We hang up and I toss the phone onto the bed. Then I lie down again, staring at the ceiling until I fall asleep.
After my phone alarm shakes me awake, I trudge to the bathroom to shower. First warm water, then almost cool, enough to rejuvenate me.
The makeup barely takes five minutes. I only need mascara and lip gloss. But I take my time with my hair.
As the brush glides through the thick, glossy locks, I’m grateful for it. It helped me get a job at the Curl & Lock Salon, the only hair salon in Aston, with barely any experience in doing hair.
I went there to get my ends dusted, and Delores, the owner, was so in awe of my hair that she asked if I wanted a job.
She admitted straight out that my hair qualified me, that I must be doing something right. The secret is the hair butter my mother used to put in my hair when I was a child. She also taught me how to make it. It’s a secret that was passed on from her own mother and grandmother.
Delores said she would teach me everything I needed to know. With no other options, and even though the pay is not much, I accepted and have been an employee there for six months now.
At least once a week she tells me I’m one of the best decisions she’s ever made. That’s partly because the number of customers increased soon after I started working at the salon. Some of those people even flock in from other towns in Tennessee.
It does annoy me sometimes that many of the customers keep wanting to touch my hair, but it’s a small price to pay for a job. In a small town with less than a thousand residents, jobs are hard to come by.
I arrive at the salon fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to start.
The door chime dings when I open the door and enter.
Delores has gone the extra mile to ensure the interior of her salon has a relaxing spa feel to it.
The herbal aromas of lemongrass and lavender swirling in the air serve their purpose of masking the usual salon smells of harsh antiseptic washes, chemical hair dyes, and perming agents.
Delores tells anyone who would listen that the interior décor was inspired by her all-expenses-paid vacation to Bali that she won three years ago when she entered a competition featured in a magazine. On top of the trip, she won enough money that allowed her to open up her salon and to bring Bali to her hometown.
Every time I step through the door, I’m tempted to curl up on the three-seater teak and rope couch at the waiting lounge, to relax among the tropical flowers, leafy plants, and bamboo standing lamps. Unfortunately, the lounge is reserved for customers only.
“Morning, Viola.” Delores gives me a wave and a bright smile from behind the cash register. I wave back and disappear into the staff room at the back. From my backpack, I pull out the white Curl & Lock T-shirt and pull it over my stretch jeans.
I’m about to leave the room when Dolly, Delores’s identical twin sister, walks in. The mole on the left side of Dolly’s neck helps me tell them apart. Dolly is a bankclerk, but several times a week, she comes into the salon to help out. She admitted once that it’s the gossip that brings her to the Curl & Lock, but we all know it’s because the two sisters are inseparable.
“How are you, darling?” she asks, her ruby red lips curling at the corners. “And how’s the little bean?”
“The baby is doing well.” I place my hand on my belly, hoping it’s true. Every checkup so far has gone well and results have been great, but I know better than anyone that life is full of surprises.
“Good to hear it. You’re glowing as usual.”
I smile at her and head out.
“Viola,” Delores calls over the head of a woman getting a perm, “Sage Summers will be here for you in half an hour. You’re way too early again. Have a cup of tea and rest your feet.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll find something to keep me busy.”
Habits are hard to crack. In my childhood, my mother hammered into me the importance of being punctual. Whenever I’m even five minutes late for something, I hear her disapproving voice in my head.
Like me, Sage Summers has a head full of curls, and since I started working at the salon, she always prefers me to do her hair. She’s not the only curly-haired customer who switched over to me once I started the job. As long as I make her money, Delores doesn’t mind.
Sage walks in dressed in a tight black pencil skirt and a midnight blue blouse, her hair a messy knot on top of her head.
“Fix me, sugar.” She grins. “I have a date tonight with the husband.”
“No problem.” I show her to an empty chair at the station I prepared for the job.
Ready to get started, I reach for the hair band and release her locks.
The sound of running water floating from the hidden speakers soothes me as I prep her now dull curls. When she walks out of here, they’ll be bouncing like springs at her shoulders.
