Chapter 8
Zoey
There is a time in every wavy-haired girl’s life when her hair starts to take on the triangular shape of a Christmas tree.
Or worse, of Didi from Rugrats. Zoey had reached that point, and that, combined with the fight she’d just had with the blender that had nearly scalped her, combined with her twenty per cent local- business discount voucher, meant that a haircut was imminent.
It was not a date, of course. They were just scoping out the event to see whether it might be worth setting up a booth. That was it, and nothing more. Just like how the other night’s stroll around the Laurelhurst was to gauge competition from the street vendors. And to stretch Alice’s legs.
Except for the moment when he’d dropped her back that she’d been certain he was about to kiss her.
He’d been so close she could make out the individual lashes on his dark eyes and the soft smile lines around them.
The lightest dusting of freckles on his tanned skin.
The tiny scar on his upper lip. Until he’d gently pulled back, wishing her goodnight and disappearing into the summer night.
Oh, cruel world. Cruel, horny world.
Anyway, here she was outside I’ll Cut Ya, a tiny salon squeezed between Fuggs and Kisses, a boutique specialising in ironic knitted attire, and Just the Tip, a shop that, well, Zoey wasn’t quite sure about, but had heard was some sort of Silicon Valley-backed eCommerce tipping-software thing.
She hoped, because the other possibility was even less appealing.
The salon was not only a quick stroll from the smoothie shop, but boasted some incredible local sticker art, together with privacy windows covered top to bottom in old cut-throat razors.
This particular design feature was the brainchild of a stern interior decorator from Berlin who went about in raver pants and was constantly headbanging to imaginary industrial music.
(These things were pluses in the world of interior design.)
Zoey pushed the door open to reveal the familiarly horrifying space, which was big on blades and halogen lighting. Nova, her hairdresser, glanced up from the zine she’d been reading, called Frogs are the OG Ogs. Another excellent purchase from Sticky, Zoey’s next-door neighbour.
‘Zoey, babe!’ Nova had the kind of voice so infused with vocal fry that you half expected it to come with a side of ketchup. ‘I see we’re rocking the ponytail of shame.’
The ponytail of shame was apparently the undeniable sign that not only had your hair escaped your control, but that you hadn’t washed it in at least three days. But Zoey thought that bit was fair. If you were going to pay for a wash, you might as well get your money’s worth.
Zoey tugged apologetically at her ponytail, which did look shameful next to Nova’s perfect hot-pink waves. ‘Things have been wild at the shop, and I … have a …’
A what exactly? A business meeting? A friendly outing between friends? A hot date for the ages?
Apparently her hesitation was plenty descriptive.
‘Ooh, I want to hear all the details.’ Nova shot Zoey a grin so large and white that Zoey visibly recoiled. Had she always had those teeth? They looked like the fake gummy ones you put in during Halloween.
Nova grinned wolfishly into one of the razor-blade mirrors, tapping at an incisor. ‘They’re not too much, are they? I figured if I was going to drop all that cash I should go big. And bright. What’s the point if no one’s going to notice?’
Fair, Zoey supposed.
‘So, what are we thinking?’ Nova ran her intensely long fingernails through Zoey’s hair. They were so sharp that Zoey wondered whether she was related to Edward Scissorhands.
‘Um … a trim?’ suggested Zoey. She’d learned the hard way that this was the safe approach. Hairdressers basically did whatever they wanted anyway, so if you suggested a trim, you’d at least get something visually consistent with what you currently had, instead of a mullet or a pixie cut.
Nova untied Zoey’s ponytail and made a hmm sound that suggested that a trim was beyond the bounds of her capabilities.
Still hmming, she rolled Zoey over to a sink, jammed her neck against it, and began blasting her with lukewarm water that trickled down her collar.
Ouch, Zoey was going to need a massage after this.
She wondered whether Nick would oblige her. He seemed like the massaging type.
The door swung. An opulently moustachioed barber came in, setting down a giant green cup from The Smoothie Maven next to the sink, then plonking down on a barber’s chair. A nameplate in front of the chair declared that he was Opal.
‘I know you’re still anxious about chewing,’ he told Nova. ‘So I figured that would do the trick.’
‘That’s our newest Brain Freeze recipe.’ Zoey’s neck ached as she tried to make eye contact. How was the hair-washing sink still the standard? How was it still legal? ‘It’s been a surprise hit.’
‘You’re so sweet, babe.’ Nova sipped at the smoothie. ‘Oh, this is good. Really refreshing. I’m getting hints of those savoury body washes all the boutique hotels are using these days. I’m thinking … sage and oyster mushroom?’
‘That’s actually pretty close.’ Zoey tried to ignore the lukewarm water that had made it past her collar and was now under her bra. ‘The mushrooms are from a farm just outside Vancouver.’
Opal twirled a comb. ‘Hang on, that hot guy with the lumberjack vibes? The one who was at the market the other weekend, with the dog? I would pray on the altar of Evil Kermit to do that man’s hair. And that beard. Sweet baby jelly bean, that beard.’
Zoey smiled to herself, mostly because she agreed with every word, right down to Evil Kermit.
‘Look at you grinning away there,’ said Opal, as Nova splashed away at Zoey’s hair. ‘I take it that you have carnal knowledge of Mr Mushrooms?’
Not yet.
But her imagination certainly did.
She shrugged.
‘Ah, so this is an I’m in love haircut, not a Help, I need a change haircut.’ Opal twisted the ends of his moustache approvingly. ‘Are you … all right there, Nova?’
Nova was ramming the butt of her hand against her eye socket. ‘Urgh, ice pick in my skull. The smoothie’s great, Zoey, but I’m a dweeb when it comes to cold things. Although my veneers are holding up like champs.’
‘Sorry. That’s why we call it Brain Freeze,’ said Zoey. ‘Everyone reacts like that. I’m not really sure why. It should pass.’
She hoped. Although now that she thought of it, she hadn’t seen Nestor today. Hopefully he hadn’t overdone it on his dumpster-diving haul. He had seemed quite addled. Zoey would have to ask Sascha about it the next time she came in.
‘Here. Take some bourbon.’ Opal passed her a flask. ‘Want some, Zoey? It’s horrible. My roommate has this still he got off that he’s been using to make liquor. We’re going through so much frozen corn. WinCo doesn’t know what hit them.’
‘Feeling any better, Nova?’ asked Zoey, when her throat had recovered from the horrific bourbon. Although calling it ‘bourbon’ was generous.
‘I think it’s passed. Oof, was feeling like Trotsky there for a minute.’
Nova shampooed Zoey’s hair, massaging in some high-end artisanal shampoo that was probably helping usher in the demise of the forests of Borneo.
Zoey settled in, enjoying the experience as much as one could when your skull was mashed up against a porcelain sink. Who designed hairdressers’ sinks, anyway? Someone with a particularly meaty neck? Someone with no neck? Sadists?
Zoey was meditating on this particular design question when she winced.
Ouch. Nova’s fingernails had dug into the sensitive skin of her scalp.
Was it normal to apply that much pressure to one’s scalp?
As far as Zoey knew, she had a fairly healthy scalp.
She bought the third-least expensive shampoo from Fred Meyer, which, while not a splurge, was quite admirable given her budget.
She even washed her hair regularly. Frequently, if the Portland rain counted.
Ow! Perhaps Nova moonlighted as a phrenologist, because there was an astonishing amount of skull examination going on.
Zoey gritted her teeth, trying not to squirm.
She was strong. She could get through this.
Nova had been voted Hottest Hairstylist in PDX Snips Magazine, and ordinarily she had a waitlist that was six months long.
Zoey had only managed to get in because she’d called in a favour via Ainsley, who’d dated Nova for a few months during one of her breaks with Celeste.
(Ainsley’s superpower was leaving a slew of adoring yet platonic exes in her wake who wanted nothing more than to offer whatever niche services they happened to provide.)
Oh, ow. Was it possible to break through a skull using fingertips alone? Because Zoey was starting to have some concerns. This head massage was feeling positively chiropractic.
‘Braaaiinnns,’ whispered Nova in Zoey’s ear.
Zoey sat bolt upright.
This was the second time in recent history that someone had hissed ‘brains’ at her. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? It definitely seemed like something was going on.
‘Bad Brains?’ said Opal, flicking through the vinyl collection on the back wall. ‘You’ve got it, babe.’
Punk rock music blasted through the tiny salon. Zoey smiled uneasily. Right, that was all Nova had meant.
A coincidence, after all.
But then Nova staggered back, her hands knotting into claws. Probably because she’d been massaging Zoey as though she were a future Kobe beef steak. The hairdresser blinked rapidly, like she’d just completed ten Magic Eye puzzles in a row, each revealing more horrific imagery than the last.
She muttered something at Opal, pointing at her mouth, then at the door, then went lurching down the street, arms out to … greet someone, Zoey supposed. Although in slightly menacing fashion.
‘Ugh, she’s gone after Brix, the person she’s been in a situationship with,’ said Opal apologetically.
‘It’s been a whole borderline problematic thing.
I really wouldn’t expect her back today.
And if she does show up, she’ll be in no state to wield sharp implements.
How about I cut your hair instead? Unless you don’t mind waiting another six months? Bourbon?’
‘Let’s do it.’
Zoey swigged the heinous frozen-corn bourbon and indicated that Opal should pull out his razors.
She just hoped that Nick didn’t mind a good shag.
The haircut, that was. Well, and maybe the other thing.