“My name is Calla,” the stylist introduces herself, draping a cape around Camilla’s shoulders. “I don’t believe I’ve had the privilege of your company in my chair before, but please tell me I get to play with your hair today.”
Calla tousles Camilla’s hair, but Camilla follows the directions I gave her on the drive over and doesn’t waver. She’s not rude, but indifferent.
“Brighten the color around her face with a natural blonde—nothing too light. Take three inches off the length, long layers around the sides and back, and face-framing in the front,” I direct. “Can you please show her how to use the round brush, and add any products you recommend for upkeep to my tab.”
My hairdresser Flora knows what to expect from me and responds appropriately, skipping the small talk and offering a simple hello before leading me toward the shampoo bowls. She lathers vanilla and clover scented shampoo through my hair and my eyes fall closed, revealing an image of Talent behind my eyelids.
As it turns out, I miss him when I relax, too.
My heart feels heavier back at the chair, and I wonder how long this can go on. What is it about Talent that’s left such an impact on my life when I hardly know him, and why can’t I shake the feeling that I messed up by letting him go? Surely he couldn’t want more than sex from me. When did I become so desperate that sex without a contract became acceptable?
“Are you doing okay today, Cara?” Flora asks. She combs the tangles from my hair.
Pressing my lips together, I nod and smile at her reflection in the mirror in front of us. “Just tired.”
We don’t share another word as she trims exactly one half-inch from my ends like she has during every appointment we’ve shared since the first, when she hacked my hair off to my shoulders—not only ridding me of broken and split hair, but helping to alleviate the weight of the last few years I’d spent on the streets.
I hope Calla is doing the same for Camilla.
Calla, unlike Flora, forces small talk on Camilla, eventually softening her up. I eavesdrop on their conversation to keep from obsessing over Talent, but I still wonder if I should just call him. I may have snapped the burner phone with his personal number programmed in half, but I memorized it after reading his nightly text messages over and over. And I can always call his office at Ridge & Sons.
Camilla suddenly laughs out loud, and I look over to see her with a head full of foils and a glass of champagne in her hand. She covers her mouth to hide her laugh but drops it to speak animatedly with Calla. I’m envious of the ease in which she talks to other people. The contrast between her true personality and the person treating her stylist like she’s the only other person on the planet is impressive. Unlike myself, who’s totally embodied Cara and lost Lydia somewhere along the way. If Camilla’s going to bend the rules, I hope she never loses the ability to keep the two sides of herself separate.
“Is she your sister?” Flora asks. “You look alike.”
“No,” I answer and don’t elaborate further.
My haircut finishes well before Camilla’s makeover. I wait in the reception area and flip through a magazine I don’t read. The only thing on my mind is Talent Ridge, and the longer this goes on, the more frustrated I become with myself. If I did build the courage to call him, what would I say?
Hey, Talent. Are you up for a relationship with a slut—literally?
If he agreed and we attempt to function as a normal couple, the implications if someone recognizes me and opens their mouth would be disastrous for us both. Or if we continue to casually fuck, when does that end? When he meets someone he loves? Someone he can live normally with? Lydia two months ago was cold enough to accept an arrangement like that, but I don’t think I have the heart now.
What about me? Is Talent willing to entertain the idea of sharing his woman with six different men a week?
How much longer do I have this life in me? I feel it slipping.
“What do you think?” Camilla beams before me, doing a circle to give me a look at her hair from all sides. She runs her fingers through her ends and says, “I don’t think my hair has ever been this soft before. I can’t believe it’s mine.”
The blonde highlights around her face deepened the warmth of her God-given hair color, and the tonal contrast is natural passing and stunning. She looks older, stands taller, and she’s well on her way to bring this city to its knees.
“Looks good,” I say, offering a small smile.
“Good?” She clicks her tongue, tousling her hair at the root. “Cara, I look more like you and less like me. Who knew a little color could change so much? Check out all this volume I have now.”
Yael drives us from the hair salon to Hush for the next part of Camilla’s transformation. Inez isn’t in the office today, but her best esthetician is aware of our visit and is ready for us when we arrive. She leads us to a private room and hands Camilla a plush robe and a pair of slippers.
“Please undress completely and cover yourself in this,” the esthetician requests in a calm manner. The room smells like eucalyptus and is lit in a warm orange glow. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Camilla waits for the esthetician to excuse herself before she asks, “What’s going on?”
“Waxing,” I say. I take a seat in the corner.
She toes her shoes off one at a time. “What? Like, my eyebrows?”
I nod.
Pulling her shirt over her head, she mumbles, “I’ve never had my eyebrows waxed before. I wasn’t aware it’s something I need to be naked for. Must be a rich people thing.”
I fight to keep the grin from my face, choosing to remain indifferent for as long as possible not to tip off the poor girl. She’s never had her brows waxed, and now she’s minutes away from sitting through her first Brazilian.
To be fair, her brows will be waxed after her puss—
“Knock, knock.” The esthetician cracks the door open to peek inside. Once she spots Camilla swathed in the robe, she enters entirely. “We met when you were our receptionist, but in case you forgot, I’m Jessica, the senior esthetician here at Hush. Inez has instructed me to take great care of you. As I’m sure Cara will attest to, I’m very gentle and will make this experience as pleasant as possible. Have you had a Brazilian wax before today?”
Camilla looks past Jessica to me. Hesitantly, she says, “I don’t know what that is. I didn’t work here long enough to get the gist of everything.”
“That’s totally okay and not uncommon,” Jessica says. “A Brazilian wax is the removal of hair between your upper thighs, all sides of your bikini area, and your backside. We can also remove the hair in front of your pubic bone, leaving you completely bare.”
Crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs together, I relive the memory of my first intimate waxing session. Inez didn’t warn me about the pain either. Had she, I probably would’ve run from the room and taken my chances on the streets. All these years later, it’s not a pain I’m accustomed to and I don’t ever look forward to my own wax appointments.
“Bare?” Camilla asks. She swallows hard, closing the robe tightly around her body. “I thought I was here for an eyebrow wax.”
“Oh, we’ll get there, too. I find it easier to do the Brazilian first since it’s such a large space.” Jessica pats the padded table for Camilla to sit. “I use hard wax, which tends to hurt less than strip wax. After cleansing, we’ll start from the outside areas before moving toward the more sensitive parts. Now, all I need you to do is lie back and part your legs.”