Chapter 9 Amber
amber
“Are you sure about this?”
“God, yes. I need these off my head.”
“All right.” My mother pushed open the door to The Haven Hair Loft.
I’d been expecting the ancient salon chairs and streaky mirrors of my youth.
Mildred McKenzie had owned the place for as long as I could remember.
Instead, the room was now open and airy.
The old, drop ceiling had been ripped out to show the vaulted ceilings that were now finished with modern gray stained beams and sparkly chandeliers.
Soft gray chairs lined half the back of the room for washing stations. A curtained off area with a waxing and eyebrow menu on backlit glass took up the rest.
Bright, candy pink salon chairs took up the majority of the space with slick, well-lit mirrors.
The stations had a mix of tools of the trade as well as products discretely labeled for sale.
Four of them were manned by hairdressers with customers in the middle of varying treatments.
Two were empty, with capes draped over the backs of the chairs.
Then, tucked away on the left was a black chair with a scarlet cape. There was a backlit glass cabinet with products and wigs along with a fleet of colorful dyes. My gut hummed with excitement. Maybe I wasn’t going to have a problem after all.
We stopped at the front desk.
“Hey, Megan.” My mom smiled at the woman. “We’re kind of last minute, but wondering if you could get my daughter in for a treatment.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
I held my hand out. “Hi, Megan. I’m—”
“Ambrose.” She paled.
“Hey. It’s okay.”
Megan looked around the room. “All my girls are taken. God, I wish I’d known you were coming. I would have moved around appointments.”
“That’s okay.”
My mom leaned in. “Maybe you could take care of her.”
Megan sighed and lifted her hand that was tucked under the counter. “I just had carpel tunnel surgery.”
“Oh, honey.” My mom clucked. “I had no idea. You poor thing.”
Megan shook back her glossy curls. “It’s fine. The surgery isn’t like it used to be. I’ll be right as rain in a few weeks, but I don’t have anyone who could take her for at least an hour.”
“What about the black chair?”
Megan’s perfectly arched brows rose into her artfully placed curtain bangs. “Oh, I don’t know. Ramsey is...” She trailed off. “She’s super talented, but she’s more...artistic.”
“Perfect.” I smiled. “I see she also works with wigs. Does that mean she might have some knowledge of hair extensions.”
“Yes.” The voice behind me was smoky and bored all at the same time.
I turned around. “Hi.”
The woman wore a black Frank Turner T-shirt, the neck cut to fall off her shoulder.
Beneath it was a blood red tank with a black fishnet undershirt that hugged her arms. It had holes cut into the fishnet to show off her impressive tattoos.
She wore black cargo pants with about a zillion pockets with patches from various bands I’d never heard of.
Every part of her was anti-Ambrose.
“I need your help.”
The woman crossed her arms, a series of bracelets both silicone and silver stacked up one arm. The “fuck the patriarchy” black silicone bracelet cinched my decision. “Why would a pop princess want to get into my chair?”
“You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, so?”
“Ramsey,” Megan gasped.
I turned to Megan. “It’s okay. I am distinctly not her taste.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re a client—hopefully. I’m terribly sorry.”
Ramsey dropped her arms to her sides. A tiny bit of uncertainty dented the indifference. “Sorry.”
I laughed. “No, you’re not, which is why you’re perfect. I need these off.” I pulled off my beanie and all my hair tumbled out over my shoulder.
Ramsey’s black rimmed eyes flickered. “Off?” She moved forward and touched the strands. “Jesus, they’re not synthetic.”
“No, they sure aren’t. And what you do with them is your business. If you can reuse them, go ahead.”
She snapped her gaze to mine. “You’re lying.”
“Nope. Sell them online for all I care. I’ve had a headache for weeks. They look amazing, but they’re heavy as hell.”
“Well, they’re not really for everyday use. You should have had pieces added to your hair with combs for when you’re on stage.” She came around the back of me.
That was when I realized the room went quiet. The hairdressers were all moving forward to see what was going on.
However, the only place I loved being the center of attention was on stage.
Ramsey lifted them off my shoulder. “There’s a lot of breakage.”
“I know. Think you can handle me?”
“Damn straight, I can.”
“I knew it.” My mother gave me a satisfied look. “How long do you need her?”
Ramsey put her fingers through the strands. “I’m going to need four hours.” She glanced at Megan. “I’ll call my two appointments and reschedule. It’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Definitely. Just know you’ll be paying a pretty penny today, pop star.”
Megan bowed her head. “Ramsey,” she growled.
I laughed. “If you fix this and not make my hair look fried, then I don’t care what you call me.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“Go ahead, Mom. We’ll be fine.”
She frowned. “I can stay.”
“Nah. Go ahead and meet your friend for coffee. Ramsey and I are cool.”
Ramsey just gave me an arched brow and headed back to the black chair.
“You sure about this?”
I laughed. “I have a good feeling.”
She shook her head. “You and your feelings. All right. I’ll just be across the street at the café or over at the bookstore.”
“Sounds good.”
I waved and followed Ramsey. I smiled at the other hairdressers. Three women and a guy who seemed to be doing most of the whispering.
Ramsey tapped her chair. “Let me see what I’m working with.”
I hopped on and settled in as the cape swished around my neck.
She lifted the bulk of the hair. “This must have taken ages to put in. Are you sure you want me to take it all out.”
I nodded. “I was thinking something around my shoulders. I won’t be on tour for a while so I can grow out my natural hair.”
“You want me to chop it too?”
I nodded. “It’s fried.”
She sunk her fingers into the extensions and my scalp protested at the touch even. “You’re right. You’re not going to blacklist me when you see what’s left of your actual hair are you?”
“Depends. Do you suck at this?”
She stared at me in the mirror. “I’m a fucking genius.”
“Then show me.”
She picked up her scissors. “You asked for it.” She pulled out her phone and earbuds. “I need music. You good with that?”
“Go ahead.” I didn’t need the personal chatter. I shut my eyes and listened to the gossip going around me in the salon.
Babies being born, marriages, a few affairs. Small-town life wasn’t a helluva lot different from Los Angeles, there were just more designer labels.
My lips twitched as the male hairdresser spoke about an affair between the manager of Haven Bank and Trust and the chef at Heavenly Bite.
I kind of drifted off into a semi-meditative statement as locks slowly disappeared. I could feel it more than see it. The weight of the tour coming off in each section.
“There.”
I opened my eyes. I wasn’t sure how long I’d drifted.
Ramsey held four hanks of golden blond hair. “Do you realize how much this is worth?”
“I guess you’re going to make out on it, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Probably no more than pocket change for you.”
“Now it is. But when I started I went to the thrift store over on Halloran and dug through countless bins of clothes to make up outfits for videos.”
She laid the hanks of hair into a drawer. “Now, am I supposed to think you’re more relatable?”
I laughed. “You can think what you want. Most people do.” I fluffed my fingers through the shorter strands. It barely fell past my shoulders now and I could see where she’d cut around the sewn-in extensions.
Harini had done a mix of different kinds of extensions to make as much volume as possible for me. I’d had too many hair malfunctions on stage that I’d needed semi-permanent options for all the dancing I did.
“I’m still going to have to cut more.”
“Can you make collar bone length work?”
“I think that would look good, actually. If you’re brave enough to let me give you something cool, I have an idea for a cut.”
“Go for it. I’ll be home for a few months—maybe longer. I can always come in for a touch up.”
“Can I do some color?”
“Depends on what kind of color.”
Her heavily lined mouth tipped up in the corner. “Not into blood red?”
“Not particularly. But I’m game for low lights for some dimension. I usually stay ultra pale blond but maybe a richer one in there instead?”
She nodded. “I’ll think on it. For now, let’s wash you out and see where we’re at.”
Ramsey slowly warmed up to me with the hours it took to get my hair looking less like straw and more like the hair I remembered.
Between the heat damage and the extensions, not to mention the hairspray and junk I used to make sure my hair didn’t look like a dripping animal by the second half of a show, it was beyond damaged.
She used foils to paint on some darker colors. I saw them in the mirror and tried not to freak out at the color of the dye going on my hair. When I noticed a dark purple, I decided closing my eyes for the rest of this part of the session was a better idea.
It was just hair.
I could find some cute hats.
Megan checked in on me a few times, bringing me water and a Diet Coke. It ended up being far longer than four hours, so I treated the salon to pizza from Papa Pete’s. I checked in with my mother a few times letting her know I was doing well.
Ramsey left me in the chair at the sinks with a deep conditioner for a long damn time.
At least she put a towel around my shoulders so I didn’t get a headache from the sink digging into me.
Finally, she came back and washed my hair one last time.
She wrapped my hair in a warm towel that almost made me groan out loud.