stranger gave us the same wide smile I’d seen grace the recent cover ofVogue Italia. Her face was also on several magazines we had stacked in our reception area.
"Hi! I'm Mila," she confirmed. Linda and I comically gasped at the same time.
"You're Mila Mills," Linda squealed.
All sense of cool went out the window as she grasped my arm, her nails digging hard. But I barely felt the pain. I was still in shock that the supermodel nicknamed “The Face”; the current spokesperson of Revlon; and the rumored new girlfriend of a certain fifty-year-old actor with a taste for girls in their twenties, was standing in our small salon looking stressed. And still gorgeous.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that her reason for being in our small town was likely down to Eden Jamison—New Haven's very own golden girl and fellow supermodel. Ever since Eden based herself back in her hometown, we've had sporadic sightings of 5 "11 plus girls who stuck out like sore thumbs.
"I'm sorry; I know y'all are closed, but it's an emergency."
Without waiting for an invitation, Mila rushed forward and hung her garment bag over a mirror before folding her long limbs onto one of our high-backed salon chairs. She started to fan herself with her hat.
I had a feeling that my version of "emergency" was vastly different from Mila Mills'.
"You know Eden, right?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Of course, you know E. Anyway, tonight she's throwing her mom and Mike a surprise engagement party. You know Susan, right?"
"Uh..."
"She's an absolute angel! Reminds me of my own momma, but she lives down in Augusta."
She threw her cap on the table and started finger-combing through her long hair. "Anyway, I was supposed to be here earlier this afternoon, but I took a car down because I hate flying and only do it when I have to." She picked up a brush and started brushing out the ends of her hair.
"Unfortunately, there was a crash on the I-80. I was supposed to meet E and have my hair and makeup done; because after years of having a stylist, I just can’t do my own hair and makeup anymore. So I asked around town, and this lovely old lady recommended your salon. So here I am!" She spread her hands out and gifted us with another one of her megawatt smiles.
Linda and I stared at her with dropped jaws. That was a lot of information to process in thirty seconds, but all that registered to me was that Mila Mills needed her hair and face done.Tonight.
I glanced at the clock. It was just after 7 PM. Depending on what Mila wanted, I didn't envision us leaving here until close to nine. I was dead on my feet. Exhausted. Drained.
However...
Linda grasped my arm again. Her wide eyes fixed on Mila Mills, who was checking her pores in the mirror.
"This is fantastic," she murmured out the side of her mouth. She turned her body to block out our hushed conversation. "I follow her, and she's always posting herself at events and tagging the MUAs and stylists. If we do a good job, she'll tag us too. It'll be amazing for the salon."
That’s exactly what I was thinking. "You don't mind staying?" If we were to get this done in a decent time, it needed to be a two-person job.
"Of course not! I'll just call Justin and let him know I'll be late." She gave a discreet squeal. "This is gonna be so good." With that, she traipsed off to make her call.
I smoothed down my skirt and quickly checked my appearance in the nearest mirror before I plastered on an energetic smile. "I'm Maria," I announced as I approached Mila. "I'm the owner."
Mila sat up from her slouch; her dark brown eyes surveyed me from head to toe. "You own this salon? Oh, wow. You're so young. Good for you," her soft Southern voice enthused. "I know you're closed and probably exhausted, so I'm super grateful that y'all are doing this for me."
Pink hit my cheeks as I accepted her compliment. All signs pointed to Mila not being an egregious diva, which would make our job a lot easier. "No problem. I'm happy to help."
Linda joined us, and after swift introductions, we wasted no time getting down to business.
