I’VE BEEN JUMPING every time Manager Kwon calls for me with a client, but the KBC producer doesn’t come in until Friday morning. I smile extra-wide as soon as I see her and give her a little squeeze on the shoulder. Cherry sees this and surveys me with speculation.
“Someone’s in a good mood today, Miss Ara,” says the producer with a pleased smile back at me. I shake my head and touch her hair with a question on my face. She’s always kept the color dark and changed the style only slightly in the three years I’ve done her hair. The clients who come to me are the ones who do not have many demands—they are the type to give themselves over, with trust. But today, she seems restless, tapping her loafer on the floor as she stares at herself in the mirror with displeasure.
“I think I want to go lighter this time,” she says, fingering her hair self-consciously. “I’m sick of black, you know?”
I nod and smile and bring her a book of color swatches to choose from and she picks a medium chestnut with a brassy tint. It’s a bold choice for her and I write so on my notepad and show her.
“I know, but I have a blind date this weekend so I kind of want to shake things up,” she says with a toss of her head. A lot of my customers do this before blind dates and I’ve seen it both work and fail. Sometimes they are imbued with new light, other times, they are distraught and ask that I return their hair to the old style and I have to frantically reschedule other customers.
I nod and smile again and retreat to the coloring closet. In my head I am writing and rewriting what I want to ask her and the anxiety is making my hands tremble. Today is my only chance.
As I’m blending the dyes in a bowl with a brush, I hear Manager Kwon calling my name again and I rush out to see who it is. It’s one of Mrs. Oh’s friends who wants her roots dyed black. Of course, Cherry is nowhere to be seen and I sit my new client down next to the producer before going to pick up the dyes again. As I run to retrieve my dye bowl, I see another of my regulars, Mrs. Chin, walk in with her daughter, and Manager Kwon waves to catch my eye as he asks them to sit for a second to wait for me. While I whirl around frantically, trying to find some help, I see the girls scattering helter-skelter, avoiding my eye.
My head is pounding and I breathe in to try to steady my nerves, but the fumes from the dye and hair products just make my apprehension worse. I’ve learned to control my reaction to the fumes over the years, but today, I feel like I am being smothered.
I cannot blow this opportunity. After this week, Taein will be gone, perhaps for years, singing and dancing in America and the rest of Asia, for those who can afford to travel to see him in concert.
My hands shaking, I take out my notepad and start composing my request, but Manager Kwon appears in front of me.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, grabbing my elbow. “You are keeping three customers waiting and they’re starting to complain, especially when they can see you just standing around doodling! Go see to them immediately.”
I bow an apology and hurry to escort Mrs. Chin and her daughter to empty chairs. By the time Mrs. Chin has finished telling me what she wants for her daughter—a toned-down color that’s not too somber and a layered trim starting from her cheekbones—Mrs. Oh’s friend has called for me in a high-pitched, complaining voice. “How long am I going to be kept waiting like this? This is outrageous!” And by the time I go through color swatches with her, I see in the mirror that the KBC producer is standing up in her chair with an enraged look on her face.