thing that kept her from collapsing was the visible change she could see in herself.
She didn’t have the nerve to try for the sex kitten image, and she had no idea what “old money” entailed, so she opted for the nature girl. She could handle that, she thought. Todd, however, had other ideas.
“I think we’ll go for old money,” he said lazily when she presented herself at his house on Saturday for their shopping expedition and trip to a beauty salon in Huntsville. Hands on his hips, he looked her up and down. “Your face will look better with that kind of hair-style.”
“Old money has a hairstyle?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course. Simple, uncluttered, very good cut. Never too long, just to the top of your shoulders, I think. I have something in mind that you’ll like. Oh, by the way, we’re going to get your ears pierced today, too.”
Protectively she grabbed her earlobes. “Why? I don’t think a makeover should include bloodshed.”
“Because clip-on earrings are hideously uncomfortable, darling. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.”
She peered at his own earlobes, hoping they werehole-free so she could refuse on the basis that he didn’t know what he was talking about. No such luck; both lobes sported small indentations. He smiled and patted her hand. “Be brave,” he said cheerfully. “Beauty always comes at a price.”
Daisy didn’t think she was brave so much as totally unable to stop this train she had started in motion. She was still trying to come up with a compelling reason why she didn’t need any body parts pierced when Todd bundled her into his car and they set off for Huntsville.
Their first stop was a beauty salon. Daisy had only ever been in Wilma’s beauty shop, and there was a definite difference between a “shop” and a “salon.” For one thing, she was asked what she wanted to drink. All Wilma ever asked was if you were in a hurry. She started to ask for a cup of coffee, but Todd, with a twinkle in his eyes, said, “Wine. She needs to relax.”
The receptionist, a striking woman with short platinum hair and a pleasant smile, laughed as she fetched the wine. It was delivered into Daisy’s hand in a real wineglass, instead of the plastic disposable glass she had expected. On further reflection, though, she supposed Todd wouldn’t give his patronage to any salon so gauche as to serve wine in plastic or Styrofoam.
The receptionist consulted her book. “Amie will be right with you. She’s our top stylist, so you can just relax and put yourself in her hands. You’ll look like a million dollars when she’s finished.”
“I’ll just have a word with her before I leave,” Todd said, and disappeared through a door.
Daisy gulped her wine. Leave? Todd was leaving her here alone? The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Oh, God, she couldn’t do this.
She
had
to do this.
Three hours later, on her third glass of wine, she felt as if she had been tortured. Sharp-smelling chemicals had been swabbed on her hair, chemicals that bleached her a bright yellow-white and made her look like a punk rocker who had been frightened by a television evangelist. After that stuff was washed out, then more chemicals were applied with what looked like a paintbrush, on one strand at a time, and each strand was then wrapped to keep it from touching the other strands. She morphed from a punk rocker into something from outer space, wired to receive satellite transmissions.
While this was happening, her eyebrows were waxed—ouch—and she was kept busy receiving both a manicure and a pedicure. Her nails were now all the same length, polished a transparent rose with pale tips. Her toenails, though, sported a wicked shade of red. Daisy tried to remember if she had ever painted her toe-nails before; she didn’t think so, and even if she had, she would have chosen some pale pink shade that was barely noticeable. She would never, never have chosen look-at-me red. The effect was
She didn’t have the nerve to try for the sex kitten image, and she had no idea what “old money” entailed, so she opted for the nature girl. She could handle that, she thought. Todd, however, had other ideas.
“I think we’ll go for old money,” he said lazily when she presented herself at his house on Saturday for their shopping expedition and trip to a beauty salon in Huntsville. Hands on his hips, he looked her up and down. “Your face will look better with that kind of hair-style.”
“Old money has a hairstyle?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course. Simple, uncluttered, very good cut. Never too long, just to the top of your shoulders, I think. I have something in mind that you’ll like. Oh, by the way, we’re going to get your ears pierced today, too.”
Protectively she grabbed her earlobes. “Why? I don’t think a makeover should include bloodshed.”
“Because clip-on earrings are hideously uncomfortable, darling. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.”
She peered at his own earlobes, hoping they werehole-free so she could refuse on the basis that he didn’t know what he was talking about. No such luck; both lobes sported small indentations. He smiled and patted her hand. “Be brave,” he said cheerfully. “Beauty always comes at a price.”
Daisy didn’t think she was brave so much as totally unable to stop this train she had started in motion. She was still trying to come up with a compelling reason why she didn’t need any body parts pierced when Todd bundled her into his car and they set off for Huntsville.
Their first stop was a beauty salon. Daisy had only ever been in Wilma’s beauty shop, and there was a definite difference between a “shop” and a “salon.” For one thing, she was asked what she wanted to drink. All Wilma ever asked was if you were in a hurry. She started to ask for a cup of coffee, but Todd, with a twinkle in his eyes, said, “Wine. She needs to relax.”
The receptionist, a striking woman with short platinum hair and a pleasant smile, laughed as she fetched the wine. It was delivered into Daisy’s hand in a real wineglass, instead of the plastic disposable glass she had expected. On further reflection, though, she supposed Todd wouldn’t give his patronage to any salon so gauche as to serve wine in plastic or Styrofoam.
The receptionist consulted her book. “Amie will be right with you. She’s our top stylist, so you can just relax and put yourself in her hands. You’ll look like a million dollars when she’s finished.”
“I’ll just have a word with her before I leave,” Todd said, and disappeared through a door.
Daisy gulped her wine. Leave? Todd was leaving her here alone? The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Oh, God, she couldn’t do this.
She
had
to do this.
Three hours later, on her third glass of wine, she felt as if she had been tortured. Sharp-smelling chemicals had been swabbed on her hair, chemicals that bleached her a bright yellow-white and made her look like a punk rocker who had been frightened by a television evangelist. After that stuff was washed out, then more chemicals were applied with what looked like a paintbrush, on one strand at a time, and each strand was then wrapped to keep it from touching the other strands. She morphed from a punk rocker into something from outer space, wired to receive satellite transmissions.
While this was happening, her eyebrows were waxed—ouch—and she was kept busy receiving both a manicure and a pedicure. Her nails were now all the same length, polished a transparent rose with pale tips. Her toenails, though, sported a wicked shade of red. Daisy tried to remember if she had ever painted her toe-nails before; she didn’t think so, and even if she had, she would have chosen some pale pink shade that was barely noticeable. She would never, never have chosen look-at-me red. The effect was
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