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Today had proven folks in Sunset had bigger hearts than she’d thought, and she felt almost sheepish that she’d imagined differently.
At least until five o’clock. Then Theresa Wood arrived, all scrutinizing green eyes and gray roots concealed by an updo that showed off her faux platinum ends. Brea sighed. She’d always suspected the woman didn’t like her. Why the divorcée continued to make appointments with her, given their mutually unspoken enmity, was anyone’s guess.
“How are you today, Mrs. Wood?”
The fiftyish woman leaned around the partition to stare out the plate-glass windows at the reporters clogging the sidewalk, then turned back to her with a judgmental smirk. “A damn sight better than you, I’d say.”
Brea pasted on a smile like she didn’t have a care in the world as she dismantled the woman’s updo. No way would she let Mrs. Wood dig those artificial claws into her hide. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Your roots definitely need attention. Let’s head on over to the shampoo bowl. I think you need a good clarifying shampoo before we get started.”
The older woman made her way to an empty chair and plopped down. “How are you coping with this mess, girl? I know you’re not used to being quite so…popular. And now to hear that your man has been cheating? You poor thing.”
Maybe Mrs. Wood was being genuine…but her tone didn’t sound that way.
Brea tried not to grit her teeth as she wet the woman’s wiry hair and lathered it up. “Not at all. Cutter and I are closer than ever. Wedding plans are chugging along. I’ll be having this baby next year. Life couldn’t be grander.”
“I told those silly reporters as much when they accosted me outside of Jasmine’s after my grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon, asking a million questions about y’all.”
“Oh?” Brea rinsed the suds from the woman’s hair and tried not to lose her cool.
“Yeah, they seemed all kinds of interested in how happy you were, how close you were. I was surprised they didn’t ask me a thing about the baby.” She raised a platinum brow, her smile just shy of superior. “So I made sure they knew about it.”
This old viper had speculated to the press about her pregnancy? Blabbed it without any proof, then preached it like gospel?
Rayleigh whirled around from her nearby station and pinned the older woman with a glare. “Why would you have done that, Theresa? You didn’t know for certain Brea was pregnant.”
The woman scoffed. “Of course I did. When I was in here six weeks ago for my last touch-up, the poor girl looked positively green. She all but ran to the bathroom. I had to use the facilities after her, and given the stench it seemed fairly obvious she’d been vomiting. I just put two and two together.”
“She might have been sick, too. You didn’t know,” Rayleigh fumed. “And yet you spread rumors to internet gossip rags?”
Mrs. Wood shrugged a bony shoulder. “I was right, so I don’t know why you’re all bent out of shape. Far as I can tell, she’s still Sunset’s sweetheart and no worse for the wear.”
Brea shut off the water and wrapped a towel around the woman’s head so tightly Mrs. Wood winced. “My private life is being bandied about by all of Hollywood and half the country. I’m on internet gossip sites and trashy tabloid TV. They’ve made me into an object of pity and ridicule. My name and my child will forever be attached to a scandal I had nothing to do with. And you have the right to say I’m no worse for the wear?”
“Goodness, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Mrs. Wood bristled.
“Let’s not pretend you thought of me at all,” Brea blurted, then realized Pierce was rubbing off on her.
Saying what was on her mind really was ridiculously freeing.
The older woman sat up in the chair, gaping. “That’s not true, honey. I just—”
“I’m not your honey and I don’t like liars.” She skimmed a glance over the clock on the wall. “You know, it seems I don’t have time to do your hair after all. So sorry. Maybe someone else in the salon would like to finish Mrs. Wood?”
None of the other five stylists said a single word.
“Or not.” Brea flashed a saccharine smile at the older woman. “Sorry.”
“You can’t leave me like this. I can’t walk out of this salon with wet hair. Everyone will see me.”
“You’re not worried about ‘everyone.’ You just wanted to be pretty before you drove on out to the Rodeway on the north side of Lafayette to shag Pam Goodwin’s husband,” Rayleigh spouted.
Brea gaped. Had Mrs. Goodwin been right about her husband’s affair after all? Never mind why the man would pick someone ten years older. Brea knew well the heart couldn’t help who it wanted. But she couldn’t fathom why the elementary school principal would choose someone so vile when his wife was such a doll.
