Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories

4

March was trying to get it together.

Sandy could be so impossible sometime. She knew that the older woman was just trying to help, but it drove her crazy – the constant watchful eye, the subtle hints that let March know Sandy knew more about March's business than even March herself.

What was it going to take to get the old lady off her back? How could she tell the busy body that her life was not open for discussion at the Blow Let's Glow Color, Styling, Nails, and Hair Removal Salon.

Where had Sandy come up with such a mouthful?

It sounded like a street hooker's dream, but then again, maybe the glow part was for the johns.

March folded her towels and placed them neatly into the cabinet beside her station. She greeted her next customer.

Sandy didn't know it, but March had made up her mind. Today was the day. No more being bullied by the veiled concerns of a motherly employer. She'd give Sandy a piece of her mind, tell her that her private life was just that – private.

She was tired of all those cow-eyed stares from those rheumy-eyed biddies that looked back at her in the mirror. March could cut, style, and color with the best, but she surely did not have to be the topic of the shop gossip and rumor mill.

That was all Sandy's doing.

From day one, she'd questioned March like a suspected terrorist would be by Homeland Security, but mark it down, old gal, all that was about to change.

She stood there, bouncing the handle of her scissors in her empty palm, pursed her lips, and let a disgusted grunt pass from her lips.

Of course, nothing would change.

Never in a million years.

March knew she didn't have the guts for a confrontational come-to-Jesus meeting with Santa Claus.

Who was she kidding?