Blinded by Color

Chapter 2 Nivea

I walked into my salon and began looking at my appointment book to see who was on my list of victims. I knew I had to be busy since I always was, but I loved to know if I was doing someone I could not stand or someone I loved. You know how it's like; some clients are just the most wonderful people, and you love to see them, and then others you wish would find a new stylist and never come back. As I am scrolling through my computer database to see my book, I notice an unfamiliar name – Miranda Levitt. I look at the name, and I swear it looks familiar, but at this point, I know all my clients, and this one does not ring a bell. I decide to search in my client database to see if I ever did her hair before. I click "enter," and it shows zero results. I check to see how she booked, and it appears she found me online and used my website to book her appointment. I am surprised because when you book online, you input all your information, and it clearly states she lives in Myrtle Beach, SC. Why would she be booking for color and a cut if she lives somewhere else? Surely, she has a stylist. I mean, most people go on vacation and get a blowout or style but never color and a cut.

I start to prep for my first client, Mrs. Eugene Robins. She is elderly and has lived here in Lutz her whole life. She makes me smile and always tells me lovely stories from her upbringing and what changes have occurred over the years. You know those old ladies you just love, the ones with white hair who come to you for a roller set and talk like the world is full of evil because life was bliss in their day. The ones who just hug you and call you sweetie and tell you how good you look. Yup, that's my Mrs. Robins! The grandmother I never had but always wanted. She must be all of eighty now or more, but she still drives herself to the appointments and talks her crap when she wants.

My salon is small; it only holds four stylist chairs, hard wood floors, a small color section for me to mix up formulas, and a washer and dryer room. I have a small storage closet, and of course, hood dryers and shampoo bowls in a line, two each. My color palette for my salon is neutral. I wanted to make sure I did not overdo it like my personality. I chose to go with off whites and tan but added a mint green to brighten it up. My stylist chairs sit across from one another; they are mint-colored leather. My mirrors are surrounded by white rocks and gemstones that sparkle. My hard wood floors compliment my off-white walls; they are ivory like the tusk of an elephant. My bathroom looks like a tan boring khaki-colored room, but it gives the feeling of bougie. My shampoo bowls are white, and I have the walls behind them in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. My salon has huge windows up front when you walk in, and this sunlight adds just the right touch. People love it here. I have designs on my walls in different mint green colors and a touch of gray. It is silhouettes of women and models of big hair. Lots of style, but all me. I am not the type to keep quiet about anything, so I needed a boisterous color to bring about my flare in my shop. This is why, when I found out that Josh had a new girlfriend, I couldn't help but tell Kay. She is my best friend. I had to make sure she knew the asshole she dated, who she claimed to be the most amazing man in the world, was a douche. I never liked the guy. I tried to get her to see that he was rude and arrogant, but she was blinded by love. In this town, you are raised to date the handsome, successful white man. The white-collar man who brings home the bacon. I rebel and take pride in being an independent woman. I like color in my life. This never did fly with Lutz, where everyone is politically challenged. They only see one side, and here, you only bleed red, white, and blue if you are white. However, I built a successful business here. I can't leave. I am from here, and besides, my best friend Kayla, well, she will never leave Lutz. This is her safe haven, and, in my opinion, she will never let go of Josh. My train of thought was interrupted by Mrs. Robins pushing my salon door open and the bell dinging to let me know someone has entered my shop.

"Good morning, Miss Nivea. It's just me, Mrs. Robins. You are in here somewhere, I'm sure. I'll just be using the ladies' room, you know, old lady problems, honey bun, one day it will be you."

I hear her words smooth as butter on biscuits. God, I love this woman. She just makes me so happy to be alive.

"Good morning, Mrs. Robins," I yell back from my color area. "I will be right up to do your hair."