8. Jenna
Chapter eight
Jenna
“You’ve had a busy couple of days,” Margot, my second in charge, says to me. She’s standing behind Mark, a long-term client of ours who makes sure to pre-book every few weeks for a trim, and a touch up to cover his gray hairs.
He’s hot for an older guy, I guess. And going by the amount he pays to get his hair done by us—and how frequent—I’m going to guess that money isn’t an issue, either.
I overheard him telling Margot once that he’s a widow, but I didn’t ask questions. I used to think he was a quiet and reserved nice guy, but the way he's staring Margot's breasts in the mirror, gives me creeper vibes.
“How did everything go?” She may be the one asking questions, but she isn’t paying attention to me. Not really, anyway. When she’s in the zone, nothing can break her focus. It’s why I’ve left her in charge while I’m away working on the movie.
That, and she’s very business minded with every intention of opening her own salon in the future.
Leaving her in charge will be her test run. At least, that’s what she’s told me, anyway.
“The award show was fine,” I tell her honestly. Margot’s light brown hair is dead straight today, sitting just above her shoulders and parted directly in the middle. Her green eyes are dark and focused while she rinses out the new, chocolate brown color from Mark’s head.
“I made friends with an older woman named Dorothy, and we mostly gossiped all night, then I headed home. You know, early flight and all,” I lie through my teeth. Well, not the part about Dorothy—we did gossip all night.
I sat, sipping expensive vodka I would never go out of my way to purchase, and she told me stories about…I don’t actually remember. My mind was a little too preoccupied.
“When did you get home from Grangewood?” Tahnee peaks her head through the door from the kitchen hidden in the back of the salon. She walks out with a steaming coffee in her One Tree Hill mug, and two slices of toast on a plate.
Taking a seat on the couch in the corner of the room, she crosses her legs beneath her, placing her cup down on the side table, and rests her plate on her knees.
Tahnee was there only to assist with hair and makeup for Cassandra and her sisters, but was on the next flight out. She and my best friend know each other, but not well, so she didn’t attend the wedding as a guest. “Last night,” I tell her, smiling as I round the front desk, ready to greet our last client of the night before closing our doors.
We have a first in, best dressed policy with our booking system. I don’t care who you are, how much money you make or how high your status is. My job is my priority, and I respect my clients too much to shove them to the side for someone with more money than sense.
“Do you ever rest?” They both ask at the same time, clear that they’ve been talking about me behind my back. It’s not uncommon, but their intent is never malicious.
They’ve both worked for me for a long time, so they know me—know when I’m stressed, when I’m tired, when I should take a break, even though I never do.
Vacations? Don’t know her. I wouldn’t be as successful as I am if I didn’t bury myself in work. Market myself at events, put myself out there at expeditions, hoping that one day it would eventually pay off.
And it has.
“Are we still going out for dinner tonight?” I ask, pretending to not hear what they’ve just asked. I won’t put my life on hold purely because I’m a little tired. I can sleep when I get home.
I mean, I won’t, but I definitely could.
They both look at each other awkwardly before giving me a weak smile. Clearly in agreement about something. “We just worry about you, Jen. You overdo it, sometimes.” Tahnee reaches for my forearm, and I pat her hand with mine.
“I know my limits,” I tell them with confidence, raising my hands in defense.
It’s true.
I know when to slow down and when to stop all together. I just have too much going on at the moment, and I can’t afford to do either of those things.
Margot raises her brow at me in the mirror as Mark shifts uncomfortably in his seat, no doubt wishing his hair was done. “I do.” I stand firm. There’s a time and a place to put my feet up, but right before I’m about to abandon ship to take on a job I’m not really qualified for isn’t one of them. “After tonight, I promise, I’ll lay low until I leave for Grangewood Creek to be on set,” I say, and Margot’s eyes narrow before breaking eye contact with me.
I understand their concerns, but I fear that if I slow down, I’ll turn into a person I don’t want to be.
Broke.
Unemployed.
Alcohol dependent.
Becky Rogers.
I talk about my childhood openly if somebody asks, but I don’t parade around with a sign that says ‘ My mom treated me like shit as a kid, and I don’t want to be like her .’
I also know that she and I are very different people, thankfully.
She never knew her limits, and I’ve always known mine.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’d come home from school to find her passed out on the couch or walking men out the door whom she claimed to be a repair guy.
When my dad was alive and my parents were happy and together, I knew I was loved fiercely by both of them.
But then he died, and she just…forgot that I existed.
I like to joke that I became an orphan at the age of five, because the night my dad died, I lost her, too.
And I was left with a party girl, a man-eater, the ‘ too young to be a mom ’, Becky Rogers—a judgey ‘friend’, and not a ‘mother’ at all.
The server brings over our food, and we all nod in thanks before Tahnee speaks.
“So, you don’t know who this Mr. GQ man is?” She gawks at me, her fry mid dip in ketchup. Margot swirls spaghetti around on her fork. Both girls have been incessantly asking questions about the award show. I came clean about my night and they were both surprised I let a guy whose name I didn’t even know take me back to his hotel room without telling anyone my whereabouts.
After scolding me about how dangerous it could’ve ended, and how idiotic I was, they’ve now changed their tune, wanting to know all the little details.
I shake my head. “No idea. I kind of like it. Now I can fantasize about my dream man—all broody and mysterious—without his identity potentially ruining everything for me.” I scrunch up my nose with a weak shrug. “What if he’s like…a rival stylist that I don’t know about? Or like, a cop?” I shudder sarcastically.
I don’t do anything more than a one-night stand, and even those are few and far between.
I put myself first because I have to.
Cassandra calls me a ‘runner’, but I call myself realistic.
The Rogers women are tainted. Doomed, if you will. Cursed with some sort of dark, whack magic, deeming us alone and unhappy for life.
Would I like to not be afraid of commitment? Maybe sometimes.
Do I like my life the way that it is? Yeah, I do. And I don’t think I have it in me or my calendar to make room for somebody else. Someone who could just leave me high and dry, brokenhearted while moving on to the next girl who catches their attention.
I’d rather not set myself up for heartbreak at the hands of someone else. I’ve had enough of that to last me two lifetimes over.
“Well, if you’re ever wanting to, you know, let someone stick around, I’m sure Gio could hook you up with one of his friends from work,” Tahnee tells me confidently, her back straightening as she pats the corners of her mouth with a napkin. She and her husband Gio have been married for six years. Every now and then, she tries to set me up with one of his friends.
My response is always a firm no .
“Tahn, no offense, but don’t you constantly tell me how boring his work friends are?” I smirk, sipping on the glass of water I consciously poured for myself while my two friends watched me like their lives depended on it.
“Well..yes. But—”
“Is there any part of me that screams ‘yes, hook me up with a boring accountant who expects me to stay in every night and become an obedient housewife’?” I joke, but she doesn’t see the humor in my words. Maybe I just unintentionally described her home life. “I’m kidding Tahnee.” My eyes flick to Margot. She grimaces, but I continue. “We all know I’m not one to settle down. I’m a Rogers girl through and through. Us women are destined to grow old on a porch swing alone, with a bottle of cheap wine, a packet of cigarettes and a deck of cards at the ready.” That paints an absolutely fucking terrifying image in my mind, but it’s one I can’t seem to shake.
My mom still lives in the same trailer park we moved into when my dad died. She’s asked me for money in the past to help her move out and get on her feet, and I gave it to her without a second thought.
I’ve paid for rehab, but she left the facility early.
I gave her money for rent, but still got a call to say it was overdue.
I’ve given her money for groceries but, well…you know what happened next.
She’s still stuck in her same old ways, living in the same place I happily moved out of the first second I could.
While I don’t owe her a good life, I want one for her.
I want her to hold a steady job with a consistent income so she could put a roof over her head that doesn’t leak every storm. A place that doesn’t have rats huddling in the corners, searching through the empty food wrappers that she leaves on the ground.
Then there're the times I’ve found her in my apartment with a strange, naked man, ass up in my bedroom. I wish she’d let me buy her an apartment—in a totally different country.
“Well, then. May the next three months in a tiny, beach-free town bring you countless mystery men, lots of magical sex that leaves you pining, yet running away, all at the same time,” Margot says, raising her glass for the three of us to cheer.
“Here, here!”
We spend the next few hours talking about work, Cassandra’s wedding, and Margot’s plan to take over while Tahnee and I are away. I wouldn’t be able to trust my salon and my clients in the hands of anybody else.
I do have a week off during the summer, and I plan on using that time to come back home to check on things, but I also don’t want Margot to feel like I don’t trust her.
It would purely be to catch up on what I’ve missed and see if she needs anything from me.
“It’s getting late,” I say, standing from my chair, and pushing it out with the back of my thighs. “Are you girls alright to get home?” I ask them as they rise from their seats. I watch as they collect their purses and coats that hang over the back rests. Summer is only weeks away, but the breeze at night near the beach is brisk.
I’m used to it, though. I like the way the chill feels on my bare skin.
“I’ve just ordered us a car,” Tahnee tells me, looking at Margot before they each lean in to give me a quick hug. One work day ends, and a new one begins, just like that. “You sure you’re alright to walk?” she asks.
I nod with a soft smile as we head for the door. “I’m basically around the corner.”
After saying our goodbyes and seeing them get into their cab, I cross the street, heading back to my apartment half a block away, purse clutched to my stomach. My keys are gripped between my knuckles as a makeshift weapon ready if need be, but then I hear ‘Snow ,’ shouted from behind me.
Snow .
Of all things.
I won’t lie. My steps falter slightly, but I don’t turn around to see the face of the man who’s blurted out a nickname I was given so recently.
A random nickname that the love of your life for the night and morning happened to give you, my brain tries to tell me, begging me to turn around. But it’s not possible, right?
Snow is just a word. It couldn’t possibly be him… could it?
I shake my head, clutching my keys so tight that my nails dig into my palms.
In my mind, I have two options.
Option one: turn around and desperately look for a man who may be nowhere in sight, and I walk away looking like a fool.
Option two: keep walking, and pretend as though I never heard a damn thing.
I think you know the option I chose.
I’m a coward.
Whatever.