Acts of Violet(32)
“How many unfortunate lives might’ve been saved with the right point-of-sale tools?” He clutches the broom to his heart, then resumes gathering brunette curls into a mound. “Nice to see us in the black again, huh?”
“We’ve been doing well the last couple of months.” Without thinking, I air-spit three times and knock against the side of the reception desk, glad we opted for the reclaimed barn wood Quinn insisted on instead of laminate. Try as I might, some superstitions are ingrained in me. “Between the extra business we’ve been getting around the vigil and your marketing mojo, we should be able to hire an assistant again soon.”
“Why do we need to hire an assistant when our daughter is about to graduate college and have her days free again? We’ve pretty much homegrown our own assistant. Isn’t that the whole point of having kids?” Gabriel’s deadpan face twitches, a smile fighting its way out.
“You would think, but apparently parents are supposed to let kids become their own people or some crap.” I lock eyes with him, daring him to laugh before I do.
“Seriously? This business of supporting your child’s life choices is hogwash.”
“Utter malarkey.” We simultaneously break into chuckles.
The bells above the front door tinkle as my 3:00 PM enters the salon.
“Sally!” If I could leap over the counter like a cool bartender I would, but since I lack such dexterity, I rush around it instead to ambush the curvy blonde wearing an insane patchwork coat trimmed in what can only be Muppet fur.
“I don’t know what you two were just talking about, but you look like you’re about to pounce on each other.” Her eyes flash wickedly. “I don’t mind waiting if you want to have a quickie in the back room.”
If it’s wrong for a stylist to have a favorite client, I don’t want to be right, because Sally Forsberg is mine. She’s gregarious, body positive, sex positive, and lets me endlessly experiment with her hair. A good portion of the new clients I get come by way of her recommendations, to the point where I’ve offered her commissions. She and her best friend, Astrid, own U4ia, a popular local boutique that sells handcrafted items, all made from materials that are upcycled, recycled, or locally sourced (naturally, it’s Quinn’s favorite place to shop). A divorced self-professed polyamorous pansexual Sally’s dating life is as colorful as the coat on her back, and there’s no such thing as oversharing as far as she’s concerned.
“Is that a new shirt?” she asks as I put on an apron. It’s a running joke between us; jeans and a white button-down are my standard uniform. “This one looks less pearl and more … alabaster?”
“Good eye. It is new, but it’s eggshell. Thought I’d mix it up.”
“You’re a wild woman.” Sally sits in her preferred styling chair (“the other one is too creaky”). As she lifts her hair to let me fasten a vinyl cape around her, a pungent waft hits me like a punch in the face, which can only be her latest foray into amateur perfumery. It smells like limoncello mixed with Pine-Sol and formaldehyde, and it makes my eyes water.
Noticing my recoil, Sally’s eyebrows wiggle impishly. “I see you’re enjoying my new creation. I would’ve brought you a sample, but I figured you didn’t want to smell like a drunk Christmas tree molesting a rotten lemon meringue pie.”
“Okay, I gotta get a whiff of this one.” Gabriel, who has a weird affinity for bad smells, comes over. “Yep, it’s horrendous.” More sniffs to confirm. “Wow. You can wake the dead with that. Hey, what about selling it as ‘artisanal smelling salts’?”
“You kid, but I might actually do that.” An admiring nod from Sally. “Especially considering how well I did with your last idea. Who knew people would be so into organic bug spray? Still one of my top sellers online. You know, you should probably stop giving me all these ideas for free and make me hire you as a marketing consultant.”
“I probably should.” Gabriel takes out his phone just as it trills with an alert. “I’ve gotta meet a vendor right now, but let’s talk soon.” Turning to me, he waves. “See ya later, wife.”
“That’s all I get, ‘see ya later’?” I feign huffiness.
“Nope, you also get this.”
In an instant, his arms are around me, his mouth is on mine, and he’s dipping me halfway to the floor.
Once Gabriel leaves, I run a brush through Sally’s golden hair and fluff it with my fingers. “So what’s the plan for today? Dealer’s choice or did you have something specific in mind?”
“Oh, we are going on an adventure today. Are you familiar with a little something called oil slick hair?” She scrolls through her phone and holds up a photo of a black sheared bob threaded with purple, magenta, teal, and blue.
“Being that my vocation requires staying on top of hair trends, I am indeed familiar with oil slick hair. You really wanna go that dark?”
“Dark and short. I’m thinking…” Using her fingers as imaginary scissors, she traps a section of hair at chin level.
I look back and forth between my friend and the photo and let out a sigh. “Oh, Sal. I thought things were going well with Kerry and Jerry.”
Sally plucks the phone out of my hand, fumbling with it as she puts it away. “Way to read into things. You know I like to be dramatic and change it up.”