got an enthusiastic girl in a smock who she guessed came from Russia.
“First wash, then intense treatment,” she said, shoving Lucy back and hosing off the dye. “I give you head massage, no?”
Lucy felt completely powerless as Olga or whoever she was kneaded and pummeled and pounded her head. Then she was rinsed with scalding water, followed by cold, and slathered with some sort of organic substance that smelled like cow manure.
“What is this stuff?” she asked.
“Good for you; good for hair. I be back in ten minutes.”
Soothing music was playing, and Lucy decided she might as well relax. These people were experts, they knew what they were doing. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Next thing she knew she was hit with a blast of freezing water. Reflexively, she jerked to a sitting position and was firmly shoved backward. “Must rinse.”
“C-c-cold,” sputtered Lucy.
“Good for hair,” grunted Olga, apparently ripping Lucy’s hair out by the roots. At least that’s what it felt like. Only a decade or two later Lucy heard the water stop, a towel was wrapped around her head and screwed tight, and she was propelled upright. “Follow me.”
Aware that resistance was futile, Lucy followed the Slavic tyrant down a pink hallway back to her private treatment room. Amazing, she thought, as she seated herself in the chair and studied her reflection in the mirror: there was no trace of the pain she had suffered.
When Lucy’s stylist returned and unwrapped the towel, she clucked her tongue appreciatively. “Very good.” She proceeded to comb and clip Lucy’s hair, working with astonishing speed. Then she was gone and a tall, storklike man wielding a blow dryer appeared. He was completely bald and sported at least twenty silver bangles on each wrist.
“I’m Rudy,” he said, whirling her around in the chair so her back was to the mirror.
“Nice to meet you, Rudy,” said Lucy, crossing her fingers under the smock. She heard the bracelets jingling as he worked and tried to keep a good thought. It was reassuring to discover Olga hadn’t yanked out all her hair; she could feel him brushing and tugging at something. Suddenly the blow dryer’s roar was silenced, she was whirled around, and Rudy said, “Voila!”
Lucy was silent, studying her reflection. Her hair was now a subtle auburn, so silky it gleamed. It shimmered and glowed. It looked fantastic. She’d never looked better, and she couldn’t understand how a haircut could cause such a dramatic change.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“Trade secret,” he said, and was gone.
When Lucy was escorted back to the waiting area, she discovered all the contest winners were there, congratulating each other on their new hairdos. Everyone except Elizabeth.
Puzzled, and a bit anxious, she turned to her escort. “Where’s my daughter?”
“Elizabeth?”
“That’s her.”
“Don’t worry. Just a small delay. She asked if we could stop for a few minutes and let her take a little nap.” The girl giggled. “She said she was up late last night, at a ball.”
“Can I see her?”
“No. Rudy is finishing her. He doesn’t like to be watched when he works.”
Lucy seated herself and picked up a magazine.
“Is something wrong?” asked Cathy. “Don’t you like your hair? I think it looks fabulous.”
“Thanks. Yours, too,” said Lucy. “I’m just a little worried about Elizabeth. They say she asked them to let her nap because she was so tired.”
Just then Elizabeth appeared and everyone started clapping. The ragged, spiky look had been tamed and her color brightened with buttery blond highlights; she looked radiant, blushing with embarrassment at the group’s reaction.
“I hate it,” she declared, joking, and everyone laughed.
Fiona was speechless when they arrived at the magazine’s beauty department to be made up for the photo.
“Blond! I never would’ve….”
“Me, either,” agreed Elizabeth.
“It
“First wash, then intense treatment,” she said, shoving Lucy back and hosing off the dye. “I give you head massage, no?”
Lucy felt completely powerless as Olga or whoever she was kneaded and pummeled and pounded her head. Then she was rinsed with scalding water, followed by cold, and slathered with some sort of organic substance that smelled like cow manure.
“What is this stuff?” she asked.
“Good for you; good for hair. I be back in ten minutes.”
Soothing music was playing, and Lucy decided she might as well relax. These people were experts, they knew what they were doing. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Next thing she knew she was hit with a blast of freezing water. Reflexively, she jerked to a sitting position and was firmly shoved backward. “Must rinse.”
“C-c-cold,” sputtered Lucy.
“Good for hair,” grunted Olga, apparently ripping Lucy’s hair out by the roots. At least that’s what it felt like. Only a decade or two later Lucy heard the water stop, a towel was wrapped around her head and screwed tight, and she was propelled upright. “Follow me.”
Aware that resistance was futile, Lucy followed the Slavic tyrant down a pink hallway back to her private treatment room. Amazing, she thought, as she seated herself in the chair and studied her reflection in the mirror: there was no trace of the pain she had suffered.
When Lucy’s stylist returned and unwrapped the towel, she clucked her tongue appreciatively. “Very good.” She proceeded to comb and clip Lucy’s hair, working with astonishing speed. Then she was gone and a tall, storklike man wielding a blow dryer appeared. He was completely bald and sported at least twenty silver bangles on each wrist.
“I’m Rudy,” he said, whirling her around in the chair so her back was to the mirror.
“Nice to meet you, Rudy,” said Lucy, crossing her fingers under the smock. She heard the bracelets jingling as he worked and tried to keep a good thought. It was reassuring to discover Olga hadn’t yanked out all her hair; she could feel him brushing and tugging at something. Suddenly the blow dryer’s roar was silenced, she was whirled around, and Rudy said, “Voila!”
Lucy was silent, studying her reflection. Her hair was now a subtle auburn, so silky it gleamed. It shimmered and glowed. It looked fantastic. She’d never looked better, and she couldn’t understand how a haircut could cause such a dramatic change.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“Trade secret,” he said, and was gone.
When Lucy was escorted back to the waiting area, she discovered all the contest winners were there, congratulating each other on their new hairdos. Everyone except Elizabeth.
Puzzled, and a bit anxious, she turned to her escort. “Where’s my daughter?”
“Elizabeth?”
“That’s her.”
“Don’t worry. Just a small delay. She asked if we could stop for a few minutes and let her take a little nap.” The girl giggled. “She said she was up late last night, at a ball.”
“Can I see her?”
“No. Rudy is finishing her. He doesn’t like to be watched when he works.”
Lucy seated herself and picked up a magazine.
“Is something wrong?” asked Cathy. “Don’t you like your hair? I think it looks fabulous.”
“Thanks. Yours, too,” said Lucy. “I’m just a little worried about Elizabeth. They say she asked them to let her nap because she was so tired.”
Just then Elizabeth appeared and everyone started clapping. The ragged, spiky look had been tamed and her color brightened with buttery blond highlights; she looked radiant, blushing with embarrassment at the group’s reaction.
“I hate it,” she declared, joking, and everyone laughed.
Fiona was speechless when they arrived at the magazine’s beauty department to be made up for the photo.
“Blond! I never would’ve….”
“Me, either,” agreed Elizabeth.
“It
Similar Books
