Finally, she called his cell. After a million rings, her son answered.
“Hey, haircut, remember?”
Her son coughed, and she heard something rustle.
“Deej?”
“Oh, sure, yeah, I forgot, on the road already.”
“What?”
“Yeah, picking up some tiles for the bathroom in the, uh, west anchor building. You know Libby. She’s got a tight deadline for this. So, uh, yeah, the haircut will have to wait. I’m sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay, I needed to get in early anyway. Work first.”
Though he said he was on the road, it sounded more like he was indoors. She heard what sounded like water running.
“Love you, Mom, thanks for understanding.”
“Love you, too. But this is just a postponement. You’re looking like a wooly mammoth.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They ended the call, and J.J. turned her attention to the salon.
She was hard-wired to save money. J. J. had perused dozens of close-out sales and salon liquidation sales.
Her first pass, she showed Stone, and he shook his head.
“This isn’t a tag sale kind of operation.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want a salon that can cater to women with money.”
“I want one that can cater to all women. Especially ones who live here.”
“Don’t they want a glamorously appointed establishment?”
“Listen, Got Rocks, you’re right on the secondhand thing. I’ll give you that. It’s hard for me to operate in your world of not caring about price. But I don’t want it so inaccessible that locals would rather drive to the haircut chain in Adrian. If it’s too fancy, it’s going to turn people away.”
“Well, find a happy medium, maybe, but come on. I promise this place deserves zero hand-me-downs.”
J.J. started again. Styling bars were highway robbery, but Stone assured her he could swing four of them, two stations each. She would start with four or five stylists, one aesthetician, and one manicurist. They’d also need a receptionist. But if she planned it correctly, they’d have space to double each if she succeeded here. Correction, if the place was a success. Growth was almost certain, thanks to Libby, Hope, Viv, and Goldie. She just had to be sure she didn’t fumble the ball with the billionaire.
J.J. had spent the day ordering supplies, creating job descriptions, and working the phone for leads on good stylists to poach from the area. Suddenly, a man with a truck and a dozen chair samples arrived at the loading door.
J.J. was not expecting it and had a slight panic that she’d be on the hook for some exorbitant service fee.
“How did you do that?” she asked Stone. “They told me I would have to go to their showroom in Chicago if I wanted to try out the chairs. What’s this cost?”
“This is a question you’re asking me? We’re the customer. They’ll do what we ask.”
There was a level here she just didn’t understand and never would. But dang, they had the most gorgeous and comfortable salon chairs to pick from. After a day of sitting on chairs, rearranging chairs, and even spraying a little product on chairs, she’d made her decision.
The company rep was there, answering questions and even making design suggestions based on how she wanted the salon to look.
This was way better than hoping a catalog picture was accurate. She couldn’t help but chide Stone for the cost of the service, though.
