GirlsQuad ~ A Best of Friends Series: Book One

Chapter One ~ Clarissa

Clarissa

"Shampoo and set please dear," says Mrs. Taylor. She's a regular here, and my first client of the day. The elderly lady enters my salon, removes her coat, then takes a seat with her back towards the horseshoe shaped basin. She leans back, then I begin to wash her hair with vigour. She's wearing blue trousers, a matching blue cardigan and the most awful blouse I've ever seen in my life. Wild and ugly orange flowers are glaring at me, they look angry - like Triffids about to attack. I won't judge her by the clothes she wears though. Who am I to criticise, when I'm wearing a T-shirt covered in bleach stains under a blouse that's too big for me and slacks that have seen better days. My black ballerina pumps are literally falling off my feet; they are so worn and scuffed that they have holes in the soles. I gave up wearing decent clothes for work a while back, after I spilled a pot of red hair dye over my new fancy white blouse. Serves me right for not wearing a protective apron. I frown as I recall the day we tried desperately to rinse the offending dye out. There wasn't a hope in hells chance of salvaging my new garment. It was ruined beyond rescue.

I lead Mrs. Taylor with a towel wrapped around her head and she sits gingerly in my barber's chair facing the mirror, "did you hear about Mr. Cauldwell dear, isn't it sad news?" I'm dragged out of my daydream by my customers gossiping tongue.

I use my foot to pump up the chair, raising Mrs. Taylor to a more suitable level. "Yes, I heard. It's such a shame, his poor family must be devastated," I say, as she shifts slightly while sitting in my chair staring at her reflection and watching my every move. It's been a while since I've had this lovely lady in my salon, but I can see nothing has changed. She's still got loose lips. Mr. Cauldwell lived around the corner from here and he too was a regular of mine, before his heart gave out. "They say he was dead before he hit the floor," she says, callously. I don't know what it is about the elderly, they're all obsessed with death. Every single one of the blue rinse gang that comes in here, starts a conversation with, 'guess who died last week'? It's either that or, 'guess who won at bingo again last night'?

"Is that so?" I'm trying to sound interested, but I've heard all about how Mr. Cauldwell died already. The only problem with this job and living in a small community is that you hear the same stories over and over again. Sometimes it's like Chinese whispers, you get the same story, just different variations and with a hint of over exaggeration thrown in.

Mr. Cauldwell was one of the loveliest men I'd ever met, he was kind and funny. For seventy-eight years old though, I'm not surprised his heart gave out after years of smoking, being overweight and a heavy drinker. "God only takes the good ones," Mrs. Taylor ponders.

"He sure does," I only agree because it's courteous to my customers. I don't always agree with all that they say, I have my own views on most topics, but it's my job to keep them under wraps if it keeps the peace. Starting an argument on topics such as politics or religion is not a good idea, especially when there's a paying customer in my chair. It's just common sense to agree with them, more than ever, if I want a good tip for my work.

Half an hour later, I have finished Mrs. Taylor's hair, as always, her enthusiasm about my handy work is seriously lacking. "It'll do, dear," she says, dropping a fifty pence piece in the tip jar. "See you in two weeks," she waves through the glass panel of the door, I reluctantly wave back. Thank heavens I have a breather of about twenty minutes before my next client.

I look at myself in the mirror, just wondering, if by some miracle, my appearance has improved slightly, "yep, you still look like hell," I say out loud, but to myself. There's no one else around, not yet anyway. I have light brown hair, it's roughly shoulder length, falling in soft waves and shaped around my face. I always tie it up in a ponytail, even when I'm not working. I prefer it tied up that way; I don't like my hair in my eyes while I'm working. I look at my brown eyes, they sparkle, but I don't know why, there's not a lot going on my life to make them shine. I really need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I have a lot going for me; my business is doing really well. Clarissa's has been open for many years now, and in that time, I have built up a great list of regular and loyal clients. It's taken time, but I'm extremely pleased that I have managed to become successful. I've never dreamt of being rich, I just longed for a steady income, where I can feel secure and comfortable. I just got so bored with the job I was doing prior; don't get me wrong, I love to work with hair. It's just that I found it difficult earning a wage and lining someone else's pocket, when I knew that deep down, I had what it takes to work for myself. Thirteen years later, Clarissa's Hair salon was born, and I have never looked back. Not only do I own my own business, but another thing that I should be grateful for is the girls I work with. My co-workers are also my best friends. I've known some longer than others, but nonetheless, I love them all as much as they love me. I don't see my family as often as I should, and I'm not the perfect daughter, not in the slightest. I get on well with my mother and father, I just don't spend as much time with them as a good daughter should.