Haircuts & Flirtations // Jenlisa

1

The salon is smaller, more unassuming than Jennie was expecting for its supposed ultra exclusivity. There's a small reception podium at the entrance, two battered leather couches in the waiting area, four stations, a row of vintage sinks along the back wall. The decor ticks all the hipster clichés; exposed brickwork, reclaimed wood, wrought iron fixtures, naked lightbulbs dangling on long cords from the ceiling. Slinky beats play over the sound system, a little too much bass for comfort, and Jennie begins to wonder if this is really the right place. It's hard to imagine Seulgi, with her sleek power suits and an AirPod perpetually stuck in her ear, sitting in one of those old-fashioned barber's chairs. But it was on the studio exec's recommendation that Jennie made the appointment. She was told this particular stylist is heavily in-demand, booked solidly for months in advance, but all she had to do was name-drop Seulgi and the salon would magically find the time to squeeze her in.

Which is how Jennie finds herself in Whistle Salon at noon on a Tuesday.

Reception is manned by a tall guy with a face full of piercings, and an elaborate tattoo on his neck. Based on appearances alone, Jennie assumes he's going to have an attitude, but he offers a disarmingly friendly smile as she slides off her sunglasses, a spark of recognition in his eyes.

"Hi, Jennie Kim. I have an appointment with—"

"Lisa. I'll take it from here, Namjoon."

A woman stands to the side, eyes coolly appraising. Jennie hadn't even heard the approach, and she's a little thrown by it, by Lisa in general.

Because Lisa is... not at all what Jennie had imagined. Well, she's not sure what she expected. Someone more seasoned to match the reputation that precedes her. With her doe eyes and a mouth that's default setting seems to be a perfect pout, Lisa can't be a day older than twenty-five.

Remembering her manners, Jennie offers her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Lisa's grip is surprisingly firm, her long, slender fingers wrapping around Jennie's own and squeezing once.

"Let's get you settled, hm," Lisa says, leading Jennie over to the sole empty chair. "Can I offer you a refreshment? We have water, coffee, tea, craft beer, wine. Or I can send Nayeon to the juice bar down the street if you want something else...?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Around them the salon is abuzz with activity; three other stylists cutting, applying foils, blow-drying while their clients chatter and a young girl goes around with a broom sweeping the floor.

Jennie meets Lisa's eyes in the mirror.

Something about the intense focus of her gaze leaves Jennie dry-mouthed and wishing she'd accepted that drink after all.

"So—what did you have in mind?"

"A shag."

There's a pause.

Lisa raises one eyebrow. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of her mouth. "Usually, a girl has to take me out to dinner first."

It takes a second for Jennie to cotton on.

When she does, her eyes widen.

She chokes on a nervous burst of laughter. Touches a hand to her cheek, as though she could ward off the blush, but her face has already turned a deep shade of red.

"Okay, um, let me rephrase that. I need to get a '70s-style shag haircut for an upcoming role."

"I figured," Lisa says drily. Brown eyes sparkle in the reflection. "Relax. I'm just fucking with you."