“Okay, I’ll let housekeeping know, and then I’ll meet you up there,” Livvy said. But out of the corner of her eye she saw a regal-looking older woman in a wheelchair being pushed across the lobby by a much younger man, and from the look of it, they were heading straight for the guest relations desk. Mrs. Dahlberg had become one of her favorite guests as soon as Livvy started working at the Verandah.
“Ohhhh,” she said. “Cancel that. I’ve got an incoming guest.”
“What do I do with the old mattress?” Reginald asked. “I’m fixing to clock out.”
“Don’t throw it away, please. Mrs. E wants to see what was so awful about it.”
“Okay. I’ll stack it against the wall in the warehouse, but you better get down here fast to take a look, ’cause I don’t like a cluttered workspace.”
“Thanks, Reggie. I’ll get over there as soon as I can,” Livvy said.
When she looked up, Mrs. Dahlberg was parked in front of her desk, with a large square box placed in her lap, and Livvy saw that her grandson Walker was at the wheelchair’s controls.
“Mrs. Dahlberg, so nice to see you,” Livvy said.
“Why, Olivia, what on earth are you doing here?” the older woman asked. “I was just telling Walker we missed you at lunch today.”
“I’ve been promoted. Sort of. Now, how can I help you?”
“I’m in a terrible pickle.” Mrs. Dahlberg pointed to her head, which was wrapped in a colorful silk scarf. “It’s my hair,” she confided. “Or, rather, my wig. My real hair is mostly gone now. Chemo, you know.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Livvy said.
“Oh, well, it wasn’t very pretty hair to start with, so no great loss.” She tapped the box on her lap. “My daughter bought me this marvelous wig, which is what you’re used to seeing me wearing, but I’m hopeless at styling it, and my girl in the village who usually does it is out on vacation. I’ve called all over the island, and I can’t find anyone who’ll give me a last-minute hair appointment. I have to be at an important function tonight, and I simply can’t go with this dreadful scarf on my head.”
Livvy glanced at the clock on her desk. It was 5:05, and she knew that Beauté, the hotel’s hair salon and spa, closed at five.
“Oh no,” Livvy said. “Our in-house salon is closed.”
“It’s my sister’s engagement party tonight,” Walker confided. “Isn’t there someone you could call?”
“Anyone at all?” Mrs. Dahlberg pleaded.
“Let me see what I can do,” Livvy said, dialing the hair salon just in case. “Pick up, pick up,” she whispered.
“Beauté. This is Gigi,” a woman’s voice said.
“Hi, Gigi. This is Olivia from the guest relations desk.”
“Ohhhh. I heard about Parrish. So sad. And scary! What’s up?”
“I know you’re supposed to close at five, but I’m wondering if there’s anyone there who could do a quick restyling of a wig? Our guest has an important event tonight at six thirty.”
“I wish I could, hon, but all our stylists have gone home.”
“Hey. Would it be okay if I ran over there with her? I’m no stylist, but I used to do hot rollers and hairspray on my grandma’s wig all the time.”
“There’s no written policy against it, but our salon manager might not like the idea.”
“But Mrs. E would like it. You know how she feels about keeping our guests happy, and this particular guest is a longtime Saint member.”
“Okay. I can give you thirty minutes, and then I really gotta get home to my kids.”
Livvy looked over at Mrs. Dahlberg, who was waiting expectantly. “Okay. I think I have a solution. I used to set and comb out my grandma’s wig all the time when I played beauty shop. What do you think? Are you game?”
The older woman giggled. “If you’re game, I’m game. So let’s get going.”
When they got to the salon, Gigi waved them inside. “I’ve got your hot rollers plugged in over there. Remember. Thirty minutes, then I have to throw you out.”
