Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter two

Thirsty Thursday isn't what it used to be. By the end of the day, it had evolved to a running joke

about how much coffee and water and "oh, thank God, is that a Red Bull?!" you could find to keep

you running. You had gotten into bed just after two in the morning, the evening's flip cup

frivolities still making your heart race and goofy smile shine when you thought of them made it a

little hard to fall asleep. The blasphemous screech of your alarm clock at 5 a.m. was like a kick in

the face and it took a pair of resentful smacks of the snooze bar to get you going. Rushing through

a quick shower and a couple indiscriminate pulls from the clean laundry basket on the floor and

you were on the curb with your roommate from Wardrobe, waiting for your ride by 5:35. Breakfast

could be scrounged at work.

Huddled along the craft services tables with your coworkers and jockeying for position to get at the

quickly disappearing pastries, you scored a warm muffin to go with your scrambled eggs and fruit

and filled your travel mug with what you were sure would be the first of many cups of coffee for

the day. Breakfast and a quick meeting about the schedule for the day out of the way, you headed

off for your station in the Hair trailer. Your counterpart for the chair next to yours was already

there.

Karen was cool. She had several years on you, an Aerosmith tattoo on her shoulder, and somehow

always smelled like lilies and cherry blossoms despite smoking like a chimney. She was good

company on those busy days when multiple stars made runs on your trailer. On days where the full

or majority of cast was shooting, you primarily took care of Chris and Sebastian but also worked on

Emily Van Camp and Frank Gillo. Karen was in charge of Scarlett Johansson, Elizabeth Olsen,

Anthony Mackie, and Marisa Tomei as they came through. You two helped with extras as well. If

it weren't for Karen's wonderfully innapropriate, and randomly profane, sense of humor and

endless supply of Red Vines, you'd probably have taken hostages a long time ago. Thank god for

Karen, because today was gonna be one of those days.

"I saw Grillo here already," she told you, as you stashed your bag under the counter of your work

station. "Good lord, I would climb that man like a tree."

"Oh, my god, Karen," you chuckled, pulling your combs, clips, and other tools of the trade out of

the drawers as you set up for the day.

"Listen, [y/n]," she began with a tone suggesting motherly wisdom was coming, "when you get to

be my age, there's no time for pussyfooting around. You say and do what you want cuz, before you

know it, your boobs are hitting your knees and the pizza guy expects you to pay cash for the

delivery."

"Karen, honey, you're only 38," you reminded her.

"My point exactly," she agreed, gesturing a hand at you for emphasis.