I text Holly, filling her in on the rickety details of our story. Ten minutes later, Mami’s back, Holly in tow. She arrives in a University of Georgia sweatshirt, carrying a tablet in one arm and a tray of coffees and a box of pastries in the other, as if she’s here for a college study session.
“A midnight makeover,” she exclaims, passing around hot coffee cups. “This is so fun.” Then she proffers the tablet, showing off a collection of photos that can only be described asCountry Club Hotties. “Let’s get to work!”
Mami’s hands are already clutching a pair of scissors. Eli sits on her salon chair before I cover him in a black styling cape. “Sit up straight,” Mami demands, her tone uncompromising.
“Yes, ma’am.” He quickly obliges.
I bring a hand to cover my mouth, trying not to laugh. This man was a shark when it came to hustling those frat guys at the bar, but now, under Mami’s scrutiny, there’s a childlike alarm in his eyes.
Mami takes off his trucker hat and tosses it aside. She runs her fingers through his hair and beard,tsking and shaking her head. “This all has to go.”
Eli winces. “All of it?” Then, turning to Holly’s tablet, he adds, “One of those guys must have long hair. Look again.”
“Let’s start with the hair and beard,” Mami says mercilessly.Eli’s right hand catches his beard, wretchedly stroking the hair about to come off. “Then we’ll tackle his skin, eyebrows, and those nails.” Mami’s face twists into a grimace.
“I’ll look like a toddler.” Eli grunts.
“Baby face,” Holly chirps, nodding encouragingly. “The younger you look, the better.”
Eli’s eyes find mine in the full-length mirror on the wall. “You didn’t say anything about shaving off my beard,” he says to me.
I shrug. Once you’re in Mami’s chair, resistance is futile.
“Luisa,” Mami calls out to me, “get him washed.”
“Why me?” I exclaim.
“Because I’m getting the clippers ready and this is your job, after all.” She grabs me by the wrist and drops a clean towel onto my open palm. “Make yourself useful, mija.”
Eli dutifully moves to the hair washing station, leans back, and closes his eyes. I sit behind him, checking the water temperature as it runs through his long mane of hair. I pump shampoo into my hand, then add Mami’s signature essential oils blend into the mix and plunge my fingers into Eli’s scalp. He relaxes at the touch, exhaling slowly, sinking deeper into the chair. I rub circles around his hairline and massage his temples with my fingertips like I’ve been trained to do. The soothing scent of jasmine and vanilla fills the air between us. The muscles along my neck and down my back slacken, unwinding a little with the repetitive movement of my hands, giving in to the pleasant sensation of water, soap, and warm skin between my fingers.
“This feels nice,” he says in a low, husky voice.
I rinse his head, half distracted by the copper highlights of his brown hair, the long eyelashes framing his eyelids, and the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose.
Stop it, Luisa. Just no.
I open the faucet to full pressure and finish the job, wrapping his head in a warm towel.
“Do we get to do this shampoo thing again?” he asks through hazy lids.
I can’t tell if he’s joking. It doesn’t sound like a joke. I don’t answer.
He returns to Mami’s styling chair, his shoulders going tautwith apprehension. Mami unceremoniously bunches up all his hair in one hand, brings her scissors to the back of his head, and cuts. Eli flinches under her grasp. It’s cute, really, the way he’s holding on to the armrests like his plane is about to go down.
Holly hovers, peppering Mami with suggestions, while simultaneously pulling up photos of the “look” she’s put together.
“Tousled,” Holly explains. “Fairly tight around the back and over the ears, but not too short on top. Shaggy under a cap, you know? He can’t look like he’s trying too hard. Needs to seem like he doesn’t care all that much.”
“You mean like before?” Eli asks sarcastically. “Because I didn’t care before, either.”
Holly sighs dramatically. “No, not like before.” She taps at an example on her screen, growing impatient. “You do care, but you want tolooklike you don’t care. That’s the look.”
“That makes no sense,” I add unhelpfully. “You get that, right?”
Holly shrugs. “I know. But that is the first rule of the world where this, um, film is set,” she says, glancing over at Mami. “You never flaunt your prosperity. That’sgauche.”
“Gauche?” Mami asks. “Like, it’s tacky to show you’re a rich man?”
