that Camilla’s had her hair cut from anywhere but at a discount chain salon in her entire life. She’s a natural beauty, but she’ll be irresistible once her mousy hair is brightened and reshaped.
“Welcome to Salon V,” the receptionist greets us upon entry. Once she realizes it’s me, she smiles warmly. “Welcome, Miss Smith, I’ll get you checked in.”
“The appointment is for two,” I remind her. Inez called last week and booked Camilla an appointment during the same time as mine.
“Cara,” Camilla whispers after we’ve taken a seat in the reception area. “I can’t afford to get my hair done here.”
This doesn’t permit a reaction. Anything Camilla needs between now and when she starts taking appointments is on Inez’s dime. Our boss writes it off as an investment, and Camilla will pay her back a hundredfold. She’s going to make Inez Ricci more money than she can imagine, and once she does, she’ll be accustomed to luxuries such as getting a three-hundred-dollar haircut in a salon that’ll give her the best blowout of her life while she sips expensive champagne.
Once upon a time, I sat next to Inez in this exact same salon and felt as insignificant as Camilla does right now. She’s much more put together than I was back then. I haven’t figured out what kind of home Camilla comes from yet, but I didn’t come from a home at all. I lived on the streets when Inez found me, and it showed in more ways than just the condition of my hair.
“I wish I would have dressed better,” Camilla complains. She tugs at the end of her tattered shorts and straightens the tongue of her Converse shoes. “When you said we had errands to run, I guessed you had a trip to the grocery store planned, not that we were coming to the uber-rich side of town. I feel attacked.”
A small smile curves my lips. “We’re going to the grocery store after this.”
“I would have worn better shoes,” she grumbles. “You look exceptional, of course.”
We’re called back together, and I follow Camilla and the receptionist to a station on the opposite side of the room from where I’ll get my hair trimmed. My protégé digs down deep for confidence, strolling through the salon as if she’s dressed in a thousand-dollar outfit and not a pair of cut-off shorts and scuffed shoes. She greets her stylists with a terse smile and sits in the white leather chair.
“My name is Calla,” the stylist introduces herself, draping a cape around Camilla’s shoulders. “I don’t believe I’ve had the privilege of your company in my chair before, but please tell me I get to play with your hair today.”
Calla tousles Camilla’s hair, but Camilla follows the directions I gave her on the drive over and doesn’t waver. She’s not rude, but indifferent.
“Brighten the color around her face with a natural blonde—nothing too light. Take three inches off the length, long layers around the sides and back, and face-framing in the front,” I direct. “Can you please show her how to use the round brush, and add any products you recommend for upkeep to my tab.”
My hairdresser Flora knows what to expect from me and responds appropriately, skipping the small talk and offering a simple hello before leading me toward the shampoo bowls. She lathers vanilla and clover scented shampoo through my hair and my eyes fall closed, revealing an image of Talent behind my eyelids.
As it turns out, I miss him when I relax, too.
My heart feels heavier back at the chair, and I wonder how long this can go on. What is it about Talent that’s left such an impact on my life when I hardly know him, and why can’t I shake the feeling that I messed up by letting him go? Surely he couldn’t want more than sex from me. When did I become so desperate that sex without a contract became acceptable?
“Are you doing okay today, Cara?” Flora asks. She combs the tangles from my hair.
Pressing my lips together, I nod and smile at her reflection in the mirror in front of us. “Just tired.”
We don’t share another word as she trims exactly one half-inch from my ends like she has during every appointment we’ve shared since the first, when she hacked my hair off to my shoulders—not only ridding me of broken and split hair, but helping to alleviate the weight of the last few years I’d spent on the streets.
I hope Calla is doing the