Kegan happened. "I'm really sorry, Lou. Kegan insisted on seeing a new restaurant, and the service was slow. We didn't get out of there until nearly two-thirty."
"You should have called."
"I know. I'm sorry."
I hadn't even thought of it. Kegan and I had discussed everything from religion to our favorite television shows to the scuba diving lessons he was going to take, and I had thought we'd barely been there an hour when he'd looked at his watch and said, "Candy, you're dead."
He'd called the waiter over and paid him, in cash, with what the waiter's lit-up face suggested was a huge tip, and then we'd raced out to the car. We'd planned increasingly ridiculous reasons for my lateness, until I'd said, "I'll tell him I met a man and he wouldn't let me leave," and Kegan responded with, "That would work, since I don't want you to leave," and the atmosphere in the car had become so electric I could almost see the tension snapping in the air.
Lou drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment. "When I say I want you here, Candice, I mean it. Kegan's a client, yes, but I am your boss. I expect you to make Kegan, and all the clients, happy, but not at the expense of what I specifically ask you to do."
I nodded, since I had no idea what to say.
"Do not let this happen again. I'm very disappointed."
I nodded again and escaped his office.
*****
Lou left a few minutes before five o'clock. Usually when he left, he said a hearty, "Goodbye all," and then added, "Have an awesome evening." Today, he hurled a "Later" over his shoulder and was gone.
"Wow," said Meredith. "He's not himself."
Everyone tossed around theories while I busied myself with wrapping up my last little project for the day, hoping they'd leave me out of it.
"Candice, any ideas?" Allyson called from across the room.
"No," I said, trying my best to sound both uninvolved and uninterested.
"Oh, c'mon," she wheedled. "You were in his office last, you must have a clue."
"I don't!"
Ouch. Much too loud and angry a response. It seemed to hang in the air, echoing over and over again.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"I was just asking." Allyson's tone was full of frosty innocence, and she and Meredith left without saying goodbye to me.
Such a lovely day.
*****
I went home feeling destroyed. I desperately wanted to just go to bed and sleep away the horrors of the day, but it was barely six o'clock, so I decided to take a nice hot bath instead.
I walked into the bathroom and recoiled at the sight of myself in the mirror. My hair hung limply in its ponytail, as sad and miserable as I felt. Its dull color and general stringiness left me looking like I didn't care about myself at all.
I sat down on the toilet lid and burst into tears. They say a picture's worth a thousand words; a picture of me would be saying, "I've given up" and "I don't care any more", over and over again.
I jerked some toilet paper from the roll and wiped my eyes. I deserved to be better than that. I did care, and I wasn't going to spend another minute looking like I didn't. I fled the house.
Fifteen minutes later I was at QuickCuts, where I always got my hair cut. My favorite stylist, Felicity, gave me a smile. "The usual, Candice?"
"No, definitely not the usual."
Her eyes widened. For two years I'd come in every five weeks and requested a trim. She'd tried to suggest a more interesting style a few times, but my constant refusals must have worn her down because she hadn't asked for ages. "Oh! Then what are we doing today?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I want a style."
The other stylists gathered around or shouted suggestions as they worked on other clients. I sat in the chair as they debated: straight versus curls versus layered versus blunt.
At last, Felicity said, "Okay, here's what I'll do. How about a cut like this?" She pulled a magazine from the rack beside my chair, flipped through it, and showed me a picture of a stunning girl with softly tousled short hair.
"Ooh, not that short," I said, and one of the other stylists sighed in disappointment. "I want it to stay long."
Felicity stared at me for a second and then turned to my reflection in the mirror. "Why?"
I locked eyes with my reflected self. Why indeed? It didn't suit me, I never wore it down, and it had actually made me cry today.
"I... I think long hair is sexier."
"Is that girl in the magazine not sexy?" Felicity demanded.
"Umm... she is, I guess. I'm not into girls, but--"
"Candice, here's the thing. I think you want to be the long-hair type, but you're really the short-hair type."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Are you ready to be brave? Try something new?"
I answered without even thinking. "I so am."
She grinned at me.
"Do it quick, before I change my mind."
She took me at my word. In less than a minute my hair was wet and one side was pinned up against my head.
"Here we go," Felicity said. Horror swept me. Ian liked my hair long. What was I doing? I took a breath to tell her to stop just as she cut a huge chunk from the side that was hanging down.
She'd cut it off just above my ear. I stared at myself. Suddenly that side of my face looked thinner and my eyes looked huge and bright.
"Wow," I breathed.
"See? I told you."
"Yes, you did," I said vaguely, staring at myself in the mirror as the hair continued to fall.
The only bad moment was when she brought down the other side and I realized just how much she'd actually cut off. I felt momentarily sick, but it passed quickly. She'd been right, I was meant to have short hair.
Felicity spun the chair around so I was facing away from the mirror. I protested, but to no avail.
"You need to see it when it's done, not in progress. But you know what I think it needs?"
Before I could answer, one of the other stylists called, "Highlights!"
"Exactly!" Felicity said, and then to me, "Are you up for that?"
"Why not?" I said, feeling giddy and lightheaded, and not just because my head was, objectively, lighter than it had been on my arrival.
Felicity finished the cut, eliciting gasps of awe from her coworkers and frustration from poor me who still hadn't been allowed to see it. She mixed the color and painted it on, covering each section with foil, and then rolled over a huge hair dryer and positioned it over my head.
"Thirty minutes and it'll be done," she said, handing me a magazine. I flipped through a few pages, but it didn't interest me, so I closed my eyes and let my mind wander like Larissa had told me to do.
At first I was desperately itchy again, but I kept on trying and was rewarded: the itchiness faded away and my mind leapt joyfully from one topic to another, just touching on each one before dancing away again. I should paint the bedroom teal. Ninja needs some new toys. I wonder where I could get trained to be a designer. Could I run instead of just walking on the treadmill? I need a new cell phone.
Wait, what was that one? Design training? Where'd that come from? I didn't really want to be a designer.
I felt something in the middle of my chest turn cold and clammy. With my eyes still closed, I asked myself, "Do you want to be a designer?" The cold place began to warm at once, spreading a radiance through me that I'd never felt before.
I did. I wanted to.
But I couldn't. My life was set in its track now, and I couldn't just go back to school.
"Wake up there, Candice," Felicity said, a laugh in her voice. I opened my eyes and the radiance shimmered away. Feeling dazed, I stood up and followed her to the sink. She rinsed my hair thoroughly, giving me a divine scalp massage in the process that seemed to bring me back to the real world, and then took me to her chair and blew my hair dry. At last, she said, "It's done. Close your eyes."
I did, and she turned the chair. I sat with my eyes still shut, afraid to look.
"What do you think?"
I forced my eyes open. A stranger sat staring back at me. A stranger whose elegantly short dark brown hair was laced with blonde and reddish highlights. A stranger with an absolutely perfect haircut.
I burst into tears. Felicity did the same. We jumped up and down and hugged each other. The other stylists cheered, and the clients smiled at our antics. At last, Felicity said, wiping her eyes, "You look gorgeous, if I do say so myself. Have you ever thought of wearing makeup? Even just a bit?"
"I am wearing a bit," I said, surprised. "Mascara and lip gloss."
"Ah," Felicity said, then, "Amanda, do you have a minute for Candice?"
"Of course," Amanda said, waving me over to her table, which was laden with more makeup than I'd ever seen in one place, even more than Larissa had.
Twenty minutes later, I looked completely different. Amanda had shadowed and lined my eyes, smoothed foundation over my skin, given me cheekbones like a model, and made my mouth look perfectly kissable. I could barely see myself in the image in the mirror. It was bizarre to stare into my own eyes and not recognize the person looking back.
I paid my rather large bill without complaint, and tipped both Felicity and Amanda generously. They'd truly worked miracles. As I walked to my car, I realized that my shoulders were pulled back and I was standing much taller than usual. I felt powerful and strong.
When I got home, I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time. I loved the haircut, no doubt about it. I looked more mature without looking old, and strong and confident. The makeup, however, I wasn't quite so sure about.
At first I'd been thrilled that I didn't look like me; not looking like me pretty much had to be an improvement. But now I was starting to feel a little different about it.
Was I really that bad that I needed to look completely different? Couldn't I just look like a slightly cleaned-up version of me?
I gently removed most of the makeup from the right side of my face, then examined what I'd done. The left side still looked like the perfect model face that Amanda had created. The right side looked like me, but me after I'd had a good night's sleep and been outside in the fresh air.
I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time, and then said something I'd never said to myself before.
"You look good."
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Bringing it up
When I'm done here, I'll go get the rug and put it in the living room. You're right, they would have wanted it to be used and enjoyed instead of hiding in the basement. I hope Ninja leaves it alone. Once he figures out it's not food, it shouldn't be a problem. :)
I got my hair cut today. It's a bit different. I hope you'll like it. I like it a lot.
You confused me mentioning Kegan being gone. I AM still working with him - Lou's too busy to take it over. I thought I told you that?
C.
I knew full well I hadn't told him I was still seeing Kegan daily. I hadn't told him I wasn't either; I'd ignored the subject all together. As my mother had always said when a boy teased me at school, "Just ignore him and he'll go away." But Kegan wasn't showing any signs of going away.
After shutting down the computer, I went downstairs and found the box in the back corner of the basement. It weighed more than I'd expected, and was nearly half my height, but I managed to get it up the stairs and set it down in the middle of the living room. My gym workouts seemed to be having an effect after all.
I pulled the half-stuck masking tape from the top of the box and opened the cardboard flaps, still not certain I wanted to see the bear but committed to it by having told Ian I would. Inside was a black garbage bag, which I pulled out, ripped open, and poured onto the floor.
The bear lay in a ball on the floor, its limbs wrapped around itself and secured with twine. High security for a rug. I found the kitchen scissors, eventually, in the computer room for some reason, and knelt down beside the bear.
I cut the first piece of twine and an arm shot out, startling me but making me giggle. A one-bear salute. Its shoulder fur was creased from being trapped in position for so long, but the rug appeared to be otherwise in good shape. Another cut, and the other arm was free. The legs were bound with one piece, and I cut that too and then spread the bear out on the floor. Unbound, it was nearly as long as I was tall.
It was mounted on cobalt blue felt, and looked just like a real taxidermist-mounted bear, assuming such a bear was made of white plush and had a big padded stomach. The bear's goofy face, and the black leather pads in its paws, made me laugh. Then cry. Then laugh again.
I lay down on the floor and rested my head on the bear's stomach, running my fingers over its fur. It smelled musty and a bit stale, but luckily it hadn't mildewed in the basement. I closed my eyes and sent a silent 'thank you' out to Ian's parents.
As a few more tears fell, Ninja wandered over and gave the bear an inquisitive look, then climbed up onto its stomach, right beside my head, and fell asleep at once.
The bear was clearly part of the family.
Wednesday, August 17th
I skipped the gym and spent ages getting ready for work. Felicity had promised that my new hair would be easy to style, and she'd been right. Getting the makeup to the subtle but polished look I'd found the night before, though, took forever.
Once I had it, or pretty close anyhow, I dressed carefully, wanting to make sure that my clothes didn't ruin the effect. I was able to slip easily into a skirt that had been snug a month ago, which made me even happier.
As I walked into the office, Allyson looked up from her desk. "May I help you?"
I couldn't stifle my giggle. "Allyson, it's me."
"Candice, your hair! You look amazing." She stood up. "Everybody come look at Candice."
I blushed but was also thrilled as they surrounded me and showered me with compliments. Nobody commented directly on my makeup, but Meredith did say that I looked well-rested, which was nice.
People began to drift back to their desks after complimenting me. Allyson and I chatted for a minute about my haircut and how scared I'd been when Felicity cut that first chunk of hair.
"It suits you, though," Allyson said. "Not everyone's meant to have long hair."
As her hair reached nearly to her waist, I had a moment of feeling stung. It passed quickly. I was meant to have short hair, and that was fine. That was just the way I was.
I got a coffee and settled into the final details of a client's research. I was down to the last few issues, but I'd left the really complicated ones to the end and I had to concentrate to get them done.
I tried, but the noise level in the office, while not really loud, was just distracting enough to make focus difficult. I pulled my headphones out of my desk drawer, and in moments Meat Loaf was singing into my ears. I couldn't have the music on loud enough to block all of the office sound, or else I might not have been able to hear Lou if he called for me, but it made enough of a difference that I could get to work.
I was so into what I was doing that I hardly noticed when the little bit of the background office noise I could still hear changed, with a new voice being added. I noticed, though, when a hand gave my shoulder a gentle grip. Noticed, and gasped in surprise. I pulled off my headphones and looked up.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Kegan said. His glance roamed over my hair and face, and I saw admiration growing in his eyes. All he said, though, was, "You got your hair cut."
I admitted that this was the case.
"Looks nice," he said.
"Thanks." I couldn't help being a bit disappointed. I hadn't done it for him, but I would have expected him to react a little more.
"I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop in. Is there any way you could come to the restaurant with me?"
"Right now? Is something wrong?"
He shook his head. "I just have to decide how to set up the ladies' lounge area, so I figured I should ask a l
ady."
There were a great many 'ladies' working on the restaurant, any one of whom could have helped him. Still, he was the client. "Sure. Just give me two seconds to finish this."
I typed a few notes to myself about exactly where I'd been in the research before saving the files, then popped out my CD and shut down the computer, putting the CD and headphones away in my desk.
"Meat Loaf?" Kegan said, giving me a quizzical smile. "I used to love him, but it's been ages since I heard him."
"Want me to bring it?"
He shook his head. "I have the jazz CDs in the car. They'll do."
We left the office and he held the car door open for me. I could get used to such treatment. He got in and locked the doors, but didn't start the car. Confused, I turned toward him to find him studying me with intensity.
"What?"
"You look..." He stopped, shaking his head. "God, you're gorgeous."
I looked away quickly, feeling embarrassed and wildly happy. "Thanks," I said, staring at my hands.
"You're gorgeous, and smart, and doing such a great job," he said, his voice slipping into that low sexy register I'd never been able to resist. "I don't know how I got lucky enough to find you again."
Too much. He was pushing me too hard. I cleared my throat, turned away from him, and said with an enormous effort, "Shouldn't we get to the restaurant?"
He reached across and touched my right cheek, then gently turned my head to face him again. Our eyes locked as he stroked my cheek, and the heat and hunger, in my body and in his eyes, shocked me.
"I just want you to know how much I appreciate you," he said, so quietly I could barely hear him, his caress sending sheer desire rampaging through me. His fingers slid slowly onto my neck, and my eyes drifted closed.
Just for a second, then I dragged myself away from him. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do.
Without a word, he started the car, and we drove to the restaurant in silence. My body was crying out for more of his touch, but my mind was busy lecturing it about how wrong it was.
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 18
