18. Oakley
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
oakley
A couple of weeks ago, Dixie and I took our morning walk to the community college. I stapled my salon business card to lined notebook paper that reads, “Please save me from the blue hairs. I’d love to color you pink, lavender or even red. Twenty-five dollars cash.”
I’m booked all day with back-to-back appointments, and a few customers bring friends to squeeze in. My strategy is paying off. Reel them in now while they’re in community college and cash strapped with a sale.
One girl squeals in delight when she sees the faint lavender streak framing her face. Another asks for chunky blond highlights. But my favorite is Marisol, one of the girls with long blond hair like mine, and she asks if I can give her a trendy haircut, so I layer it just above the shoulders. When I dry it, it shrinks up an inch. I curl it with five big waves and run my fingers through it, spray some shine glaze, and even though she was beautiful before, now she has an edge to her. She whispers to me, “I have an audition this weekend to sing at one of the major bars, where music scouts hang out looking for the next star. Could you do my hair?”
Just then, a loud noise grabs my attention outside the salon. It’s a tow truck unloading my car. Something with wings flaps in my stomach. Corbin. I take out my shiny new rose-gold phone, stopping to admire it. But then, I text him for the first time.
Me: Thanks for the phone and my car.
Corbin: I wanted you to be able to text me. But what car? Did you steal one of my cars?
Me: It’s not stealing; you said I could drive them. But a tow truck is unloading my car right now. Thanks again. Oh, I’m going to be late. I’m so busy.
Corbin: I didn’t have your car towed. It was on my to-do list, but it’s been a hectic day for me too.
Me: Hmmm.
Corbin: Does your car work? Maybe Becca had it towed.
Me: Don’t know. I have to finish this client. One last question. Do we have anything to do Saturday afternoon?
Dots bounce. Stop bouncing. Bounce again. Geez, I’m not asking for the nuclear codes, just if we have plans since I have to go to parties, events, and games.
Corbin: Why?
After all that bouncing and thinking, he types a three-letter word. I shake my head.
Me: Because one of my clients wants me to style her hair before she auditions on Saturday for a singing gig.
Corbin: What time?
I drop my phone and ask Marisol, “What time would you need me to do it?”
“Around noon. My audition is at three.”
Me: Noon.
Corbin: We can make it work. Let me know if your car works. If it does, can you drive here and bring Dixie? If we drink, I would rather Dixie be here, so we don’t have to drive.
Me: I’ll let you know.
“Excuse me a minute.” I walk outside as the driver finishes unloading my vehicle. “Hi. Can you tell me who had my car towed here?”
He grabs his clipboard out of the front seat, glances over the document, and says, “A Mr. Beech. Sign here.”
My jaw drops and instead of being grateful, I’m pissed. If he wants to get into my good graces, he can start by removing the terms of marriage from my trust fund. I sign, and he hands me the keys and my copy of the paperwork. As he pulls off, I start the car and drive it into a parking spot. No smoke. It feels like a kitten purring. Well… not purring. It’s nothing like Corbin’s BMW, but it’s running better than it has in months.
Me: My car seems to be fixed.
Corbin: Text me when you leave your house, so I know when to expect you.
I type the thumbs up emoji and find myself smiling. This texting thing is fun.
Marisol grins at her reflection in the mirror. “I can’t believe how different I look. I love it.”
Removing the black drape from her neck, I agree that I’ve transformed her from looking like every other twenty-something girl with long, straight hair into an edgy work of art.
She stands, twirling around to see the back as her friends gasp in unison.
“Thank you!”
“Is this what you want me to do for your audition?”
She responds, “Can I send you a picture of my outfit and see what you think?”
Sure, and for the first time, my phone can receive an image. Corbin. I’m starting to not hate him because of his thoughtful gift. We need to text. He can’t call during practice. I can’t call while doing someone’s hair.
“Yes, I think this will be perfect,” I say excitedly. “During the song at some point, you should put on a cowboy hat. Or start with it.”
“Okay, I’ll see you Saturday.” She hands me thirty dollars in cash, and I think I’ve made a lifelong client. Except I’m not going to be doing hair anymore.
I settle up with Jennie Rae and go home with two hundred fifty dollars so I can pay the air conditioning bill. On my way home, I remember that Corbin has prepaid my utilities, which means I can buy a new bathing suit. I make a detour at the mall near me. It’s not upscale, but it has one major department store.
One new white bikini.
Then I go home, pack an overnight bag along with Dixie’s food and kennel.
On the way to Corbin’s, I think to myself, Corbin is going to have to pick his tongue up off the floor when he sees me in this bathing suit. And why do I care? Because I want him to know what he’s missing. We shared an amazing kiss at his friend’s wedding, and he’s letting the unfortunate decision I made to take his truck interfere with all of the good we had going on.
He meets me in the driveway, immediately letting Dixie out of the car who jumps up on him with her tail wagging. And it doesn’t stop. The thing is whipping back and forth like a flag in Chicago.
“Hey, girl. Did you miss me?” Dixie can’t get enough of his face. He lifts from his crouched position and says, “Let’s help your mama get everything inside.”
“Can you grab her kennel?” I ask.
He grabs the kennel with one hand, then removes the strap of my overnight bag from my shoulder, and carries them both inside. Corbin Shearer, hockey star, is a true gentleman, which probably means he’s vanilla in bed. I snicker, and he glances back, “What?”
“Nothing. I just can’t believe I’m going to be living here in a few weeks.”
Since he’s opening the door, I can’t see his face, but I hope he’s happy about having me here. We may not be in a romantic relationship, but it may be nice to have someone around to talk to other than Dixie, even though she gives the best advice.
“Do you want the kennel in the living room or bedroom?” he asks.
“Bedroom.” I’ve brought one of my towels to put in her cage, so she’ll smell me while we’re gone. Dixie follows him up the stairs, and I pad around the first floor, snooping.
Opening drawers.
Running my fingers over the pillows.
Picking up pictures from the tables.
When I hear the pitter-patter of four little feet and the pounding of two big ones, I hide the frame behind my back.
“You’re all set. Now, can I have my picture back?”
Red faced, I stumble over my words, “Sorry, I was just…”
“Stealing my frame,” he completes my sentence as amusement dances in his eyes.
“No,” I stutter, trying to come up with an excuse. “Just admiring your large family.” He takes the photo from my hand as he shifts his eyes between me and the frame.
“They would drive you crazy.”
“If they’re all like Becca, then yes,” I reply truthfully.
“Once you get to know her, and she realizes you’re not trying to take advantage of me, then she'll come around. She will do absolutely anything for me, even keep our secret from my family.” He reassures me, although notes of sadness weave through his tone, and I’m left to wonder if he’ll actually go through with this marriage.