Swept Up

by Taylor Morris

“Once she made the Boston Best Of List, she changed,” former stylist Victoria Frame said. “She threw a ton of money into all these changes and renovations, hired even more stylists, and started treating some of the staff, well . . . not very nicely.”

  Another former staff member, who asked not to be named, said Ms. Steiner became so focused on expanding that she forgot about quality. “She even messed up the cut on one of her own clients because she kept going back and forth to the phone to talk about putting down new tile in the salon. It was pretty bad.”

  “The meaner she got, the more the staff slacked off,” Rick, another former stylist, who asked that we only use his first name, said. “We just didn’t respect her anymore, so I guess we sort of rebelled by refusing to keep the salon clean or even book her clients. Pretty soon most of us had one foot out the door, and when we left we took our clients with us.” He paused, thinking. “I felt kind of bad about that. But she kind of gave us no choice. It wasn’t a good work environment.”

  Now, Hello, Beautiful may be closing its doors for good unless it can get the quality stylists it so desperately needs back behind the chairs. Ms. Steiner wouldn’t comment for this story, but word has it that she’s already three months behind on her lease and running out of time.

  “It’s a beautiful space, and she’s been a good tenant until now,” said Marilyn Owens, who owns the 1902 brownstone on Newbury Street in which Hello, Beautiful resides. “I think her salon had an identity crisis and the clients didn’t feel as comfortable there as they used to. I know I don’t.”

  It’s that mentality that is sinking this once-glamorous salon. Call it a sign of these economically uncertain times—or simply a cautionary tale of letting fame go to one’s well-coifed head.

  Mom put the printout down and stared across her desk.

  “See?” I said. “She’s desperate for good stylists. Her business is in trouble so maybe she came here for ideas. She asked for a tour of the salon, I forgot to tell you that. I think it all adds up, Mom. She tried to steal Giancarlo away from us!”

  “I’m going to give her the best salon treatment of her life,” Mom said, still staring across her desk.

  “The best?” I said, confused. “She deserves the worst. We can’t let her get away with it.”

  Mom’s phone rang and she hit the speaker. “Yes?”

  “Your client is here,” Megan said. “Ana Steiner.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right up.” Mom stood up from her chair. “Mickey, thank you for finding this article for me. Now let me handle what happens out there. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Mom and I walked out together. Ana stood at the front, leaning her hip on the counter and looking around the salon like she did last time. I still had to admit she had great style. The slim, dark denim jeans with heels and a scarf covering her hair looked like Mom’s weekend outfit—sans the scarf, anyway.

  I got my broom from the back to sweep around and keep an eye (and ear) on Mom and Ana, while Mom led Ana back to change into a robe. As she changed, my phone buzzed in my pocket—a text from Eve.

  Changed mind. I’m in for tonight. See you at the salon for GC to style me? Ok to bring Marla?

  I wasn’t sure anymore about the offer to style her hair. Eve didn’t know that Giancarlo was no longer a stylist here. I thought about how I could make it work. I could give Eve my slot with Mom and I could do Marla’s hair if she’d let me. Then if there was time I’d do my own. It wasn’t a great plan but I couldn’t offer something to Eve and then take it back.

  Sounds great. And yes, bring Marla. See you tonight!

  Ana now sat in Mom’s chair—the one closest to the front of the salon with the best view of the clients coming in and what the stylists were doing all around her.

  “It’s been a long time, Ana,” Mom said, working her fingers through Ana’s hair the way all stylists did the moment a client sat in their chair. “I didn’t realize you were going to be in town. We could have had lunch, caught up.”

  “Truthfully,” Ana said, “I didn’t realize this was your salon. I was curious because of the name—very similar to my own.”

  Mom nodded, calm and self-assured. “When did you open your salon?”

  “Seven years ago,” Ana said.

  “Yes, that’s about when I opened mine.” She smiled at Ana in the mirror—a cutting, warning kind of smile. “Let’s get you washed.”

  “Yes, I really do need to get moving,” Ana said, standing up from Mom’s chair. “Rockford is very charming but these small towns start to make me claustrophobic. I really admire you for being able to stay here all these years. It’s like being cut off from the real world.”

  I wanted to pounce in and ask Ana just who did she think she was, talking about Rockford that way. It happened to be a great town. But Mom didn’t react. Just nodded along and said, “Oh, it’s not as bad as you might think.”

  As Mom washed her hair, I noticed that she gave Ana an extra-long head massage. Ana had been talking as Mom washed her hair about how busy her salon was (lie) and joking about how many stoplights Rockford had (mean), but Mom just massaged away until finally Ana’s eyes fell shut and she was quiet.

  After her deep conditioning, she was back in Mom’s chair, ready to have her hair colored back to whatever it was that she had supposedly originally wanted. I kept sweeping around as casually as I could, ready to jump in when Mom wanted me. But someone else came in before it was my turn to help.

  Giancarlo appeared in the door, a big, hulking wonder of styling grace in clashing horizontal and vertical striped pants and shirt. I had to resist the urge to run up and hug him.

  “Hello, Miss Megan,” he said at the reception desk. “I hope I’m not here at a bad time.”

  “Of course not!” she said, and I had to admit, she didn’t seem too surprised to see him.

  Giancarlo angled his body toward Mom’s station and said, “I’m just here to pick up my final paycheck.”

  “Sure, let me ask Chloe about it,” Megan said. She went to Mom’s station, and Mom told her, “It’s on my desk in my office. You can go on back and get it.”

  Megan went back while Giancarlo waited at reception.

  “How are you, Giancarlo?” Mom asked very casually as if he weren’t someone she had fired just that week.

  “Good, Chloe, I’m good,” he said. “Hello, Ana.”

  Ana, whose face had turned a gray shade of white, said something like, “Well, I . . . what’s he . . . can’t believe you’d keep . . . almost destroyed my . . .”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Giancarlo responded confidently.

  Ana regained her composure when she said to Mom, “I’d never let someone I fired come back into my salon. You couldn’t just mail him his check?”

  Mom shrugged, concentrating on Ana’s hair. “Giancarlo was one of my best stylists,” Mom said. “He’s like family.”

  “You mean like a family member who ruins everything?” Ana suggested. Mom ignored her. “Maybe I have a better vetting process for my stylists. Because my stylists would never do anything like what your stylist did. I’d be surprised if he could ever find a job styling again. Maybe someone will let him be the sweeper.”

  My face flushed hot, and I stopped what I was doing (you know—sweeping). Mom stopped what she was doing, too. She turned Ana’s chair until she could look her directly in the eyes and said, “Mickey, did you go on any interesting walks this week?”

  This is what she wanted from me! I stepped over to her station, broom in hand, and said, “Yes, I went for a walk this week.”

  Ana eyed us both like she knew what was coming. “Yes, Chloe. I saw your daughter out after dark with some boy on a deserted street. I have to say, I’m surprised you’d allow such an unsupervised excursion. Doesn’t seem safe but that’s just me.” Giancar
lo took a step toward Mom’s station—just a step, nothing more. He kept his eyes on us and I swore I could see beads of sweat building on Ana’s temples.

  “You were out with Giancarlo,” I said to her. “I saw you coming from The Kitchen.”

  She shrugged like it was no big deal, but her face gave her away. “He wanted some advice on moving to bigger salons in bigger cities. I was just being nice.”

  “Not true,” Giancarlo said. “You offered me a job at your salon.”

  I gasped. She really had been trying to steal him from us all this time. How could she!

  “It seems odd to me,” Mom said, turning her attention back to what she was doing to Ana’s hair, “that you would offer him a job one day, and then the next sit in his chair and for the first time in his entire career, he supposedly does a poor job?”

  “He . . . he was trying to take revenge on my hair.”

  “Revenge because you offered him a job?” Mom asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I don’t know what kind of crazy thoughts you small-town people have,” she said, a bit desperately.

  “Hmm . . .” Mom muttered. “Why don’t you tell us about that great article you were reading as you sat beneath the hair dryers. You know, the one that was so fascinating you couldn’t tear yourself away?” She glanced at Ana in the mirror, who was literally slumping down in the styling chair like maybe she could disappear. “It’s odd that an experienced stylist and colorist wouldn’t know how important time is when setting a color job. Isn’t it?”

  “He was responsible,” Ana said quickly. “It wasn’t my fault.” Her eyes darted around and she said, “I’m uncomfortable—I don’t want you doing my hair anymore.” She made a move to get up but Mom gently patted her shoulder.

  “Ana, it’s okay,” Mom said. “I know about your salon. I know what troubles you’ve been having.”

  “My salon is just fine,” Ana said defiantly.

  “That’s not what the article Mickey found last night said.” Mom leaned on the back of the chair and looked at Ana with sincerity. “It’s hard running a business. I understand. And I’m sorry you’ve fallen on hard times but—”

  “Don’t even,” Ana said, sitting up straight as if getting her confidence back. “Don’t you even start being patronizing toward me. You are not a friend of mine, so don’t pretend to comfort me and act like you care, because you proved that you don’t.”

  “Ana,” Mom said, “what are you talking about?”

  “Us!” she said. “We were supposed to start a business together! Or did you forget? That was our plan right out of beauty school and then you just ditched me.”

  “I got an internship,” Mom said. “And so did you!”

  “Oh, sure, my internship was great,” Ana said sarcastically. “In some basement salon with bad lighting and beauty-school dropouts.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mom said, and I wanted to say, “Yeah, me neither.” “What does some internship years ago have to do with what you’re doing here in town this week?”

  “Because you’re the best! You always have been! You got on some TV show even though you don’t need the help. Do you know how many times I’ve applied to Cecilia’s Best Tressed? At least five. And you get in just like that. Then, as if you need any more exposure, you get a write-up in that blog! Everything is just handed over to you, Chloe. It all comes so easily for you. It’s not fair. All I need is one good stylist and my salon is back on track. And if I couldn’t convince Giancarlo to come work for me by offering him more money in a bigger market, then I had to do something to make him want to work for me. And when a stylist has no job, they start looking a little more closely at whatever is coming their way. So that’s what I did.”

  We all just stood staring at her. When I say all of us I mean just about the entire salon. I couldn’t believe she’d done all of this, let alone admit to it.

  “Oh, Ana,” Mom said. “All these years you’ve felt this way. Why didn’t you say something? You never even contacted me.”

  “You were too busy to be contacted,” Ana said bitterly, yet on the verge of tears.

  Mom looked at her sadly. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go back to my office to talk.”

  Ana kept her chin firmly up as she stood from Mom’s styling chair and followed her back to her office. Just before Mom shut the door, she said to Giancarlo across the salon, “Better get back to your station. Clients have already been asking about you. Any walk-ins will be happy to have you.”

  Giancarlo beamed. “Thanks, Chloe.”

  When Mom shut the door, the stylists (and even the clients) let out sighs of relief. I practically raced over to Giancarlo.

  “It worked!” I said, bouncing on my feet. “I can’t believe she totally confessed!”

  “Yes, I know,” he said.

  Devon came over and said, “Glad to have you back. I had to style Mrs. Henkins yesterday in your absence. That one’s a piece of work.”

  “Did she insist on using a ruler to make sure her bangs were straight?” he asked.

  “Sure did,” Devon said.

  Giancarlo smiled. “I’ve been doing her hair for so long I’m used to it. I’ll call her and let her know I’m back. As for you,” he said, looking down at me. “I owe you a huge thank-you. I heard you’ve been my biggest cheerleader all along.”

  I blushed, embarrassed that he knew I’d been defending him.

  “I just want to say thank you, Mickey,” he said. “You never doubted me for a moment and that means a lot to me.”

  I wanted to tell him he’s the best stylist at the salon and my favorite person there, but I didn’t want to say it in front of the others. Even if it was obvious I didn’t want to admit to playing favorites. As the owner’s daughter I had to stay professional, you know.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “And if there’s anything I can do for you,” he said, setting up his station, “you let me know.”

  Just then the door chimed and in walked Eve and Marla. After all the excitement, I realized I hadn’t come up with a plan for fulfilling the promise I made to Eve about getting her hair styled.

  “Well,” I began, “there is one thing you can do for me.”

  CHAPTER 20

  There was one thing left to do that evening and that was get ready for the dance.

  I first met Eve when she came into the salon for an appointment with Giancarlo, so I loved that she was his first client after the last crazy few days.

  “She’s in good hands,” Giancarlo told me as Eve got settled in his chair.

  “I know she is,” I said. “Thanks, Giancarlo, for doing this. It means a lot.”

  “Oh, stop it,” he said. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

  Turning back to Eve, his tools and products ready to go, Giancarlo said, “It’s been a few days since I worked. I hope I’m not too rusty.”

  Eve looked at me nervously until I said, “He’s joking! Giancarlo, be nice.”

  “Scoot out of my space,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be getting your own hair done?”

  “I will, but I have to do something else first.”

  I had told Eve I’d do Marla’s hair, and once they all decided to go to the dance Marla decided she’d like to take me up on that offer. That meant I wouldn’t have time for a blowout done by Mom. It was fine, though, really. I was more interested in seeing my friends look good and have a fun night, especially after the stressful week.

  Mom let me work on Marla’s hair in the break room, away from the clients.

  “Just stay away from any dyes and other products,” she said with a wink.

  The thing with Ana had gone about as well as anyone could hope it would, so now everyone was relaxed and happy, just the way Hello, Gorgeous! should be.

>   “I honestly didn’t think much about it once I left school and we slowly began to lose touch,” Mom told me and Giancarlo. “That was my fault for brushing it off, but I certainly wish Ana would have come to me a lot sooner—years sooner—to tell me how she felt. Now all these years and all that negative energy, wasted,” Mom said. “Could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

  Back in the break room, I got started on Marla’s hair. Even though it was short, it had long layers and I knew there was a lot of cool stuff I could do with it. She had on the first dress she’d originally held up for Eve at the store—the electric yellow, asymmetrical number—and it looked really cute on her.

  She noticed me looking and said, “You were right. I guess I was thinking about myself when I spotted this dress.”

  “It looks really good on you,” I said, because it did. It was a tough color to pull off but she did it. “I think I know just the hairstyle to go with it. You sure you trust me with this?”

  “I guess I’ll find out when you’re done,” she said.

  “So this is my test, huh?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to make you jump through hoops, Mickey.”

  I did Marla’s hair in a way that looked messy and thrown together but actually took me a while to get just the right look. Violet let me use a lime-green hair extension that complemented the yellow dress—just one—and I tucked it into Marla’s hair so it peeked out just a little bit. It made a nice accent in her punk hair.

  “Mickey, I love it,” Marla said, checking herself in the mirror. “Eve was right—you’re a master at hairstyle.”

  I smiled. “Thanks. You have great hair—that’s half the battle.”

  “But what about you?” she asked. “Everyone’s going to be here soon.”

  “Jonah and Kyle are meeting all of us here?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Marla said.

  Kyle was pretty vocal about not going as a group. I didn’t want him to think that I had planned this so that we wouldn’t be able to go alone.