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Chapter Twenty-five
Maggie sits behind the reception deskat Nadine’s, watching the three stylists at work and marveling at their different techniques. Nadine is like a brushfire, fast and furious, talking almost as quickly as her hands are moving. Jerome is more of a slow burn, controlled and precise in everything he does, relentless in his pursuit of perfection. Unlike Nadine, he says very little, aside from regularly oohing and aahing over his handiwork. Rita, who works only three days a week, falls somewhere between the two. She’s slower than Nadine and more instinctive than Jerome. There’s a seeming carelessness about her technique that belies her expertise.
No wonder the small, inauspicious salon is so busy, Maggie thinks. In the short time since she started working here, she has yet to witness a bad haircut or encounter a dissatisfied customer.
“You look lovely,” she tells Sandi Marcus truthfully as the woman is settling her bill. Sandi Marcus is nearing ninety years old and looks two decades younger, thanks in large measure to Jerome’s expert styling.
“Jerome’s a genius,” the woman agrees. “I’m going to marry him,” she leans in and whispers. “Don’t tell him I said that. I want it to be a surprise.”
Maggie laughs, something she’s been doing a lot lately. She’d almost forgotten how much she enjoys being around people, even if she’s making a fraction of the income she made as a teacher. But while the salaries aren’t comparable, there’s something to be said for a job that ends when she walks out the door. She no longer has lessons to prepare, papers to mark, difficult parents to meet with, disinterested students to discipline. She no longer carries the stress of helping to shape and guide young lives. She no longer has to set a good example. She only has to show up, answer the phone, make appointments and remind clients of future ones, accept payment for services rendered, and smile, something else she’s been doing with surprising frequency.
Even Craig has noticed the change. “You’re different,” he said yesterday when he arrived to take the kids for dinner.
Maggie’s hand shot automatically to her newly platinum hair. “I know. It’s quite the change.”
“It’s not just your hair,” he said. “You seem…I don’t know…” He let the unfinished sentence hang provocatively in the space between them.
In that moment, Maggie thought he might be about to kiss her, and she leaned forward, her lips parting expectantly, her body tingling with anticipation. Clearly, he’d missed her as much as she missed him.
“I guess the new job agrees with you,” he said instead.
Maggie stiffened. “I guess it does.”You’re such an idiot,she thought, not sure if she was referring to her husband or herself. Then, partly to mask her anger and disappointment, and partly because she never could leave well enough alone, she said, “How are things going with the new sales rep?”
Craig frowned. “Maggie…” he said, then fell silent, leaving her name dangling, as he had his earlier observation.
Abandoning her yet again.
Damn him anyway.
“Kids,” she’d called up the stairs. “Hurry up. Your father’s waiting.”
“Maggie…”
God, she was such a fool.
“Maggie? Hello? Earth to Maggie.”
It takes her a few seconds to realize that the person calling her name isn’t her estranged husband, but Jerome. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes.
“Where’d you go, sweetheart?” Jerome asks.
Maggie shrugs. “What can I do for you?”
Jerome motions toward his client, a middle-aged woman whose entire head is wrapped in a layer of clear plastic wrap. “I was wondering if you’d mind getting Mrs. Whittaker an egg salad sandwich and a cup of mint tea.”
Maggie checks her watch and notes that it’s lunchtime. “Not at all.” She steps around the counter, grabbing her purse off the floor by her feet.
“Just leave that there,” Jerome says, taking the purse from her hand. “My God. You’re going to destroy your shoulders lugging this thing around.” He returns the bag to its previous position behind the counter.
Maggie feels a moment of panic. She never goes anywhere without her purse. What if someone were to look inside it? Still, she can’t risk insulting Jerome or arousing unnecessary suspicion. “I’ll need money,” she protests.
“Take it from the till,” Nadine instructs from her workstation. “We’ll settle up later. Who else wants something?”
“I’d love a tall blonde,” says Rita’s client, referring to Starbucks’s special blend.
“Wouldn’t we all?” asks Jerome.
Maggie smiles, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror behind Jerome’s head and deciding once again that she likes what she sees. She is still smiling as she leaves the salon and heads toward Starbucks, determined to smile more and worry less. It’s time to take back control of her life. She’s lived in fear long enough.
