index finger, and then held each section out to examine it. “Dry, split ends, washed-out color.”
Nikki felt like she’d just flunked Beauty 101. “Sorry.”
“We need layers and more blond.” Miko dropped the hair as if it were a pair of dirty underwear. She leveled her hand just below Nikki’s shoulder in a kind of stylist ninja chop. “I think six inches once I get this combed out.”
Nikki glanced at José, who was tapping his cheek with a blue-polished fingernail and nodding his head. Pushing all her doubts aside, Nikki said, “Okay, let’s do it.”
If not for José’s constant stream of chatter, there would have been no speaking at all. Miko’s task of creating photo-worthy hair seemed to require the focus of a yogi attaining nirvana. She set forth attempting to smooth the frizz, which was both painful and slightly humiliating. Nikki bit down on her lip, resisting the urge to curse each time Miko yanked at a particularly stubborn knot. Once finished, the hairdresser exchanged her comb for scissors.
Six inches had been a conservative estimate. Closer to eight inches dropped to the floor with each precise cut Miko made. To Nikki, the damaged chunks of hair sliding down the plastic cape she wore were symbolic of getting rid of her tired routine. This was a bold move she was making, and a way to step out of the rut she’d been stuck in for the last few years. Out with old.
Tor had awoken her last night to what she’d been missing, and if he wasn’t man enough to own what they’d shared, she’d show him what he’d be missing.
Every so often Miko would drag lengths of hair through her fingers, checking for unevenness. The cut took no more than thirty minutes, and when she was finished, Miko jammed the scissors into her tool belt like a gunslinger and ran her hands through Nikki’s hair.
Seemingly satisfied with the cut, Miko preceded to mix two bowls of different colored gel. Her strokes were lightning fast, as if she’d blended color a thousand times. She sectioned small pieces of Nikki’s hair, slathered the segments with gel, and layered them between sheets of foil. After completely covering her hair, Miko rolled a hair dryer over to where Nikki sat and adjusted the height before turning the machine on. Warm air buffeted Nikki’s head, and the low roar of the dryer drowned out José’s monologue about celebrity face-lifts.
The heat relaxed her while she waited for the color to take hold. Nikki’s head felt several pounds lighter from her new haircut, and she was excited to see the finished product.
After twenty minutes, Miko clicked off the dryer. “Come.”
She led Nikki to a black sink and turned on the sprayer, signaling her to sit. The chair slanted backward and the sink caught Nikki at the neck so she could rest her head. Miko plucked the pieces of foil from Nikki’s head, occasionally yanking out a strand or two. Nikki refrained from flinching, and was rewarded when the stylist turned on the warm water. While one hand held the sprayer, the other massaged Nikki’s scalp. It was two minutes of bliss that caused her eyes to drift shut and her body to fully relax under Miko’s talented fingers. Before Nikki could fall asleep, the water snapped off, bringing her back from her peaceful doze.
“Come.”
Not waiting for her to follow, the stylist strode back to her station and spun the chair in invitation. Nikki struggled upright and shook her head, trying to bring feeling back to her scalp and adjust to the new weight of her hair. The woman’s silent stare propelled her off the shampoo chair and back into the stylist’s chair. Another five minutes of blow-drying, and Nikki was left with a hairstyle so stunning, she never would have believed the hair was hers.
The overall blond brightened her complexion. On a more subtle level, the two shades played off each other, the lighter glistening when she moved her head, the darker giving her style depth. Wisps of hair around her face
Nikki felt like she’d just flunked Beauty 101. “Sorry.”
“We need layers and more blond.” Miko dropped the hair as if it were a pair of dirty underwear. She leveled her hand just below Nikki’s shoulder in a kind of stylist ninja chop. “I think six inches once I get this combed out.”
Nikki glanced at José, who was tapping his cheek with a blue-polished fingernail and nodding his head. Pushing all her doubts aside, Nikki said, “Okay, let’s do it.”
If not for José’s constant stream of chatter, there would have been no speaking at all. Miko’s task of creating photo-worthy hair seemed to require the focus of a yogi attaining nirvana. She set forth attempting to smooth the frizz, which was both painful and slightly humiliating. Nikki bit down on her lip, resisting the urge to curse each time Miko yanked at a particularly stubborn knot. Once finished, the hairdresser exchanged her comb for scissors.
Six inches had been a conservative estimate. Closer to eight inches dropped to the floor with each precise cut Miko made. To Nikki, the damaged chunks of hair sliding down the plastic cape she wore were symbolic of getting rid of her tired routine. This was a bold move she was making, and a way to step out of the rut she’d been stuck in for the last few years. Out with old.
Tor had awoken her last night to what she’d been missing, and if he wasn’t man enough to own what they’d shared, she’d show him what he’d be missing.
Every so often Miko would drag lengths of hair through her fingers, checking for unevenness. The cut took no more than thirty minutes, and when she was finished, Miko jammed the scissors into her tool belt like a gunslinger and ran her hands through Nikki’s hair.
Seemingly satisfied with the cut, Miko preceded to mix two bowls of different colored gel. Her strokes were lightning fast, as if she’d blended color a thousand times. She sectioned small pieces of Nikki’s hair, slathered the segments with gel, and layered them between sheets of foil. After completely covering her hair, Miko rolled a hair dryer over to where Nikki sat and adjusted the height before turning the machine on. Warm air buffeted Nikki’s head, and the low roar of the dryer drowned out José’s monologue about celebrity face-lifts.
The heat relaxed her while she waited for the color to take hold. Nikki’s head felt several pounds lighter from her new haircut, and she was excited to see the finished product.
After twenty minutes, Miko clicked off the dryer. “Come.”
She led Nikki to a black sink and turned on the sprayer, signaling her to sit. The chair slanted backward and the sink caught Nikki at the neck so she could rest her head. Miko plucked the pieces of foil from Nikki’s head, occasionally yanking out a strand or two. Nikki refrained from flinching, and was rewarded when the stylist turned on the warm water. While one hand held the sprayer, the other massaged Nikki’s scalp. It was two minutes of bliss that caused her eyes to drift shut and her body to fully relax under Miko’s talented fingers. Before Nikki could fall asleep, the water snapped off, bringing her back from her peaceful doze.
“Come.”
Not waiting for her to follow, the stylist strode back to her station and spun the chair in invitation. Nikki struggled upright and shook her head, trying to bring feeling back to her scalp and adjust to the new weight of her hair. The woman’s silent stare propelled her off the shampoo chair and back into the stylist’s chair. Another five minutes of blow-drying, and Nikki was left with a hairstyle so stunning, she never would have believed the hair was hers.
The overall blond brightened her complexion. On a more subtle level, the two shades played off each other, the lighter glistening when she moved her head, the darker giving her style depth. Wisps of hair around her face
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