“We should set up a call system. I’ll call one girl, she’ll call someone else, and so on. If someone doesn’t receive a call by a certain time, or no one answers, give us a call here, and we’ll check it out. That way we can at least keep ourselves connected. People are less likely to be targeted if their bodies can be found right away,” I said.
“Wow, that’s morbid,” said Lacey.
“Yeah, well, if it works, morbidity is gonna have to be the way of it.” I settled back in my chair and tapped the cover of my Austen novel.
“We could walk each other to our cars, like they say. And inspect the cars before getting in. Maybe the killer is hitchhiking, like he’s breaking into their cars and riding home in their trunks or back seats,” Meredith suggested.
“That’s a very good point,” said Percy.
We hadn’t thought of that. The killer obviously had personal information on his victims. Why not hitch a ride while he was at it?
“Well, I suggest everyone go home and get a good night’s sleep. Sorry to cut the party short.” Percy stood and led the way back to the dining room.
I lagged behind so I could talk to Meredith. “So, Scott?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
I shrugged my shoulders and let her go. I wasn’t really all that sad the evening was over. I was definitely feeling the bone weariness of not having slept the night before. Add in another kill, and I was wiped.
“Are you okay?” Mem’s eyes were still full of worry when I found her.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Have a good night, Mem. Thanks again for coming.” I gave her one more hug.
“If you need anything, never hesitate to ask, no matter the time or what it is.”
“I will.”
I walked her to the door and turned to find one more guest to send off.
“Thank you for inviting me.” Doug had lost the tension from earlier in the evening, his arms loose at his sides, and he’d quit the dancing motion.
“Of course. I’d asked you to stay longer, but—”
“You are exhausted. I see it.” He touched the skin at the corner of my eye. “Rest well.”
I expected to feel offended by the uninvited touch, but instead I found it soothing. “I think I will.”
We were all subdued at work, engaging in little small talk with our clients. The news from the previous night hit us hard. It was official. Real. Hairdressers were being murdered, and there was no telling who could be next. We’d made a pact not bring up the subject with our customers, but it was all we could think about.
Percy’s client, Jenni, noticed her stylist’s conspicuous silence and left her alone. At first. She made as far as the chair before she dared broach the subject.
“You’re quiet today,” Jenni commented, heaving herself into the chair.
“Am I? Sorry, I must not have had enough caffeine. How are you and baby doing?” Percy began combing Jenni’s bra-length red hair with a helpful dollop of leave-in conditioner.
“We’re doing great! Our last check up was on Monday, and the doctor says we’re healthy and right on track.” Jenni rubbed her belly over the cape, smiling down at it as if she were cradling the actual child.
“Wonderful! How far along are you now?” I could hear the forced enthusiasm in Percy’s voice as she pulled apart a particularly stubborn tangle with her fingers.
“About eight months.”
“Wow, that’s coming up fast, isn’t it?” She continued with her comb, avoiding looking in the mirror in front of them.
“Yup! I’m so excited. I’m having my baby shower at the end of the month, and it’s my first. I can’t wait to play with all the stuff!”
“I bet!” Percy’s voice warmed and her face brightened as she settled into the work and the conversation, probably happy to talk about something other than her husband or the recent tragedies. “How’s your husband holding up?”
“Good. He’s nervous, I think. We chose not to find out if we’re having a boy or girl. I think he’s nervous about having a girl. He doesn’t have any sisters to ease him into it. Just me. We’ll see.” Jenni’s words dropped off, and she bent her head forward as Percy cut her guides.
I stopped listening to their conversation and took a deep breath because my next client had arrived. Monique could be difficult, to say the least
“Are you ready for your cut?” I asked, approaching her.
She glanced down at the magazine in her hand and shook her head. “I think I need to look a bit more before I decide.”
“All right. I’ll be waiting behind the front desk. Come get me when you’re ready.” I walked away and let her look.
She always asked for the same thing. I really don’t know why she felt the need to look at different magazines and books every single time. Her haircut is what I called a modified wedge. It had the same general shape, just not as defined and with longer sides. She had yet to vary from that cut, and I’d been doing it for a couple of years at that point. It’s something she had to get trimmed every month in order to keep the shape intact.
I leaned against the front counter, arms folded under my chest.
Meredith was scheduled to arrive in about half an hour, so I had a moment to myself. The phone didn’t even ring.
If the crazy bat didn’t make a decision soon, it was going to be time for my next client.
She approached the desk holding the same book as always. She held a spot with her finger and opened to it as she flopped it on the counter.
“I want something like this,” she pointed at the picture of the same old wedge. “Only less full and a bit longer on the sides.”
“Maybe take the sides to about here?” I indicted a line just about chin length, with the side of my hand on the picture of the model.
“Yes. Maybe just a smidgen shorter, but yes. Do you need the picture?” she asked, holding the book out to me.
“Nope, I think I’ve got the idea.” I knew my part of the script well. “I’ll put that back and meet you at the shampoo bowl.”
“Oh, I don’t need a shampoo today, I already did it.” She patted her dry hair with one meticulously manicured hand.
“At least let me wet it down there. It’s quicker than the squirt bottle.” I was running short on time, and Monique had massive amounts of hair.
“All right.” She marched herself over to the shampoo bowls to wait for me.
I set the book back on the coffee table and took my time following her, mentally preparing myself to deal with her.
The water temperature I used may have been a little cool for her taste, but I really didn’t care.
She moved to my chair, and I started combing her out.
“Can you go a little gentler? My scalp is a bit tender today.” She stopped me with a scowl aimed at me in the mirror.
There was nothing tender about that woman, skinny broad that she was. If she didn’t tip so well, I’d become suddenly unavailable.
“Sorry about that. Let me know if I start pulling again.” I slowed my combing, still managing to finish in record time.
I had her tip her chin down and began cutting my base-line. I had to repeatedly push her head down as I started angling the back of her hair out at 45-degrees and then rocking up as I reached the hair at the top of her occipital bone. That’s where the wedge was modified—a true wedge is kept at 45 degrees all the way up.
I straightened her head and trimmed her side angles. When I finished, I offered her a hand mirror and spun her around so she could inspect the back.
Monique turned her head this way and that, examining my work, a frown creasing her features.
“I think the sides are too pointy, don’t you think?” she fingered the tips of her hair.
“They’re not any pointier than usual but I can round them if you want me to.” I put on my professional I’m-hiding-my-need-to-throttle-you voice.
“Yes, please do that.” She returned the mirror and folded her hands back in her lap as she continued studying my
every move in the mirror.
I spun her to the side, preventing her from watching me work. She drove me nuts, with her watching and critiquing, usually when I hadn’t even touched the sections she was whining about.
I rounded up the points, checked them for balance, then spun her back towards the mirror.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Well, the sides are a little shorter than I wanted, but I guess it will do.” She ran long, almond-shaped nail through the cut.
“Great, how about a blow-dry?” I reached for a medium-sized round brush and my drier.
“I think you’d better. It’s chilly out.”
I filled my hand with a mound of mousse, emulsified it, and ran my hands through her hair, then dried it with extra care to keep the shape in the back from getting too bubbly. Using a soft-bristled brush, I smoothed everything, then gave it a coat of hairspray before letting her examine it again.
“What do you think?” I asked, standing back with my hands on my hips, trying to inconspicuously clear the hairspray residue from my nose by wiping it on my shoulder.
“Good. I should be set for another month.”
Thank the Lord. “Great, I’ll meet you at the front desk in a moment. I’m just going to clean up real quick.” I swept up, pulled hair from brushes, and stuck my comb in the barbicide container on my dark wood vanity top.
I cashed her out and scheduled another appointment in exactly one month, getting three seconds of breathing room before my next client.
Wash, cut, blow-dry, repeat.
When we all got a moment, I called for everyone’s attention.
“Hey, ladies, my band is playing at Club West tonight at nine. I’d love it if you’d all stop by.” I smiled at Meredith. It was kind of guaranteed that Scott would be there, so I was betting she’d show up.
“What’s the name of it?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear, then running her fingers through the length.
“Club West,” I repeated.
“No, your band.”
“Oh, Chaos Theory. Austin came up with the name right before I joined up.”
“Do you do covers or originals?” Toni asked.
“Both, but mostly originals. We’ll probably do a few covers tonight so people can actually dance a bit.” I took a seat and propped my tired feet on my station.
“Cool, I’ll do my best to escape and come check you out.” Toni left us to do a pedicure.
They all promised to make an appearance, and I wondered who would actually show up.
I went back to work, inviting clients I thought would appreciate our heavy sound. With any luck, we’d draw a bit of a crowd from Orono since we played on campus often and had a pretty loyal following in the area. It's nice to be adored.
I started getting ready as soon as we closed, grabbing my already prepared ensemble from the closet.
Plugging my iPod into its surprisingly amped-up speaker system, I cranked up the volume, letting the music get me energized and into performance mode. I scrubbed the hairspray and styling products out of my hair in the shower and shaved the hair in my armpits that grew a little faster than is normal, as I was planning on wearing a tank top. I threw my hair up in a towel before pulling on a clean black bra and underwear.
Standing in front of the mirror, I pumped a few squirts of straightening cream into my palm, emulsifying it and applying from ends to roots, distributing it further with a comb. I blow-dried with a huge round brush and ran a straightener over it. It’s a pain in the butt to squirt down your hair with protective spray, but it keeps it from frying. It all went up into a sleek updo away from my face with a billion bobby pins and shellacking hairspray to keep it all in place. There is nothing worse than hair sticking to your sweaty face and neck when you’re on stage.
Heavy black liner, gold shadow, and dark red lips were my signature stage makeup, so I had plenty of practice getting it done quickly.
Now for the hard part: getting the tank top over the hair and makeup. I should have dressed before putting it up, but hindsight is 20/20, or so I’ve heard. I managed by stretching the neck and body wide, then slowly lowering it over my head. Wriggling into tight black skinny jeans was only slightly less difficult. My new red corset went on top of the tank, and I pulled on my multi-buckle biker boots over the jeans. I kept my jewelry minimal as it was too easy to catch things with my bow.
I shamelessly tucked my money and ID into my bra, which was accessible through my neckline. I just had to remember to remove them before I got to the bar. I wouldn’t have to worry about keys because they would be locked safely in Austin’s house. We’d be taking the van, and if I wanted to leave early, I could always hitch a ride from Percy or Lacey-Marie. Or run home. I’d done that before as well.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, strains of music caught my ear from my bedroom.
“Oops,” I muttered, dashing back up to turn it off. I had a one-track mind, and it was focused on leaving. It stopped just as I reached the top of the stairs. Thank you, house.
With my bag of violin junk under one arm and my performance amp under the other, I struggled to my truck.
Hades beat me to the door and grabbed my amp before opening the door for me.
“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t find it heavy, just unwieldy.
“See, I’m not really as bad as you believe,” he said, leading the way.
“You’re working on changing my mind, but you still have a ways to go. I have a lot of preconceived notions.” I opened my door and slid my bag across the worn seat.
Hades lifted my amp into the bed of the truck, then turned to face me. “Why don’t you just leave those notions behind?”
“Sorry, can’t. You’re just going to have to deal with being guilty until proven innocent.” I leaned against the truck bed, studying the hulking fae man before me.
“Fine. Would it be all right if I escorted Percy to your performance tonight?” He closed my tailgate with a bang, causing the whole truck to shudder under my arm.
“Yeah, sure. As so long as you behave yourself.” I opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“I think I can manage that. See you in a bit.” He strode back to the house.
He was rapidly racking up points for himself in the I’m-going-to-have-to-like-him column. I hate it when I’m forced to like someone. It takes away any sense of independent thinking. I could live with it for Percy, despite the uneasy feeling he still gave me. I could smell the power rolling off of him whenever we were in a room together, and my every instinct told me to run from the bigger, badder predator.
The guys were already loading up the van when I arrived, so I scrambled out and jumped into the bed of my truck to slide my amp towards the tailgate. Austin pulled the tailgate open and balanced the amp while I jumped down to heft it to the van. Luckily, the thing had wheels, so I didn’t have to pretend to be weaker than I was while shoving it forward. I parked it right outside so it could get loaded in whatever neurotic order the boys chose.
People always looked at me funny when I called them my boys. I guess it’s because, for all appearances, I’m the youngest of the bunch. No need to burst their bubbles and let them in on the secret that I was alive and terrorizing the world long before they were even a twinkle in mommy and daddy’s eyes.
I watched as they puzzled in amps, tubs of equipment, and Austin’s drums. If it didn’t fit just so, I knew there was a very good chance it would all come out, and they’d start again.
My bag of equipment and Lola would stay with me. No way were they packing those out of my sight.
Scott’s bass got pieced in next, wedged between two amps and the tom. I started to wonder if there was going to be space for actual people. There were only two seats: the driver and one passenger. Two would ride up front, all buckled in and legal, while the other two sat jammed in with the equipment. There were blankets to hide under if we got pulled over. It had yet to happen, but one can never be too careful about th
ese things, though evidently not careful enough to take a second vehicle to gigs.
The boys always tried to force me to ride up front. Maybe it made them feel macho to take care of the lone woman, but I never gave in to them. I can outstubborn just about anyone, and I’m the one least likely to get hurt if we got in an accident. They didn’t get to know that tidbit, else it would have been a handy excuse.
“You look hot, by the way,” Scott said as he came up beside me and slid an arm around my waist.
“Thanks. Meredith might be coming tonight.” I said, sidestepping his advances
“Really?” He pulled away, looking mildly interested.
“Yep. I invited all the girls.”
“Oh.” His bravado deflated slightly.
“And Doug. Meredith seemed especially excited to come.”
He scowled and slouched off to finish packing.
We would be getting to the club an hour or so early to set up and do sound check. It was a good thing it wasn’t busy early on. If you came expecting to see a band and saw the opening act of tuning instead, it’s a bit of a letdown.
We had our customary where-does-Gretchen-sit argument, which I won. They’ve physically placed me in the front seat before when I just didn’t have the heart to kick their asses.
I scrunched myself between my amp and a wall. As long as Austin didn’t take the corners at his normal NASCAR pace, I’d avoid any bone crushing injuries.
Mark must have drawn the short straw because he ended up back there with me, hidden behind half a drum kit.
“Work go good?” Mark asked me over the blaring stereo.
“Yeah, same old, same old. You?”
“Yup.”
We didn’t carry on much of a conversation beyond that. It was hard to stay coherent. Apparently, Austin was bent on making us all deaf before we even got to our destination.
I normally wear earplugs while performing. Wolves have sensitive hearing, and that carries over into my human form as well, so I have to be careful even if any harm I could come by would be temporary. Temporarily could end up being too long, especially with the pack around.
Beauty is the Beast: Beasts Among Us - Book 1 Page 18
