“We’ve fought tooth and nail ever since. And this year, if what I hear is true, I might be forced to scratch her eyes out.”
“What did you hear?”
“That she managed to steal my new hair style.”
I started to ask how she’d managed that, but then something I’d seen on television gave me an idea. “You used several clients to develop the aspects of it, right?” That was how Victoria liked to work.
“Yes. And it seems she hired someone to photograph clients coming out of the salon, then studied the cuts and put it together.”
“That’s creepy.”
“I’ve had to work hard to put together a totally new style… in secret this time.”
“Why? You could just do your cut and do it better than she does.”
“For some reason people like Sylvia better than me. If we both do the same style, she’ll claim I stole it and they’ll believe her. I won’t let her make it seem like I need to copy anyone.”
“I get that.”
She scowled. “Still, that was a sexy cut and if she managed to win with a style she stole from me…”
“Well, you don’t worry about that,” Nellie said. “Pete will beat you both.”
Victoria smiled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Nellie smiled back. “The truth is that I’d love it, Victoria. I’d absolutely adore it. I don’t have Savannah’s compulsion to be nice.”
Victoria clucked. “She’s always had that failing.”
Somehow that wasn’t a topic where I had hoped Victoria and Nellie would find common ground.
As Victoria turned to walk away, the man at Sylvia’s station gave her an odd look. She didn’t even give him a glance. That told me that something was going on, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it was.
CHAPTER FOUR
As I watched the flood of people pouring into the hotel ballroom from the lobby, I decided that the attendees here made up the strangest crowd I’d ever seen. It made me think of a science fiction conference I went to once. I’d seen a huge variety of costumes, but basically they were all around a theme—alien life forms or vaguely recognizable science fiction characters. Here, the point seemed to be as different as possible and stand out from the crowd. The problem was that when everyone in the crowd is trying to stand out from the crowd, the result is a rather madcap and insane mixture of haircuts, hair colors and over the top outfits.
“Who was it that said: ‘Be yourself, everyone else is taken?” Pete asked as we came up to where he and Betina were waiting for us.
“Oscar Wilde,” Victoria said, following along. “I think it must have been at one of these conventions. He did have nice hair, you know. The best people have nice hair.”
“It probably wasn’t so nice when he was in prison,” Nellie pointed out.
“Some of these styles are stunning,” Betina said. “I wouldn’t want to wear a lot of them, but I’ll admit they get attention.”
“I’m having trouble seeing any single one,” I said. “All I can see is a bewildering blur of hair in technicolor.”
“Some people don’t understand the difference between unique and ugly,” Victoria said.
Nellie grinned. “See, by not altering our appearance for the event we are the ones who manage to stand out.”
“Like a bunch of hicks,” I said. “The rural rubes we are.”
“For my part, I consider myself delightfully retro,” Nellie said.
“Speak for yourselves,” Betina said. “When Pete finishes with my hair, they will all bow down before me.”
“Someone overdosed on her drama pills this morning,” Nellie said. “Why are these people here now anyway? The competition is tomorrow.”
“The Expo opens this evening for a couple of hours,” I explained. “And Dave’s demonstration is open to the public. Sort of an opening act.” I shook my head. “Honestly, we’ve had the program lying around the salon ever since we sent in Pete’s application. Don’t you ever read the literature? It tells you everything that’s going on”
Nellie laughed. “And spoil the spontaneity? Next you’ll be telling me you read the directions before assembling things.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said, wondering why being inclined to do things you were supposed to do, the way you were supposed to do them was embarrassing me. But then, even in high school Nellie was always able to make me feel that I was missing out on magical things by following the rules too much.
The PA system came on, with a woman calling for attention. “Our special little teaser for the competition is about to begin,” she said. “Everyone please be seated and Dave the Dwarf will give us a demonstration of how his specially designed chair works.”
“This should be interesting,” Nellie said.
Victoria screwed up her face. “He’s developed this fancy chair for himself, but now he thinks he might get a backer to create a commercial product.”
“That’s why he is doing the demo?” I asked.
“That and because he’s vain—this will get him a lot of attention and that means business for his salon. It’s showmanship.”
“So I guess they got the chair fixed after all,” Betina said. “Earlier Dave was furious because they were having trouble putting it together.”
“I thought he was going to hit someone,” Pete said. “They couldn’t do or say anything to please him.”
“Dave is famous for his vile temper,” Victoria said. “When he gets his nose out of joint, which happens easily, he spares no one.”
I resisted the temptation of pointing out that a harsh tongue wasn’t unique to Dave. “I imagine that he has had a hard life.”
Victoria sneered at the idea. “He thinks that being a little person and disadvantaged, what we call altitude challenged, that gives him the right to abuse normal folk.”
“Normal?” I asked. That wasn’t the word I would apply to anyone in this crowd, and just because Dave was a little person, he was still normal. Victoria just smiled. Looking around I was quite sure there weren’t many people at the show that could even qualify as normal. For that matter, I had to question what it meant. These city people found a fast-paced noisy world rather normal. Their normal was my intense.
“Let’s grab these front row seats,” Victoria said. The show’s about to start.
# # #
I wasn’t sure why she wanted to sit in seats at the front. With the big screens you could see every detail no matter where you sat.
“What’s the point of going to a live performance if you are watching it on a screen?” Nellie asked. “We could sit comfortably in our rooms and watch it on television.”
“It’s been a long time since you went to a concert, hasn’t it?” Betina asked.
Nellie sniffed. “Not at all. I usually get to the open mic at the Knockemback Tavern every week. You know that.”
“I meant a real concert.”
Nellie sniffed. “If you’re going to be picky then I guess it has been a long time.”
“The venues are so big now that if they didn’t show the bands on a big screen like that no one could see a thing.”
“They do it at baseball games, lectures, everyplace,” Pete said. “The audiences are too big for people to see without the screens.”
“This is not what I consider a cultural leap forward,” Nellie said.
“Get with the times, Nell,” Victoria said. “The screen lets you see detail you’d miss otherwise. Just accept it.”
“I go along with anything that seems to be changing for the good, Vicky,” Nellie said, making it clear that she didn’t miss Victoria’s dig, messing with her name again. “But this is just silly to me. Why have a live audience. It would be easier to just make a video and then give it to us to watch.”
“But then they couldn’t bill it as a spectacular live event and charge the public admission. We just get in as part of participating. Those folks paid for the show.”
Then the show started wi
th a blare of some sort of rhythmic music. A spotlight came on highlighting a model sitting in Dave’s chair, under the banner: “DAVE THE DWARF.”
“One of the world’s best known hair stylists has turned to technology to make haircutting a profession that even the disabled can participate in,” the announcer said. The spotlight shifted to the back of the room where Dave was standing in what looked like a cage on wheels.
“Dave the Dwarf will be demonstrating an innovation in hair cutting. He’s developed a salon chair and intelligent cutting station, or ICS, that can not only give him the reach of a normally sized person, but allows him to work on hair from new angles. With a few modifications this same design can accommodate those who are wheelchair bound. And it works well for all stylists, allowing them to see the head they are working on from all angles. For this demonstration Dave will be giving Marcella, his model, a quick trim. Dave assures us that tomorrow you’ll see the full capabilities of his chair when he introduces his exciting new hairstyle during the competition.”
“That is amazing,” I said as Dave rolled up to the chair standing inside the metal cage of his ICS. It seemed a little overkill to me, but people do like that stuff.
Dave stood on a platform with a web across his chest. The cage held him tilted slightly forward and above the model. Colored lights rotated over him, and music accompanied his obviously choreographed movements. “This system allows Dave to have complete control over his position in every axis.” He rotated around her, moving up and down, while holding his body still. “Using controls operated by his feet, Dave is able to position himself perfectly to make any desired cuts. He can also control the chair itself.” As the announcer spoke, the chair tilted back. “Sensors in the chair and his master cutter system harmonize their movements.”
“It’s not styling,” Victoria said. “Just flashy tech.”
“Still impressive though,” I said.
Pete nodded. “He’s put a lot of work into learning to control it. And I’ll admit there are times when I wish I could make myself slightly taller while I made a cut. You can always raise the chair to lift the client’s head, but sometimes they don’t go low enough.”
As he finished cutting one side, Dave raised his arms and the apparatus turned him in a circle. “With this side properly trimmed,” the announcer said, “Now Dave is ready to cut the other side.”
As he began moving with the ICS taking him to the far side of the chair, there was a shriek of metal grinding against metal. Dave’s machine wobbled and almost fell.
“I’ll admit it’s great theater,” Nellie said.
Another great shriek pierced the room and the ICS toppled over, crashing into another styling station. Dave spilled out of the cage and rolled across the floor right in front of them.
“Or not,” Nellie said.
Victoria burst out laughing. Seemingly unhurt, Dave jumped to his feet, glaring at Victoria and shouting curses. Hotel security staff came rushing over. “Someone sabotaged my machine!” Dave roared.
“Who thought the little guy could make that much noise,” Victoria said, laughing.
Dave jerked around and looked at her again. Obviously he had heard her comment, because the look he gave her was sheer hate. “You!” he said.
His anger made Victoria laugh even louder. “Oh you poor little man. Someone broke your toy and now you might have to actually cut hair like everyone else.”
The show was over. Hotel staff and Dave’s pale assistant began collecting the pieces of his ICS. “I need a drink,” Dave said and stormed out.
“Well apparently Dave is okay,” the announcer said. “I’m afraid that’s the end of the demonstration, however. Come back tomorrow and see if he’s figured out what went wrong with his ICS. We all hope he’ll have it ready in time for the competition.”
I was stunned. As most people got up to file out of the ballroom, I looked at the mess that had been Dave’s invention and someone’s styling station. “Why would anyone do that? He could’ve been hurt.”
“They’d do it because they hate the little bastard,” Victoria said.
“That would do it,” Nellie agreed.
“He is looking for backers for that contraption. Screwing up his demo would reduce the chances of that happening.”
I knew it was probably just the way I saw things, but I couldn’t imagine people doing any of the things that someone, or more than one person, had done to Dave, and to a lesser extent the sabotage that had gone on. It was one thing to be competitive. “This is absolutely cutthroat,” I said.
“It’s business,” Victoria said.
# # #
With the demonstration cut short by Dave’s accident, Nellie and I decided to go check out the Expo preview. “It’s way too early to go meet James,” I said. “Since we are here, we might as well see what sorts of new things are coming out.”
“Fine but I get to check out nail products some more. Some of the samples I got are pretty interesting—giving me ideas.”
“Deal.”
We drifted from booth to booth, lingering at the ones that had the more interesting products, or just more interesting displays. I was glad to follow Nellie’s lead. There wasn’t anything special either of us wanted to see. She was happy with the tools and chemicals she used and wasn’t even certain why people would make so much fuss about a new kind of hair coloring.
At a booth for nail jewelry, a woman standing next to Nellie grabbed her hand as she reached for a brochure. “What absolutely gorgeous nails,” she said. “Do you mind telling me whose work that is?”
Nellie gave her a confused smile. “What? Whose work?”
“I’ve never seen nails done so… excellently. The design is so innovative and the work is exquisite. I have to know who did them.”
“Nellie does her own nails,” I said. I was rather proud that her work was getting noticed. “That’s what she does.”
The woman pulled back slightly, sizing me up for a moment, trying to figure out why I was butting in before turning her attention back to Nellie. “Where? Where do you work?”
Nellie grinned. “At Teasen and Pleasen.”
“Teasen and Pleasen? I’ve never heard of it.”
“My salon,” I said.
“The best salon in all of Knockemstiff, Louisiana,” Nellie said.
The woman gave Nellie a guarded look. “Knockemstiff?”
“It’s a place,” Nellie said.
“I see.”
I laughed at her confusion. “Have you ever heard of the little town of Shreveport?”
The woman’s smile let us know she was aware that I was teasing her and that she was fine with it. “Yes, I do believe I was aware of it as an actual place.”
“Well, if you are driving north from here to Shreveport, you turn right and head in the direction of Vicksburg on I-70. When you get to Rayville you can stop and turn around because you’ve totally missed Knockemstiff.”
“It’s small,” Nellie said. “I live near the swamp.”
The woman frowned. “And you like it there?”
Nellie considered the question. “I suppose I do. I must. I never intended to spend my entire life there.”
The woman grinned and held out a business card. “Would you consider leaving?”
“That would depend.”
My heart pounded as I looked at the card. The woman owned a salon and was offering Nellie a job.”
“If you’d like to get out of the swamp, give me a call and we can talk about it.”
Nellie looked at the card. “Atlanta?” Nellie said.
The woman looked at me and smiled. “It’s a little town in Georgia.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” I said.
“I own the top three salons in Atlanta and I’d be happy to see you working in any one of them.” She looked at me. “I’m sure I can offer you more than you’re getting now… in Knockemdead.”
“Knockemstiff,” I said.
“If you don’t like Geor
gia, I’m thinking of opening one in Knoxville.”
I chuckle. “That’s gelatin, isn’t it?”
Nellie tugged at my sleeve. “This lady says I can get paid more… Do I actually get paid now?”
I patted her arm. “Of course you do. Every leap year, like clockwork. You remember. You bought a six pack with it.”
Nellie looked at the woman. “Oh yeah. And you think you can top that?”
The woman looked puzzled. “I’m talking good money, and promoting you.”
I smiled at her. “You’d have to pay her just to go to Atlanta, or any other city. I had to drag her here for the weekend.”
She still seemed like she thought she could close the sale. “With the right promotion, I can’t tell you how many people in Atlanta would come to have you do their nails. You and I could make big money.”
“What about Django?”
“Django?”
“My armadillo. Could I bring him to work?” Nellie asked.
“We can’t have animals…”
Nellie shook her head. “I didn’t think so. What’s Django going to do all day while I’m in Atlanta, other than eat?”
“You have an armadillo with you in the salon in… wherever?”
“He keeps the dog company,” I said. “You can’t take Django away from Finn, Nellie.”
Nellie looked at the woman. “I really do appreciate your offer.” She held up the card. “The truth is that I’m pretty well planted right where I am, but I’m going to keep this to remind myself that someone wanted to take me away from Knockemstiff.”
“I could help you move.”
“That’s lovely, but I can’t imagine my husband wanting to relocate the moonshine business.”
“Moonshine?”
“Bayou Shine. It’s the family brand.”
“Life is more complicated out in the country,” I told her. “You folks in the city have things so simple, but see Nellie can’t just break a lease and move a still that easily.”
Color Me Dead (The Teasen and Pleasen Hair Salon Mystery Series Book 4) Page 6
