at the American embassy in Paris one day soon after we arrived and saw a woman who looked like she could have been my sister. Her hair was glorious, and she gave me her stylist’s number. She was working from a rented chair in a shop nestled in the shadow of Sacré-Cœur at the foot of the eastern slopes of Montmartre. My mother in law had nearly had a coronary and told Marcel I was frequenting the slums when she found out I spurned her Left Bank stylist.
I ignored her. Tanaka worked miracles with my hair.
The night we hosted our first of what would become regular First Friday socials at our apartment in Rue De Bac, everyone complimented my hair. And I was thrilled to send them her way.
She opened her own salon on the Left Bank a year later. She had a six-month waiting list and was well on her way to becoming a real celebrity when I decided to move back to Houston.
And when I told her I was going, she said “Me, too.”
It was at Blush, the salon she opened here in Rivers Wilde, is where she truly skyrocketed to fame. Her clientele list is so rarified that she’s become synonymous with the likes of Vidal Sassoon.
She could be anywhere in the world, but she’s loyal to the bone and for giving her work a platform that changed her life completely, she always makes time for me.
To have one of her only two salons right here in Rivers Wilde was quite a coup for us. She reminds us of that every chance she gets. Underneath all her blunt talk and brusque manner, she is loyal, kind and brilliant.
She fingers the ends of my hair, her critical eyes stricken. “Well, that’s all it takes to ruin a decade’s worth of work. And you haven’t been in regularly enough. I must cut it.”
“No.” I pull away and give her a wide-eyed look.
“It’s for the best. Your hair grows like weeds, you won’t miss it.”
“I already do.” I clutch my hair protectively.
Her sigh is one of long suffering “This is tedious. I always win. Just accept it.”
“Glad to know I’m not the only one she browbeats,” a lilting, familiar voice says from behind us.
I turn, a genuine smile of affection tugging at my lips before I even lay eyes on her. “Hello, Mrs. Rivers,” I greet Confidence with her brand-new name. Their formal church wedding was a month ago and this is the first time I’ve seen her since. She’s glowing.
“Ah, I should have known you two were friends…. stubborn as each other,” Tanaka chides, even as she and Confidence share a warm hug.
She turns a charming, shy smile on me. “I came by to drop off a thank you note, and Noe said you two were in the consultation room. I had to say hi.”
Tanaka harrumphs. “I’ll go deal with him, while you two catch up.”
Confidence sits on the armchair across from mine and blows out an exhausted breath.
“Tanaka is so grumpy, right? But I think she forces those pregnancy tests on people not out of an abundance of caution, but because she’s secretly a sap. She loves being witness to people getting unexpected happy news. That bad ass, I’ll put in you my breakfast smoothie and drink you if you piss me off, is an act.”
Confidence giggles. “I know. And she’s a genius. In fact, it was here that I found out I was pregnant. She wouldn’t color my hair unless I took a pregnancy test and…here we are.” She drops her eyes to her stomach and strokes it, tenderly.
A rush of nostalgia compels me to reach over and to touch her stomach. I pull my hand back, and wince in apology. “Do you mind if I touch?”
She rolls her eyes and arches her back to stick her stomach out. “Go ahead, I love it.”
I place my palm on the top of her belly and her smile widens with pride, “I’m growing a person inside me.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I run my hand down the curve of the cocoon her body has fashioned for her baby.
“He’s moving,” She grabs my wrist and slides it my hand to the left. I gasp as the slide of a rounded body part against my palm.
“I know, right?” She beams with the kind of excitement I’m used to seeing on my children’s faces – guileless and unmitigated. The kind of excitement I had countless moments of when I was with Stone.