“You’d like a wash as well, yes?” he asks.
“Yes, of course.”
He gently wraps a towel and a purple smock around my neck — his touch gives me goosebumps. When’s he done, he grins and tilts his head to the side. “Come with me.”
I follow him eagerly past the partition, where the shampoo chairs are. There are two, and he helps me settle into one of them.
“We just got a new line of shampoos and conditioners in,” he says, “they smell amazing.” He grabs a hold of my hair at the nape and twists it in his hands — there’s something very sensual about the act. He instructs me to scooch my neck farther up in the basin, and when he runs the water, it’s warm but not too hot. I’m in heaven. I close my eyes.
This was a great idea. He might become my new hairdresser. His touch is much gentler than Katrina’s.
He was just a photo, thousands of pixels. But after days of stalking him in cyberspace, now he’s real. I can’t believe it. I’m here, and his hands are in my hair. He was right — the conditioner smells divine and as he massages my scalp, I sink into the pleasure of it and almost forget my initial purpose.
Which is what? I’m not sure. Get to know him better? Find a clue? Tell him what’s going on? He should know. But I can’t go there yet — I just don’t know enough.
He wraps a plush towel around my head. “All done here.”
I follow him back to his station where the framed photos await me. As soon as I settle in the chair, my gaze fixes them again. My eyes are frozen to the one of Ava. There’s something unsettling about it, something about her smile.
I tear my eyes away from her face and study Joel’s reflection in the mirror. I like his orange top — there are three small brown buttons, the top one undone. When his eyes meet mine, I jerk my gaze away and settle it on the business cards; RESTYLE FOR YOU and SERENITY YOGA. I smile and make a mental note to take one of each. I’ve been looking for a new yoga studio because I’m getting bored with my current classes, looking to shake things up.
He removes the towel from my head. “So just a trim?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“How about styling? Straight or curly.”
“I was thinking something retro-inspired.”
His face lights up, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. I’ve made him very happy. “Fantastic. How about something Jackie-O inspired?”
I smile up at him. “Oh, yes.”
Who is this guy?
He gets right to work. “So are you from around here?”
“Yes, I live in Orchard Heights. You know it?”
“Yes! Fantastic building. How long have you been here?” he asks, making small talk.
“About ten years. How about you?”
“Twelve years this September,” he tells me. “Love it.”
“Me too.”
We fall into silence, and I don’t like it. I struggle to think of something to say. I want to further the conversation, but I’m not sure how to. This is one of those times I wish I were more extroverted — why is this always so hard? “So…” I start. “Ever been to that yoga studio?” I ask. “Serenity Yoga?”
He smiles widely. “All the time. My sister owns the place.”
“Really? Cool.”
His hands are still busy, dancing above my head. Lost in deep concentration, the tip of his tongue sticks out a bit, which I find very endearing. “Yeah, it’s great. Really zen… great music.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Are you a yogi?” he asks with a smirk.
