9. Cam
CHAPTER 9
CAM
“POKER FACE” - LADY GAGA
“ C am, can you mix two scoops of lightener with twenty volume color developer for me please?” Daveed asks from across the color bar as he scrapes the bottom of a very empty bowl for his next foil. We are going on our third day of back-to-back color clients, and the exhaustion is settling into my bones.
“Coming right up,” I call, grabbing the tub of bleach and bottle of developer to begin my task. This is par for the course with assistant life, always being at the ready and waiting to give Daveed anything he needs. Sometimes I’m pulling and tearing foils, shampooing a guest, or even occasionally doing a blowout. I’m ready for the next step though.
I walk across the room to where he is waiting patiently, handing him the color bowl and standing back to appreciate the finesse with which he slices and weaves this bombshell blonde. Doing hair is not as easy as the home color commercials make it seem. There’s an art to it, knowing the angles and where the shadows would naturally be cast from sunlight. It’s easy to mess up, but I’ve been doing this for almost a year, and I’ve honed my skills on more mannequin heads than it should be legal to possess.
I start to walk away, off to check the towels and brushes, but Daveed calls out once more. “Cam, I’m almost finished here. Why don’t you grab Micah and meet me out back.” There’s a seriousness in his voice, and I can’t tell if I should be worried or excited.
I swipe a few empty bowls and nod at Micah to meet me in the galley on my way out. He stumbles in before I can even dump the bowls in the sink, the door nearly taking him out on the back swing.
“What’s happening? You never nod at me. What do you know?” His questions aren’t completely out of the blue. We’ve both been wondering when our turn to take the trials would be, he assumes I know something.
“I know nothing, so let’s take the crazy down a notch. Like a half turn at least.” I mimic turning a knob, which is something he routinely does to me when I’m overanalyzing, overstressing, or just generally talking too loud. “Daveed had me mix some bleach for him and then told me to grab you and wait for him out back. The way I see it...we are either both being fired, or it’s our turn.”
“Do you think? I don’t know...Tori and Jenna had to wait eighteen months. But he isn’t firing us, that’s for sure. We do everything around here.” Micah slumps against the counter.
“I think we’ve proven ourselves, and the salon is busier than it ever has been. Let’s go outside and wait. Or actually, maybe we should get this stuff cleaned up first, so he doesn’t think we are slacking off. But he did say to go outside. Shit. What are we supposed to do...” I’m flustered, and Micah’s nerves are making mine worse.
“Let’s go outside, and turn it down like half a notch, would ya?” He smirks at me, throwing it right back in my face, as he opens the back door and heads out with me nipping at his heels.
We both plop down at the patio table. It’s times like this I wish I had an ounce of chill. I wish that I could just be told to come out here without nearly having a panic attack, overthinking what Daveed could possibly have to tell us. My mom used to say that there was no reason to be nervous if you haven’t done anything wrong. That’s easy to say when you are a Perfect Polly, but for someone like me—not so much.
Daveed pushes his way out onto the patio, sashaying up to where we are seated and taking a load off in one of the chairs. He glances back and forth between Micah and me, like he is trying to assess how on edge we are before he unleashes whatever he’s going to say.
Steepling his hands in front of his mouth, he grins before saying, “Listen up. You two have been working hard for nearly a year. I never have to tell you where to be or what to do. Now, that does not mean you are perfect, but I do think you are ready for the next step.” He shifts in his seat, straightening slightly, then leaning toward us. “Luka and I spoke about it, and we’d like you to begin preparing for your final trials. Although I know you both already know what I expect, I placed instructions in your mailboxes. I have all the faith that you will pass and will be successful additions to our stylist team.”
“Thank you, oh my gosh, thank you. I am so grateful for the opportunity and won’t let you down.” I stand, leaning over to give him a tight squeeze.
“What she said. Thank you.” Micah follows this by giving him a hug as well.
Daveed stands from his chair, looking between us. “It’s five forty-five,” he announces, before clapping his hands together in one single clap. Micah and I stare at him. Are we supposed to know what that means?
“Get out of here. It means leave. Go celebrate or something, my darling future fairy godmothers. The work to pass these trials starts tomorrow, and as I am sure you are aware, there are plenty of late salon nights in your future.” With that, he walks away, heading back into the salon, as we stand gawking after him. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him send assistants home early. Let alone on a busy Thursday night after three straight days of back-to-back clients.
“Where should we go?” Micah asks, looking at me like I’d have a plan.
“Ummm...let me text Lo. She usually does a Thirsty Thursday trivia night somewhere. We could meet her and have a few drinks.” I grab my phone from my back pocket and send off a text.
“I’m not very good at trivia, but I also don’t have a life sooo...send me the details.” Micah heads inside to collect his things. I forward him the location Lo sends me and a text telling him to meet me at seven sharp at Tiki Tonga.
Palm trees sway with the evening breeze skating off the Gulf as flashing green and purple spotlights wave back and forth, lighting up the pavement at my feet. I’m standing outside of a very packed Tiki Tonga, waiting for Micah and Lo to show up. I told them both to arrive at seven, which apparently meant show up at seven fifteen and skate in at the last minute to sign up before trivia commences at seven thirty.
Maybe my mom wore off on me a little too much in the punctuality department. I remember her saying that the cows weren’t going to feed themselves and asking how I would feel about waiting for my breakfast every morning. It didn’t make getting up and doing two hours of farmwork before school any easier, but I am chronically on time for everything now as a result.
“Wright? Is that you, standing all alone in the dark?” a familiar husky voice asks me.
“Rambo? What are you doing here?” I retort, as Will steps into the bar’s glowing entry light. I attempt to mask the eye roll I can’t help from happening—clearly he is just bound to be everywhere I am now.
“I have a feeling I am here for the very same reason you are. Trivia, right? Lo convinced Smith that we all needed to participate, and he twisted my arm.” Will shrugs while I curse out Lo internally. That meddling little shit wants me to think fate is playing a role here. She’s determined to make me run into him over and over. I’m going to have words with her, but I’m not going to let him know it bothers me this much.
“Ah, I see,” I respond. “Well, I hope you weren’t coming to win. I happen to be very good at knowing useless facts.” I shift from one foot to the other, bracing for whatever comeback he throws my direction.
“I remember.”
That’s it? That’s all he’s got?
“You don’t know anything about me, and let’s not pretend you do.” I let out a harrumph in frustration and defiance.
“Okay, Wright. Sure. I know nothing about you...You can tell yourself that, but it doesn’t make it true.” He smirks at me, heightening my annoyance.
“Well...since you apparently know everything , want to make a bet?” I should not be engaging with him at all. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, which is to say not far. But, for reasons I can’t explain, I just need to drive him crazy.
“What kind of bet?” He looks at me cautiously, putting his hands into the back pockets of his light denim jeans. The ones I’m definitely not noticing accentuate his thick man-muscle thighs.
“Hmm...if I win trivia, you have to avoid all friend group activities that I could potentially be at for two weeks.” I don’t love the queasy feeling that rises in my belly at the thought of not seeing him, and I don’t understand why it’s even there. I can’t stand the smug smirks he gives me or how he always seems to be doting on his sister. He’s a jerk of the worst kind. A hot jerk, but still.
“That desperate to get rid of me, huh? What do I get if I win?” He shifts his baseball hat lower on his head, shading those piercing blue eyes, thankfully.
“What do you want?” Why did that come out so breathlessly? Stop it, body. We do not like him, we do not find him attractive in the slightest , I remind myself.
“Oh,there are so many things. Let me think of the best way to torture you.” Will touches his finger to his lips, and I’m overcome with jealousy that his finger is the one whispering over those full pillows. What the fuck is wrong with me. I need a drink or five.
“I’ve got it,” he says. “If I win, you have to sing karaoke tonight.” The stupid smirk is back in place. But he has no chance of beating me, so it’s fine.
“Deal. Too bad you won’t be hearing these pipes any time soon, Rambo. Best of luck to you.” I reach out to shake his hand and seal the deal, which is a horrible, no good, terrible idea. His palm is rough and callused as it rubs against mine. I do not want to like it, but I do. Warmth seeps into my belly, followed by a flurry of flapping butterfly wings. Thankfully, I spot Micah approaching and stop myself from feeling anything I shouldn’t be.
“I show up a few minutes late, and you already have a handsome suitor waiting for you? Your life is so hard, Cam.” Micah bumps his shoulder into mine before extending his hand to Will saying, “Nice to meet you, gorgeous. I’m Micah.”
Will chuckles, reaching out to take Micah’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “I’m Will. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Micah. Although depending on how close you are with this one”—he points at me, the nerve —“I’m not sure how long you will be a fan of mine.” With that, Will turns and walks into the bar, leaving us standing on the sidewalk.
“Umm...explain. Now.” Micah is still blushing from the touch of Will’s hand and is fanning his face to cool off.
“That would be my ex.” I shrug, trying to act like I don’t understand Micah’s visceral reaction to being in Will’s proximity.
“So you’re saying I have a chance. Noted.” He winks at me. Micah and I have become pretty close over the last year of working together. I know he would never cross any lines, but I also know that he is absolutely going to tease me about this for the rest of my life.
“Go for it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you get your heart broken in the worst way.” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Should we just go in and get a table since Lo is clearly running late?”
“I’m not late, I’m right here.” Lo walks up in between us and wraps an arm around each of our shoulders, steering us toward the door and into the bar. “Why are you both blushing?”
“I’m not,” I say at the same time Micah chimes in with, “I met Will.”
“Hoo-boy, I know, right? Tell this one she should stop acting like fate didn’t bring him back into her life for a reason.”
“Maybe fate brought him into my life.” Micah winks at us both and we laugh.
Tiki Tonga is every beachgoer’s dream destination. With sand-covered floors, swings in lieu of barstools except for at the tables, and a giant tiki statue in the corner lit by a colorful array of spotlights. The ambiance screams give me a pina colada, some sunnies, and a coconut bra. It’s packed to the gills in here with patrons spilling out onto the ocean front patio while the Beach Boys blare from the sound system.
We spot our group, Smith, Ruiz, Butler, Amy, and of course Will, holding down a table with exactly three stools open. Smith waves, as if we could have possibly missed him in his neon pink Hawaiian shirt. We each grab a stool and a beer from the bucket on the table at the same time that a balding middle-aged man—with skin so leathery, he has clearly been laying off the sunscreen for the better part of twenty years—says, “Welcome to Tiki Trivia, where the questions leave you twisted and tangled more than the tiki bar.” He chuckles to himself as the microphone makes a loud screech..
I can’t help the bubbling burst of giggles that rips out of me. The trivia host is adorably endearing in the worst way. My table mates look at me like I’ve lost my mind—well, all of them but Will, who is also laughing. Don’t laugh at the things I think are funny.
The host, who I am calling Larry for no good reason other than it feels right, explains the rules and tells us to refer to the guidelines and game answering devices on our tables. Glancing down, I see the rules list:
All teams must have four players.
Questions must be answered on the game answering device within thirty seconds.
Team rankings and results will be posted on the projector screen above Tonga the Tiki God.
The winning team earns a free round of drinks and first choice for karaoke.
I look up from the paper to see a smiling Will, who has traded places with Ruiz to sit directly across from me, presumably for no other reason than to try to throw me off my game. He knew that one of us would end up singing tonight before we even made our stupid bet. I plan on winning though. Snooze ya later, Rambo.
“How should we split up the teams?” Lo asks, disgustingly holding hands with Smith across the table. Get a room, lovebirds.
“Cam and I need to be on separate teams.” Will dodges the elbow that comes from his sister as he says it.
“Okay, let’s just do the three of us and Amy. Does that work?” Lo points to Micah and me as Amy happily hops off her stool and carries it over to our side of the table.
“Alright Tiki Trivia contestants, the first question is loading in three...two...one,, goooooo!” Larry announces as our devices light up with the first question.
What crop is traditionally produced on the Kona Coast of Hawaii’s Big Island?
We huddle together awkwardly, and I tell my group I know the answer. It has to be coffee. They nod in agreement, and I type and submit coffee beans , watching the board to make sure we got it right. That was an easy one, so I’m not surprised to see that most teams answered correctly.
“Looks like we are off to a great start. The next question is loading...now,” Larry bellows.
Which two states do not observe daylight saving time?
Amy grabs my arm, whispering in my ear that it’s Hawaii and Arizona. We huddle with Lo and Micah, confirming they agree, and submit. Yes, another one is correct! I shift slightly, wobbling on my stool as I reach for my beer.
“Had too much to drink already, Wright?” Of course, he noticed.
“Not even close, Rambo. Just a wobbly three-legged stool, but nice try.” I shake my head and take a long, refreshing glug of icy cold beer—my attempt at washing away the bitter taste he leaves in my mouth.
Suddenly, Will stands, grabbing his stool and walking around to our side of the table as the next question pops up. Does he think I am dumb enough to let him see our answers? I quickly submit an answer without consulting my teammates. “Don’t be coming over here to get a glimpse of what we are submitting, Rambo. It doesn’t count if you cheat,” I chide him.
“Stand up, Wright.” Will’s voice is commanding, along with his broad shoulders and hulking frame.
“No. I will not be told what to do.” I turn away from him toward Micah, rolling my eyes.
Will taps me on the shoulder. “Stand up. I’m giving you my stool, so you don’t fall off this one and get hurt.” Amy and Lo swoon while Micah clutches his chest in deference to the sweet gesture. I can’t refuse without looking like a completely petty bitch, so I comply. Taking his solid, not-at-all-wobbly stool reluctantly.
Will smirks as he makes his way back around the table and plops down on what was once my unstable chair. I may have a firm and steady place to put my caboose now, but mentally, I’m even more unstable than before.
We work our way as a group through more questions, and the race to win becomes tighter and tighter. Will’s group and mine are tied with only one question to go, and I can feel Will’s eyes boring into me from across the table. “What’s it going to be, Wright?” he asks.
“Huh?” I turn away from chatting with Micah about work and look at Will.
“What song are you going to sing after I win?” He winks and takes a long pull of his beer, awaiting my answer.
“You aren’t going to win, so it doesn’t matter. What are you going to do with all your upcoming free time?” I point the end of my beer bottle in his direction; it’s been empty for some time now, but getting a refill in a place this crowded is like trying to climb Everest in a tank top. Not happening.
“What is going on?” Lo asks glancing between us.
“Your friend made a bet with me. If I win, she has to sing karaoke.” The guys pop off in an uproar of hysterics, slapping Will on the back in glee.
“If he loses, he doesn’t get to come to any group events for two weeks. I can almost taste the freedom and alone time I’m going to have with the three of you,” I say, sweeping my arm to indicate the friends of his I will be commandeering.
This causes the guys to laugh even harder, hooting and hollering for all to see, as Larry announces the final question of the night, adding that there is a planned tiebreaker if needed. Seconds feel like minutes as I wait to see the last question pop up on the screen.
Which state utilized a UHF wireless packet network to connect its residents?
My vision goes blurry for a second while I try to decipher what the fuck that even means. I pull Amy, Lo, and Micah in close asking, “Do you know anything about this?”
“No, what the hell is a wireless packet?” Amy asks.
“If it’s not about hair or Taylor Swift, don’t look at me.” Micah holds his hands up in surrender.
“Come on, it has to be tiki related, so it has to be Hawaii, right? That’s the only thing that makes sense. Lo, back me up,” I say, the realization that I’m likely going to be singing karaoke churning in my gut.
“Sure, sounds good to me.” She shrugs and goes back to rubbing her thumb softly over Smith’s hand.
I type the response and attempt to hit submit, but a flashing red bar says time’s up. I don’t want to look across the table, but maybe they didn’t get their answer in either. Groaning, I glance from under my lashes, darting my gaze across some very-pleased-with-themselves faces and landing on the smuggest face of them all, stupid Will’s.
“I’ll go get another round from the bar. Oh and I’ll sign you up to sing, Wright. Better start warming up those vocal cords.” Will walks off toward the bar, staffed with beautiful bartenders flaunting their assets in booty shorts and too-tight, cropped Hawaiian shirts.. I might throw up from the loss and the stage fright.