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“We’ll call in a long lunch and have Dingleberries drop something off.” The vegan café had legendary veggie wraps and this was not going to be a single hair process coloring treatment today. Lia turned up her nose, obviously still not over her man and the owner of Dingleberries having a thing before she came into the picture. Too bad for Lia, I wasn’t missing out on a roasted red pepper and hummus wrap for her snit today.
“I think that’s for the best. Wrap platter with salads?” Gemma asked with her phone at the ready to send in the mobile order.
“Oh for crying out loud, it’s not that bad,” I said sharply. Unfortunately, Gemma, Lia, Kristen, and myself had all cocked our heads looking at the mess of color on this poor woman’s head. I had trouble identifying the color family and pushed the strands apart to find the original color growth from the root barely peeking through. From the smell of cheap drug store peroxide, this disaster was at least 10-12 hours old.
Damn.
Fresh chemicals always made things trickier.
“Oh it’s bad. Let’s not mash potatoes about it.” She scoffed and I thought she was adorable and refreshingly honest. Of course it was bad, but I still had some class and tact about it.
Or at least I tried to.
“Gemma,” I waved at my assistant. “You might want to pull the blinds.” I motioned for her to close the blinds that opened up a view toward the street. We didn’t need an audience for what we were about to do in here.
Straight up witchy voodoo was about to happen.
“It’s different.” Standing shoulder to shoulder Lia remarked in a low whisper, and I had to agree with her. Different as in Halloween was a good seven months away.
“Who did this to you, honey? You better tell us now so we can go run them out of town.” Gemma patted her hand and I huffed thinking about who could have butchered color this badly, even a do-it-at-home project. Only an idiot devoid of any understanding how chemicals work with hair shafts…
“I did.” She said biting her lip looking back at us in the mirror.
She did what?
Did I hear her correctly? She actually did this to herself?
Oh sweet baby Jesus.
I was flummoxed, that was for sure.
“What?” Three voices in unison were as shocked as I was.
“Gemma, go get me the color scrub and the bible.”
“Are we praying too?” The woman hesitated with worry etching deep lines across her face.
“No honey, it’s so we can find the right shade for this…um…situation.” I twirled my finger in the air and sent my assistant flurrying to the back to fetch the conditioning bleach which I was fully aware was a complete oxymoron because this color had to go. I did however say a mental prayer that the color book we used to find the right shade, aka every hair stylists’ bible would shed some light on what to do.
“Oh good…I’m a situation now.” She muttered picking at the invisible lint on her skinny jeans I shouldn’t have been noticing.
“More like Doomsday.” Kristen muttered and I glared at her.
“Kristen, didn’t you have somewhere to be?” I warned.
She shrugged and shook out her magazine mumbling, “Might need a grimoire and not a bible for this, besides Gemma called in lunch and I’m starved.”
Kristen might be one of my best friends from high school and smoky eye days, but this bitch was going to get magenta highlights next time instead of the deep vamp red if she pissed me off.
“Alright, we’re going to be here a while.” I clapped my hands ordering everyone about. “Lia, go grab the coffee and food from the café because delivery will be too slow with the lunch hour, please.”
Lia scowled, but collected her purse anyway. She needed the cognitive intervention to get over her aversion to Dingleberries. She huffed and puffed like a growly little bear cub since she learned her much older and experienced man-bear hooked up with the hippie girl Callista who owned the place. Sweet Lia had nothing to worry about. Whittaker Jones loved her like crazy, but she’d learn that with age and experience which I didn’t have time or patience to help her with today.
I snapped my fingers.
“Kristen help Gemma mix up some scrub to strip this color.” Startled, the woman’s face frowned and she looked around the salon likely for an exit. Laughing to myself, this would have been the pe
rfect time to have those silk ties for the chair’s arm rests but we had work to do and kinky shit would have to be for another day.
