Repeat(65)

The salon is only a few blocks away. My stylist is a gorgeous Latino lady named Margarita. Like Ed, she has magical fingers. My crappy mood and reservations last about two seconds beneath the scalp massage she delivers during the shampooing and conditioning process. The woman can do with me what she will. I am mush.

In the fancy black chair positioned in front of the mirror, she pats my shoulders. Her eyes go to my fringe. “Clementine, can I just fix this? Will you trust me to do that?”

“I need to be able to cover the scar.”

“Not a problem.”

“Then yes. Please.”

“Thank God for that.” Tessa sighs, slumped in the chair next to me. She makes even that position appear somehow glamorous and elegant. Today she’s in a green floral halter neck dress. Silk, maybe. Even with my concerns regarding patterns, I can see its beauty. Chunky wooden bangles jangle on her arm. Guess she either didn’t work today or got changed before she came and got me. The tattoo parlor seems to be more of a jeans atmosphere.

Funny how people’s tastes change. How Ed went from dating her to me. Though I guess I used to be more like Tessa. More put together.

“What?” she asks, having caught me watching.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

For a moment she says nothing. “Ed says you need information, that you like asking questions . . . so ask.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Go for it.”

Margarita works on my hair without further comment. The click of her scissors and upbeat background music filling the air.

Huh.

“What now?” she says, meeting my eyes on the mirror with less patience this time.

“Nothing. I guess I just expected another lecture about staying away from Ed.”

“Would it do any good?”

“No.”

“Well then, I won’t bother. Ask away . . .”

“Thank you. Did we used to do things like this together?”

“More like we’d have salon days, go get manicures and things. It was fun.” Her smile is faint, but there. “We’d do a little shopping and have lunch somewhere nice in the city, have a few beers and talk smack about the boys. Sometimes all four of us would go see bands or just have a meal out. Often others from work would come too, guest artists passing through and so on. Ed used to be big on his team building, back when he had more time.”

“Before getting caught up in my mess.”

“As I understand it, you’re in no way responsible for this current situation. Don’t take on shit that isn’t yours, Clem. That doesn’t help anyone.”

“Hmm...... Will you tell me a bit more about your background?”

“Like what?” she asks.

“Anything really . . . I’m just curious,” I say as Margarita moves my head this way and that, still cutting.

Legs crossed, Tessa relaxes back in the chair. It turns out she’s an only child and her parents are both lawyers. She rebelled by studying art and then moving into tattooing. While initially shocked, her folks are now fully supportive of what she does. Though they wouldn’t mind if she wanted to get a degree in accounting or something just to be safe. She doesn’t go anywhere near her romantic history with Ed and I don’t ask.

“What do you think?” asks Margarita finally, hands sitting lightly on my shoulders.

I don’t think I look too different, just neater. More stylish, somehow. With my hair shaped this way, my jaw doesn’t look as heavy. As requested, my bangs have been left growing longer, sweeping across one side of my face to cover the scar before being tucked behind an ear. Or they will when my hair grows a bit more.

“It’s still like a choppy layered crop only done right this time.” Tessa nods. “I like it. Maybe in future, let Margarita cut your hair. Now for the makeup.”

“We’re doing makeup?” I ask.

“Girl, Ed gave me his card. We’re doing everything.”

It’s a little disconcerting watching myself get another makeover. After all of the hacking at my hair and dumping of my wardrobe, I don’t want to go back. Though I still mostly look like me, but with good hair. The multitalented Margarita does my makeup as well, which is good because I don’t have to get used to someone new touching me. When I ask her to keep it reasonably simple and natural looking, Tessa snorts. But I get my way. So at the end of all the highlighting and application of various pencils, powers, and lotions, I look like me with good hair, cheekbones, a healthy glow, slightly bigger eyes, and pink lips.

“You’re really good,” I say to Margarita.

Tessa nods, pulling out a credit card. “Rest assured, your boyfriend’s going to give her a great tip.”

It’s evening out on the street, the lights flickering on all around us. I stretch my neck, working out the kinks from holding so still. “Thank you. That was actually kind of fun.”

“Oh,” purrs Tessa with a crafty grin. “We’re not finished yet.”

I feel fear.



*



“We’re having dinner?”

Tessa waves a hand in the direction of the restaurant. “Go on in.”

I look between her and Vito’s Italian. My favorite place, apparently. “The last time I was here I accidentally crashed Ed’s date with this woman. It was really awkward.”