“No. And you have to let me go. I have an appointment.”
“But I want to take you to lunch. There’s a new Japanese restaurant just a few blocks away.… What appointment?”
“A haircut! I can’t stand myself for one minute longer.”
“Oh, sweet thing, I could stand you for a moment … an hour … an eternity.”
“Rick!” Laurie blushed furiously, and pressed a finger to his lips.
He kissed her fingertip, smiling gently into her wide gray eyes. Then he lifted both hands and pushed the scarf back off her hair. His thumbs rested on the curves of her cheeks as his fingers wove into the thickness of the burnished strands. “Lovely hair. Lovely woman.”
“Not so lovely yet,” she whispered, half-mesmerized by the warmth of his touch. “But I’m working on it.” Then she shook off his spell and hurried onto the street. “I’ve got to go! I’m going to be late.”
“Where are you going?” he asked, matching her step.
“A little place I found called Carol’s Cut ‘N’ Curl.”
“What?” He grabbed her arm, linking his through hers and changing her direction. “You come with me. I’ll take you to Larry at Innovations. He does my hair.”
Laurie rolled her eyes and grabbed a handful of the dark, wild hair at the back of Rick’s neck. “You mean someone does this mane? I thought it was untamable.”
“I only give that impression,” he said, grinning and pulling her close.
* * *
Innovations was all mirrors and lights, raised platforms, and ice-cream colors. The women had billowing clouds of hair or short punk cuts, inch-long lacquered nails, and the most beautifully dramatic clothes Laurie had ever seen outside the pages of a magazine. Laurie gulped, smiled shyly, and kept her eyes on Rick’s back as he led her through the maze to a raised station set apart at the back of the salon.
He knocked once on the wall. “Larry?”
A handsome man with an enormous moustache poked his head around the corner. “Rick? Hi! What are you doing here?”
Laurie caught a glimpse of a woman’s startled face, framed by what seemed like thousands of tiny rollers. She smiled, and the woman smiled back, shrugging lightly.
Rick’s next comment caught her full attention. “Larry, this is Laurie O’Neill. A special friend of mine. Think you could fit in a haircut sometime soon?”
“No problem. Mrs. Lehman is almost ready to go under the lights, right, darling? In the meantime Laurie can go change in the dressing room.” He pointed imperiously to a small curtained alcove. “Smocks are on the hangers.”
They were, and Laurie quickly hung up her skirt, blouse, and blazer and put on a hot-pink, shapeless smock that ended about six inches above her knees. She dashed back across the salon to Larry’s station.
At her reappearance, the other woman obediently departed, and Laurie found herself the center of attention.
“Come sit down here.” Larry patted the chair, quickly smothered Laurie in a wide plastic cape, and spun her around for a better look. “I say, I think we’ll start with a shampoo and some good conditioning, and then we’ll see what we’ve got here. Okay?” he asked, already tipping her toward the sink. “I like to keep my hands on my client’s hair from start to finish,” he explained. “Lets me get to know the hair intimately, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, of course.” Laurie laughed, breathless with a sudden rush of excitement that hit her like a feather pillow right in the stomach. “Yes, whatever you say.”
And then there was no way to say anything. There was just the pleasant heat of the water, the cool splash of the shampoo, and the luxurious feel of his strong, practiced hands massaging her scalp. For a second Laurie stiffened, her body reacting with surprised alarm to the almost sensual pleasure. But she couldn’t fight it, and the tension that had held her for weeks and months left her, flowing out through the top of her head and away, till she was floating, her eyelids closed, the dark lashes that seemed dipped in gold resting against her pale cheeks.
She was aware of the heat of the water again, and the contrasting chill of the conditioner, but she kept her eyes closed, thinking of nothing. Drifting. The men’s voices, Larry’s and Rick’s, were deep, mellow echoes in the small cubicle, and then Rick began to hum a fragment of a tune, and the sweetness of his voice carried her further away.
It was so peaceful. A peace so simple, so different from the willed, disciplined peace she had spent so long struggling for, in vain.
Her eyes snapped open. “Oh, I almost fell asleep. I’m sorry.…”
Larry seemed unaware of her confusion, but Rick smiled, reaching out to tug at the ends of her wet hair. “Hey, just enjoy it. This is going to be fun.”
After toweling her hair, Larry stood back, eyeing Laurie with fierce concentration. “Let’s see, now,” he mused aloud, circling around the chair, studying Laurie from every angle while she frowned and shifted uncomfortably.
“Is it hopeless?” she asked softly, sure that it was.
“Hopeless? Good grief, girl, you sound like you never take a good look in the mirror. You’re beautiful, but whoever gave you this haircut did the damnedest job I’ve seen in the ten years I’ve been cutting hair.”
Honesty compelled her to answer. “I … I’m afraid I cut it myself, Larry.”
“What? Another of those do-it-yourself-ers? The bane of my existence,” he growled, his moustache twitching with disapproval.
Laurie met Rick’s laughing dark eyes in the mirror. But if he thought she was going to offer any further explanation, he had another think coming! With feigned bravado she tipped up her chin, smiled at her reflection, and tossed back, “That’s why I’ve come to an expert. Do your thing!”
Rick gave her a sexy wink and a silent nod of approval.
Larry picked up his scissors, and Laurie turned her full attention to her own reflection in the glass, curious and excited to see the “new her” emerge.
Larry started in then, snipping and clipping layers of burnished floss, letting the cut hair float to the floor like petals shaken from a flower. A moment’s work revealed the shell-like curl of her ear. Another moment and he had bared the pale, vulnerable nape of her neck. Her neck itself seemed longer, a delicate column of translucent skin that begged for a touch, a kiss. His scissors flew, and her high, proud cheekbones were dramatized as surely as if a stroke of color had been applied. He tugged the hair forward over her brow, gave it a swift, shivery cut and let it fall in a bright fringe above her gold-tipped eyelashes.
Laurie felt goose bumps go up her arms. Was this her, this girl being transformed in the mirror? It seemed suddenly impossible. For five long years, there had been no mirror. No girl.
The girl she had been before the convent was a child. A child who spins in a mirror before a school dance, wearing a new dress of pink lace, and thinks she is beautiful. A girl who thinks there will be no end to parties and dances and boys from the prep school across town to pick her up and bring her corsages.
The girl who entered the convent wore a white bride’s gown, and then a black habit, and put away mirrors, and memories, and all those foolish feelings. That girl wasn’t really a girl anymore; her youth was irrelevant in the timelessness of the convent.
And this girl … the one facing her wide-eyed in the mirror now? Could she somehow unlock the child who had been locked away five years ago, find her, free her, and let her grow into a woman? Could this woman be happy? Could she fall in love?
Love. The thought took shape and substance in her mind, and her glance swept immediately to Rick’s reflection in the mirror.
“Lookin’ good!” he said with a grin.
“Do you really think so?” she asked, her lips parted and her wide eyes shining.
“Oh, yes, darlin’, I really do!”
Rick was watching her with a hint of something in his eyes, a touch of awe perhaps. He had thought she was beautiful the first time he saw her, at three A.M. in a dim hallway, so it wa
sn’t just that she was prettier now. No, it was as if he were witnessing some subtle transformation in the mirror. An unfolding of wings. An unfurling of petals. The first bright spark of a fire.
Each clipped, coppery lock that drifted to the floor was a step out into the world. Into the world … and into my heart, he thought. He felt the swift, sharp stir of arousal that her nearness always awoke in him. Shifting restlessly as he stood, leaning his elbows back against the far edge of the counter, he studied her, thinking, What power will you have over me when you realize just how much of a woman you are, Ms. Laurie O’Neill?
As if he had spoken aloud, Laurie blushed. “Stop looking at me like that, Westin. You are making me very nervous!”
“Me too,” Larry agreed, brandishing his scissors. “Go away. Go get a soda, or take a walk, or something.”
“You two sure know how to hurt a guy,” Rick drawled, stretching his lean, hard body. He reached way over his head, hands locked, arching his torso back against the restless tension that tightened his shoulders; the muscles strained visibly against his shirt.
Laurie watched him, feeling the deep, surprising excitement his physical presence caused. Her body responded, and she fidgeted restlessly in her chair.
Rick caught her eye and laughed, a rich, husky sound that mingled with her own silvery laugh. At that moment they were perfectly attuned to each other, like two acrobats hurtling through the air, each one astounded and delighted by the other’s perfect timing.
“Am I missing something?” Larry complained, staring at the two of them in amused puzzlement.
“Nothing I could explain.” Rick grinned, and Laurie bit at the inside of her cheek, willing back her self-control.
“Good!” was Larry’s retort. “Then disappear for about thirty minutes.” With a flourish, he resumed his clipping and snipping.
Rick paused on his way out, bent, and picked up one lock of Laurie’s shining hair. He tucked it safely in his pocket and left.
In less time than she’d expected, the haircut was complete, and she was spun away from the mirror for a final appraisal.
“Perfect!” Larry confided in a grand stage whisper. “Absolutely perfect.” Then, “What do you think?” he asked, spinning her back to face her reflection.
Laurie couldn’t answer, not only out of modesty, but because her breath was trapped in her throat. The girl … the woman there in the mirror was beautiful. Her hair was a lightly feathered cap of shining copper and gold, thick and rich with highlights, shaped so that it followed the lovely curve of her brow and cheek and neck.
“Well?” Larry prompted, obviously proud of his handiwork.
Laurie nodded her silent agreement. A small smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. “Yes,” she said, finding her voice. “It’s wonderful. You did a beautiful job! Oh, thank you, Larry.” And then, already out of the chair, she added, “I’m going to get dressed before Rick comes back, and surprise him.”
“Why don’t you go look in our boutique, find something luscious, and really surprise him?” Larry suggested, remembering her prim blue blazer.
“Oh, I wish I could, but I don’t have time today,” she answered wistfully as she picked up her pocketbook and the bill he had written and turned away. But then she hesitated, looking over one shoulder and touching her hand to her hair as if to convince herself that what she saw in the mirror was real. With a shaky laugh, she hurried to the dressing room.
Her clothes were gone. Vanished. And in their place were a soft, silken swirl of a skirt and an apple-green silk blouse.
She dressed in the tiny room, slipped her feet into ivory sling-back sandals that were exactly her size, and turned slowly in front of the mirror. Tears stung her eyes. That man. That crazy, wonderful man. He shouldn’t be doing all this; she shouldn’t be letting him. But, oh, the sweetness of it! The kindness. The pure dizzying pleasure of being looked at the way he looked at her. How could she resist?
Nothing in her whole life had prepared her for Rick Westin.
And nothing had prepared him for the way she looked when she stepped out of the dressing room. Lovely. She glowed with a shy, mysterious awakening that had nothing to do with the haircut or the clothes or anything he had done, and yet he had everything to do with them. Rick felt his heart slam to a stop against his ribs. Something hit him hard behind the knees and smack between the eyes. So this was what had sent the troubadours and minstrels wandering through the countryside with tales of love and maidens fair. This was the secret he had held in his heart as he roamed the Appalachians from spring until fall every year, alone, waiting for someone. Her.
“You look lovely,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” she said with a shy laugh. Then she shook her head. “I say thank you, and yet I really can’t thank you enough. There’s no way—”
“There’s no need. It’s my pleasure. Truly.”
He stood looking at her another moment, and she turned slowly before him, suddenly not shy at all. Just happy.
“All right,” he said, drawing a deep breath, as though he hadn’t breathed for a long time, “all right, let’s go get some lunch.” He handed her a shopping bag with her old clothes and took her arm, guiding her to the door.
“The bill—” she began.
“I’ve taken care of everything. And you don’t have to thank me. It is my pleasure.”
They were halfway down the block when she stopped and turned, pulling him to a halt. “Rick—you make me crazy! I forget who I am, where I am … where I’m supposed to be! I can’t go to lunch now; it’s after one. I have to be back at work.”
“Okay, then, dinner. I’ll pick you up for an early dinner, and then we’ll go to the theater, and dancing afterward. Don’t say no!” he insisted, waving away her objections. “Listen, the jitterbug is back, and I’m a great jitterbugger. Trust me!”
Six
Didn’t that man ever sleep? Laurie yawned languidly, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes.
She pulled her chair over to the window and leaned across the sill. The white light of early morning washed across her arms, but there was no warmth to it yet, just a teasing promise. Since last night, all of life seemed a teasing promise: a golden ring on the merry-go-round, a surprise at the bottom of the Cracker Jacks box.
She hadn’t slept a wink and was sorry now, at just past seven A.M., with the whole day stretching ahead. Her eyelids drooped over sleepy gray eyes; the small of her back ached; her heart thumped and bumped unevenly in her chest, a tom-tom beating out a disquieting message.
Rick Westin! There was the heart of the problem.
The thought of him pulled at her soul like the tide, constant and irresistible. When she closed her eyes, his face was imprinted on her lids; when she drifted into a moment’s sleep, he moved through her dreams.
They had shared an exquisite Japanese dinner, seated on woven cushions behind a paper screen, drinking warm sake that made her head spin. Or was it the look in his dark eyes that made her dizzy? Then they’d made a mad dash to the theater, where she had sat at what was now her table, stage front, to be thrilled again by the sound of his voice and the wild, dark excitement of him on stage. And as if that weren’t enough, later they had gone dancing at some little club where the band members all knew Rick and the music tugged at their feet … and she wished he would hold her in his arms forever.
And then she had sat awake in the stiff kitchen chair for most of the night, trying to talk some sense to herself.
The trouble was, she wasn’t listening.
She was, quite honestly, crazy about the man. She wanted to quit her job, abandon her bed on the couch, snatch up her hairbrush and toothbrush, and go pound down his door. She could see the headlines now:
EX-NUN ARRESTED FOR BREAKING AND ENTERING LOVER’S APARTMENT!
Hugging her knees, she pressed her fevered forehead against the windowpane. She couldn’t believe herself, talking about a lover! A month ago she would have been just leaving the cha
pel after matins, her veil in place, her dark skirt brushing the floor. Too much was happening. Too much, too fast. It was wonderful—but so very confusing.
Again she closed her eyes and saw his dark, angular face, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his mouth. She pictured his wild, dark hair and gypsy eyes, the sexy grin that flickered across that perfect face.
Oh … was this love? Could it be? She had so little knowledge, and no practice at all. How was she supposed to be sure? Whom could she ask?
“Good grief, what are you doing up already?” Ellen stormed in through the front door, her eyes taking in everything at once, as always. “Honestly, a person who doesn’t have to be at work until nine should sleep till at least eight forty-five! Coffee on?” she asked without pausing for breath.
“Gee, I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“No problem. I’ll have it perking in a sec. Should I put a muffin on for you?”
“No, thanks, I—”
“Hey, are you all right, kiddo? These last few days you’ve had the appetite of a sparrow! And you know, you’re looking very pale … kind of translucent, you know what I mean? Like a candle burning at both ends. Have you got a fever?”
Before Laurie could protest, Ellen was perched on the windowsill, one palm resting flat against Laurie’s forehead, the other hand circling her wrist. “Uh-oh, just as I expected. Temperature elevated, pulse erratic; I bet your blood pressure’s sky-high. Did you have a good time last night?”
Laurie had to laugh at the obvious non sequitur. “Thank you, Nurse Farrell. It’s nice to know you make house calls.”
“Anything for a friend. So tell me, how’s Rick Westin?”
“He’s fine,” Laurie said, taking a sudden interest in the sunrise.
“Aha!” Ellen chortled with delight. “Pulse racing! Pressure mounting—”
“Ellen, stop it.” Laurie laughed, jumping off the chair and out of reach. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“But I am! I’m hoping you fall madly in love with the fellow, because he’s the nicest man I’ve ever met. And you’re my best friend. The two of you deserve each other. Besides”—her hearty laugh bounced off the walls—“it’ll be a wild and crazy love affair, that’s for sure! I could write it up for Woman’s Day and make a fortune.”
Banjo Man Page 6
