"Lotti!" DeeDee yelled.
"Yeah?" I heard a voice yell back.
"Got another victim for yah," DeeDee yelled as she winked at me.
I again swallowed deeply.
I didn't think the word 'victim' was conducive to a beauty salon or to calming the salon patrons nerves or was even professional in the least. But then, maybe that was what DeeDee was winking about, that it was all in good fun.
I was all for good fun.
As long as it allayed my fears, not added to them.
"Send them on back, Dee," I heard the other voice shout.
"Ok, Leila, go up the step and turn left then right and Lotti will meet cha," DeeDee explained. "When you're done then Frank-kay should be ready for yah, 'kay?"
I did as Dee instructed and was met by a short, laughing Latina with the most beautiful smile and luscious hair I'd ever seen.
"Did you just wink at me?" Lotti asked.
"Pay no attention," I advised. "New contacts. Still getting used to them."
"Uh-huh," Lotti mumbled dubiously. "Let's get you started then, okay?"
I dropped my purse in the corner and sat down in the chair indicated as she rolled a three-tiered shelving unit over to where I was sitting. Lotti pulled a large standing magnifying glass and pointed it over my face.
"So, what I'm seeing, chica, is that you need eyebrows, upper lip and side-burns done today, okay?" and she turned to this metal pot that had wax dripping down it.
I felt my heartbeat begin to speed up.
"Is this going to take a long time, because I have an appointment with Frankie, err, I mean, Frank-Kay." I asked nervously, even though I wasn't any calmer when I thought about getting my hair styled.
"No, no time at all. Hey, you weren't kidding about the contacts!" I lifted my eyes and saw a distorted picture of her from my side of the huge magnifying glass. I felt that silence was the better part of valor.
"Okay, so sit back and relax and I'll have you outta here in no time, 'kay," I heard Lotti say.
And she was right. I was out of there in no time.
My upper lip was clear of fuzz as were the clumps of fuzz that had been in front of my ears.
But it was my eyebrows that reflected the sheer artistry of Lotti's work. I no longer looked like a Cave girl now that my 'uni-brow' was gone and Lotti's hot wax had given me the kind of eyebrows I saw on other women, the other women that I found myself looking at, admiring.
I was amazed at how such a small thing, with only the smallest moment of pain, made me look so different.
I stared at myself in the 10x magnification mirror and was completely stunned.
I reached in my bag and left Lotti a twenty dollar tip which made her eyes widened.
"Is that enough, Lotti? Sorry, this is my first time at doing this," I hoped I wasn't insulting her.
"No problema, chica," Lotti said, folding the bill and then inserting it into her deep, full cleavage. "I thank you for this, yes? But next time, either a five or a ten will do, okay?" And I was astounded that she moved towards me sitting sideways on her reclining chair and gave me a hug.
"Make an appointment with DeeDee for four weeks, yes? Since we don't know how fast your hair grows. Now shoo, Bonita Leila, and let Francisco do his magic on your hair, okay?"
I went back into the waiting area of the salon and sat down. Glancing at DeeDee's station I saw her looking my way with her mouth open.
"Holy crap!" she announced. "You're beautiful!"
"Thanks, DeeDee," I mumbled. "But it was Lotti."
"No, Lotti had something to work with, and she did a great job!" she said with a smile.
I just smiled back.
*.*.*.*.*
"So what do we want to accomplish today?" Frank-Kay asked me as I was finally seated in his chair.
I had been shampooed, twice, and had sat underneath a hair dryer with some kind of orange goo on my head for a good half-hour before being told I could, at long last, sit on the Throne of Frank-kay, as I was calling it in my head.
I was making a lot of changes at once: glasses to contacts, wookie to cookie with only the sting of the hot wax application and its removal or the 'you're beautiful' exclamation from DeeDee who was more beautiful that I could hope to be with her light brown hair with its blue highlights. So I was hopeful that he would perform similar magic on my hair.
But I found myself telling Frank-kay exactly why I was there, about my Chrysalis journal and about Dex.
I even whipped down my jeans and lifted my shirt so he could see the outline of my tattoo. My beautiful butterfly that meant so much, stood for so much.
Honest to God, I completely unloaded on the guy.
But at the end of my talk, we both were crying and sharing his Kleenex box.
"So, in other words, princess, we need to make you," Frank-kay looked around like he didn't want to be overheard, before leaning down to the level of my ear, "Fuckable."
That's what he'd gotten from my sad tale of woe?
I need to be made 'fuckable'?
Is that even a word?
I know that we didn't 'play' for the same team, but that was far and away the nastiest, dirtiest load of sh-err, manure I'd ever heard.
That is, until Frank got his hands on my hair.
He, with almost reverence, unrolled the towel that the girl, who introduced herself as 'Snaky' (who am I to judge names?) had spent a good amount of time fastening just so. Then Frank began to slide his fingers from my scalp all the way down to the ends.
"How short?" I heard him ask.
"Just below my shoulders?" I asked in turn.
"Done," he murmured still raking his hands from scalp to ends.
"Bangs?" I asked with my eyes closed, head back, enjoying the movements of his fingers.
"Deep, swept to the side," he said softly and I glanced at him in the mirror. His eyes, too, were closed as if in deep thought.
"Want to do highlights on you as well but not this visit," he continued. "No, not this visit."
"Uhm, okay," I said equally as softly. "I don't even know what that means."
I watched a huge smile break across his reflected face in the mirror and watched as he leaned down and placed his cheek next to mine.
"You will, my darling, you will," he said talking to the me in his mirror.
"Now, one last question before we start," he said moving from behind me to lean a hip on his station that I saw was covered with all sorts of potions and elixirs and the like, all in the most beautiful containers but with big bold names on them. "How would you feel, my darling, about donating your hair to 'Locks of Love'?"
At my blank look, he continued.
"It's a charity that takes cut hair and creates wigs for people who have lost their hair."
"Like cancer patients?"
"And those with propecia or other things that causes their hair loss." Frank said, his eyes dead on mine.
"With pleasure," I said, my heart lifting to think that my conscious choice to make myself more attractive would result in another person having something that would help them feel better about themselves.
It was a bit overwhelming.
And I reached for the tissue box again.
"Then, let's get to it," he said reaching for a comb and his scissors.
After I heard the snips of the scissors stop, I raised my eyes.
"Here's where the tire meets the road," Frank-Kay said. "Dee, bring me a #2 brush."
"Sure thing, Frank-Kay," and I saw DeeDee scramble to their display of brushes, before the brush appeared through the foliage.
"I'm going to show you exactly how to style your hair with a round brush and the blow-dryer so you can duplicate what I've done on you here with your shorter hair, all right?"
All-right? I was over the freaking moon.
And I was still over the moon when I tipped Frank-Kay and moved to Marilyn the manicurist chair who had my feet soaking before I knew what hit me.
"Great nails," she mutter
ed after holding both my hands spread, palm down, in front of her. "You pick your nail polish yet?"
At my gentle "no", she wandered over to the display of nail polishes and chose a beautiful soft pink for my hands and a deep fuchsia color for my toes.
Perfect.
I really have to say, I was enjoying the heck out of my day of beauty.
I went back to DeeDee at the receptionist station after tipping Marilyn.
"What's the damage there, Dee?" I asked knowing it was going to be steep--at least, that's the impression I'd gotten from the blogs I'd read online for full make-overs. She gave me a price that was more on the low end of the scale than those internet numbers had given.
"Okay, so now let's set up appointments for follow up, 'kay?" she asked.
And we set up the follow up on my manicure, my hair cut, style and possible highlights, as well as having another waxing done.
My calendar for April and parts of May was starting to fill up. And I loved it.
"You look a lot different, Leila girl, than you did when you came in," Dee said softly.
I nodded, because she was just saying the God's honest truth.
"Be careful out there," she said with a chin lift. "'Kay?"
"Will do," I said fervently. "And, Dee?"
I saw her eyes raise to mine as I reached over her desk and grabbed her hand.
"Thanks. Thanks a lot."
"You're most welcome, Leila." she said with gentle squeeze of her fingers and a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure something out.
I readjusted the heavy bag on my arm containing my new shampoo, conditioner and style gunk as well as my new hairbrush and blow-dryer, before leaving the salon.
When had it gotten dark? I wondered as I made my way back to the mid-city parking garage.
Storing my heavy bundle in the trunk, I thought about my next move and I saw a neon sign from my position of leaning against my car.
Henry's.
Where it kind of all started.
It would be kind of a shame if I didn't celebrate a bit with my new hairless face and beautiful new hairdo, now, wouldn't it? Not to mention, it was just on the other side of the street from the parking garage.
Chapter Eleven
"Hi," I breathed sitting down at the bar, trying to remove my Levi jacket and talk at the same time. I'm not that coordinated, if you want to know the truth.
"Hi," the bartender said placing a coaster in front of me as I draped the previously believed to be straight jacket, hereto forth known as the Levi jacket, on the seat back of my stool.
"My name's Leila and I'd like a kamikaze, please," I said trying to sound like I've introduced myself to every bartender between Colorado and the Georgia state line, and ordered a kamikaze, which I wasn't actually sure was a drink, as smoothly as possible.
The bartender, maybe my age or a little older, asked to see my I.D.
"Uhm, say again?" I asked.
"Your I.D., sweetheart," he said firmly crossing his arms on his chest and planting his feet. Okay, he was one of those.
I handed over my I.D. and even managed a smile as I did so, but I was pissed.
"You don't look like the photo," Dirk, as his name tag read. My eyes moved over him. He was cute, in a surfer kind of way that he was working pretty good considering we were in a land locked state.
I pulled my glasses out of my purse and plunked them on the counter before putting them on.
"This better?" I asked trying to keep the seething out of my voice as I slipped the frames on. Why had I never noticed how heavy they were?
"Pull your hair back, right?" Dirk requested.
I sighed before pulling my hair away from my face.
"Satisfied?" I asked and saw a soft, slow grin crease Dirk's face as he slid a glass in front of me.
"More than, gorgeous," he admitted with a full-fledged smile. "Name's Dirk."
Geez, Louise, is that how everyone introduces themselves around here?
"Leila. And, no, my parents didn't lose a bet with Clapton, okay?" My voice was a lot sharper than I intended.
I sipped my drink, trying to work my aggressions out with looks shooting out into the restaurant.
Hey, Gloria's on!
"Dirk? Any chance at some olives?" I asked eyeing Gloria as she worked through the restaurant.
I never realized what waitresses went through as I watched her maneuver the room. And the watching gave me a whole new reality into those that had simply served me for so many years. How they explained and talked to their customers compared to the way they talked to co-workers, how they were always under the gun to deliver the meals on time and exactly to the customer's expectations.
And, worst of all, they were the ones that took the brunt of the customer's complaints whether or not they were the one's responsible for the customer's dissatisfaction.
Huge revelation, that.
And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was the last coherent part of my evening.
By my recollection, I was simply going through the drinks menu one at a time.
But, sadly, found out that I only actually sampled three different drinks before I found myself riding next to Dex.
In a car.
Next. To. Dex.
Holy shit.
*.*.*.*.*
It was a Monday night and things were slow enough at HH that Dex could excuse himself and leave the shop in the capable hands of Benny.
Benny was a good guy that he'd met in his travels after his melt down and had taught him just about everything he knew about ink. But Ben had also been there when he practiced. And practiced. And practiced some more. According to Ben, you'd better get your shit down before you actually applied a needle to another human being.
Good advice.
The talk from Ben, while unwelcome at the time, made more sense than anything else in his life, so he went with it.
And he was glad he did.
HH was turning a profit.
Which was huge.
Meant he didn't have to babysit anymore or look over the other inkers shoulders as they worked and didn't have to do even half the office shit that was more of a pain in his ass than he let people know.
Which is why he was able, on a Tuesday night, sit at his normal stool at Henry's trading barbs with Dirk.
Dex was on his second beer when he heard a soft sentence of cussing from Dirk.
"I'd give it a nine outta ten Dude, but you repeated yourself," Dex said to Dirk.
"You'd be cussing, too, hombre, if you had to put the skids on that," and Dirk's head pointed across the bar to the gorgeous young woman who was having a very animated conversation with Gloria, one of the waitresses.
"I'm calling her a cab," Dirk said as he reached for the phone.
"I'll take her," Dex said much to his own surprise.
"What?" Dirk asked his finger still poised above the numbers of the phone.
"I'll make sure she gets home all right, okay?"
"You're sure, hombre?"
"More than sure," Dex reached into his back pocket to pull out his money clip and threw a couple of twenties on the bar. "That gonna cover it for her and me?"
Dex got a chin lift from Dirk but watched as his old friend turned his back on the customer he had formerly been complaining about.
Dex moved around the bar and stopped right in front of the brown haired beauty that was tugging on the edges of his memory. He knew her somehow, someway but he just wasn't quite sure of the way. Or the how.
"Hi," he said. "Name's Dex."
He watched as she slowly dragged her big chocolate gaze to his.
"Is that how you all introduce yourselves?" She said, slurring only a little while keeping her left eye closed.
Was she winking at him?
"Am taking you home, babe," he said as he gathered up her cell and the other items of hers that were scattered across the bar and shoved them into her messenger bag.
Even the bag pulled at his memory.
"Dex!" he heard her exclaim as she slowly shook her head. "The man that took my heart, but gave me a tattoo. Let's all drink to Dex!"
"Okay, honey, let's get you in the car so we can get you home, 'kay?
"But we gotta drink to Dex," she whined. "He'sh the bes' of the bescht. Gorgeoush, schmart, an' an artischt. Look, err, jush, look at what he done, 'scuse, did to me!" and he snagged her around her waist as she appeared to be trying to take off her jeans.
"Let's go this way, 'kay?"
"Shure, no problems. I'm with my Dex, raight?" He heard her say.
Having absolutely no clue what she was saying, much less where she was parked, Dex bustled her into his jeep and fastened her seatbelt and shoved her purse between her thighs.
"So, pretty drunk lady, where do you live?" Dex asked as he started the jeep.
"You sh-should know, Dex," he heard her drunken whine. "Gave all my info to Crysh…"
"Crys? You gave your info to Crys?" Thank Christ, he thought pulling his phone out of his hip pocket.
"Hey, Crystal, listen. Got a problem. What? No, that ain't the problem. What? No it ain't that either. Geesh, will you shut the fuck up and listen? Got a girl in my car that is drunk off her ass. And, Merry Christmas back to you. She says that she knows you and she knows me."
He chanced a glance at his inebriated passenger who seemed asleep.
"What do you mean, what does she look like?"
"Tallish, shoulder length brown hair, nice figure, jeans, t-shirt and jean jacket," he recited as his eyes ticked off the points before uttering them aloud.
"What the fuck do you mean she could be one of a thousand girls?"
"She thinks she knows me. What? No, she tried to take her jeans off in Henry's to show me," he said slowly hoping that Crys might know the girl he was talkin' about. But she just laughed at him and disconnected.
Fuck!
He glanced over at his passenger, illuminated in the glow of the dashboard. How did he know her?
He pulled to the side of the road and snagged her purse from between her legs.
"So, you're Leila McCarthy, huh? And you live at 812 Vermont Ave. Perfect!" Dex rumbled as he took a sharp left out of the parking structure.
Human Hieroglyphix - Dex & Leila Page 6
