Lane reached for his water. The waitress, who looked to be seventeen, had rouge on her cheeks, blue makeup around her brown eyes, a ponytail, and graceful fingers. “Ready to order?” She adjusted her white blouse to reveal the top of a blue camisole.
“What’s your best soup?” Nigel asked.
“You like spicy?” There was a husky edge to her voice.
Nigel nodded.
“The satay beef will warm you up on a day like this.” She looked at Lane.
Nigel said, “I’ll go with that.”
“Me too. And thank you.” Lane handed her his menu and smiled.
The waitress smiled back, taking both menus and walking to the counter outside the kitchen. A middle-aged man with a round face and body to match watched from behind the counter, smiling at Lane.
“Male or female?” Nigel asked.
Lane looked back at Nigel. “Does it make a difference?”
“Just wondering. She looks like a she, but her hands and her voice lead me to believe otherwise.” Nigel reached for his water.
Lane shrugged. “She is who she is, and she is very nice to us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lane shook his head. “You hit a nerve.”
Lori thumbed through a magazine on hairstyles. Perfect faces, perfect teeth, perfect makeup appeared on every airbrushed page. She thought, I hope Donna is good at what she does. If she fucks up my hair, Lane is going to get an earful.
“Ute?” a voice called.
Lori continued to look at the styles and faces in the magazine.
“Ute?”
That’s me! Lori stood up, grabbing her purse and looking at a woman with shoulder-length black hair wearing a yellow shirt reaching mid thigh. Donna wore black tights under the shirt and a pair of tan high-heeled boots reaching her knees.
“Come on over. I’m Donna.” She led the way to a chair in the middle of three, facing a counter and a mirror the size of a coffee table.
Lori sat down, tucking the heels of her boots over the bar at the bottom of the chair. Donna took out a black cape to cover Lori, attaching it snugly around her neck. Lori watched in the mirror as Donna touched her hair.
Donna said, “What are you looking for?”
A killer. “A trim, and touch up the grey. And… make me look twenty years younger.”
“If I knew how to do that, I would have a big office, a chef, and a personal trainer for hot yoga.”
Lori laughed, then saw a white cell phone dancing on the counter.
Donna hesitated.
“Go ahead.”
Donna reached for the phone. “My mom is on her way to China. I asked my brother to call when they get there.” She pressed a button on the phone. “You made it okay?” Donna listened.
Lori tried not to be obvious while listening in.
“So, Mom’s feeling okay? She’s hungry? That’s a good sign. Thanks for calling.” Donna put the phone back on the counter.
“You’re close to your mom?”
“Yes. She’s back in China for the first time since we left over thirty years ago. It’s a big deal for her.”
“You’re lucky to be close to your mom.”
“Very.” Donna lifted a strand of Lori’s hair, making eye contact in the mirror. “Short? Long?”
“I like it longer.” If this turns out to be a mistake, Lane will owe me ’til the day he retires!
“How about the colour? You want it a shade darker or lighter?” Donna studied her client’s reaction.
Lori saw the intensity in those eyes, recognizing the intelligence behind them. “What do you think?”
Donna looked at Lori in the mirror. “I’d go just a shade darker.”
“Okay.”
A woman of approximately forty-five in yoga pants and a tight-fitting top pushed open the swinging half doors leading to a smallish lunchroom with a fridge, sink, and hand-me-down chrome kitchen table. Lori spotted the blonde woman with the short hair and felt the tension in Donna’s fingers.
The woman said, “Here, I’ve got these for you. Give them a try.” She walked over to a woman with tin foil in her hair, handing her a black wrist strap. The customer sat on a black faux-leather couch, reading a magazine.
“Who’s that?” Lori used a volume and a tone only Donna would be able to hear.
“Cori. A stylist. She sells magnetic bracelets and anklets on the side.”
Lori heard the dismissal in Donna’s tone. “What’s your mom like?”
“Cool.”
“You’re lucky. Mine was a manipulative, psychotic, self-centred narcissist.” Lori watched Donna looking across the salon where Cori watched herself in the mirror as she styled the client’s hair.
Donna began adding layers of silver paper to Lori’s hair. Donna said, “There’s a lot of that going around.”
That began a fifteen-minute discussion of mothers. They laughed at a few of Lori’s funny stories and more of Donna’s.
Donna finished up with the colour. The chemical stink of it caught at the back of Lori’s throat. Donna reached for a timer and set it. “You want coffee or tea while we wait for the colour?”
“Tea, please.” Lori sat down on the black couch where she had a good view of Cori’s chair.
“How do you take it?” Donna asked.
“Just tea, please.” Lori picked up a magazine, sitting back, pretending to flip through it while observing Cori.
A boy of fifteen or sixteen with black hair, tight jeans, and a blue smock set three folded towels down on the countertop. Cori looked at the towels, reaching over and patting him on the cheek. “Thank you, Robert. You’re a doll.”
Robert’s face turned red. He retreated to a back room.
Cori turned to her client. “You should try that sometime. Young bucks like Robert have endurance.” She smiled, beginning to take the silver paper out of her client’s hair.
Robert’s younger than my son! Lori thought.
Cori’s client was a woman between fifty-five and sixty with blonde hair, weighing maybe one hundred thirty pounds. She asked, “What does Andrew have to say about that?”
Cori stopped, smiling at the woman in the mirror. “We have an agreement. I go along with his excursions, and he allows me my diversions.”
Donna’s timer began to ding. She hustled over, took the silver paper from Lori’s hair, then guided her to the sink. Lori sat back. Donna used warm water to wash her hair. Donna’s fingers worked their way around Lori’s scalp. She began to relax as the scalp massage did its magic. When Donna finished, Lori opened her eyes. “Would you teach my husband how to do that? He thinks that foreplay is something hockey players do at the other end of the rink.”
Donna laughed while wrapping Lori’s hair in a towel. “Let’s get you trimmed. And after I get you looking your best, maybe you’ll get some.”
Lori saw Cori was moving to the front of the salon. “Sounds like she’s looking to get some from Robert. That kid is younger than my son.”
“And two years older than my eldest boy. I brought my son here once. Never again.” Donna sat Lori down in the chair, removing the towel. She began to trim Lori’s hair. “That chick is always after something.”
“On the prowl?” Lori watched as Donna’s scissors snipped here and there.
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t want her around my boys. There’s something really twisted about her.” Donna looked at Lori in the mirror. “Her husband is a professor at the university. She manages to mention he’s a PhD in almost every conversation, that he went to Queen’s, was a student in her dance class, and he’s almost ten years younger than she is.”
“How old is she?” Lori watched Cori as she talked with Robert at the front of the store.
“Mid-forties. Travels to all of the hot spots. Has a loyal troop of customers who like to hear about her exploits. Most of them are women whose husbands have done well.” Donna reached for the hairdryer.