Splitting Hairs by Writingfundimension |
Fawn is the kind of woman one man will never satisfy. Baiting men like a matador drawing the bull ever closer with his red cape, she leaves them empty and bleeding in the dust. At the moment, I'm giving a perm to an elderly female client named Lucille. Her fine silver hair is full of rods, one of which I'm unrolling in order to test the curl. I give Fawn a you've-got-your-nerve look and reach into a cupboard for neutralizer. As I spread the liquid across Lucille's scalp in practiced, even movements, Fawn clutches my forearm, piercing the skin with her industrial-strength fingernails. "This is an emergency, Nikki, I swear," she says as I pry her fingers from my arm. Every hairdresser in the place has had Fawn for a client at least once. I'm the only one that's been willing to put up with her crap. The room goes suspiciously quiet at the possibility of an overdue show-down. I decide it's not professional to get into an argument with a spoiled prima donna. Leaning into where Lucille is pretending to mind her own business, I ask, "Will you excuse me for a minute? I need to have a quick word with this lady." "Take your time, dear," she answers and rewards me with a dramatic wink. "I'm getting caught up on the celebrity gossip, thanks to 'People' magazine. Besides, if anyone can fix that botched hair job, it's you." Have I told you lately that I love you, Lucille? I pull Fawn out of the chair and steer her into an empty massage room. After long seconds of a mutual stare-down and no forthcoming apology, I cave: "What do you expect me to do, Fawn? I'm entirely booked-up. But I think Paula still has a few slots open this afternoon." The corner of one of her eyelids goes spastic, and she looks ready to let rip a scream to rival any banshee. Instead, she starts to cry. "My father flew in from London last night for a board meeting and called this morning to say he has a few hours free and wants to meet for dinner. Please, Nikki, you've got to help me. I promise I'll make it worth your while. I can't have my father see me like this." I'm a sucker when it comes to relationships between father and daughters. Right now Fawn isn't looking so confident, and maybe at some level I'm enjoying it. I hope she appreciates this. "Okay, I'll be done with my scheduled clients at six o'clock. Come back then and I'll see what I can do for you, and just so we're clear, Fawn, I can't fix what's been done to your hair in one session." She grabs me and air kisses both my cheeks. "You're awesome, Nikki. I'll be back at five o'clock in case someone cancels." Before I can protest, she's out the door. After I finish with Lucille, I have time for a quick lunch. As I blend protein powder, fresh fruit and yogurt, I think about what it would be like to have a father who 'fits' you in during a business trip. My father and I talk every day and we're as compatible as fish and chips. What if Fawn's difficulty in staying with one man for long is a result of her father's apparent indifference? Maybe I can try to be less judgmental.
Fawn lucks out when one of my clients has to reschedule. Once in my chair, she's focussed on her Android smartphone and a recent issue of 'Vogue' magazine. I'm cool with that because I'm too tired to fake small talk. I'm surprised to see a black limo pull in front of the salon as I add up my charges. Fawn moves to the front window and signals the driver to come to the doorway. A dignified, silver-haired chauffeur waits patiently while she piles hair products and scented candles on the countertop. Finally, in a haughty tone she addresses him. "Antonio, tell Daddy I need to use his credit card - I've left mine in my other purse." Antonio returns with a card in his gloved hand. Fawn snatches it away without a word and shoves her goody bag into his chest. She leaves me with a $50.00 tip and more air kisses. In a haze of exhaustion, I watch the limousine merge carefully with oncoming traffic and realize, just like Daddy, I've been played. Yup, the chick's got noive in spades.
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