The secret of the rose

Part 2 Chapter 9

When I was on the way to the bank a few minutes ago, I noticed among the shops in the city a beauty salon nearby. Now that my pockets are filled with money, I venture into the streets of Wilmington in search of the beauty salon. Pulling my suitcase, which has difficulty rolling in line behind me, I take the first street to the right of the bank on North 2nd Street to go on Princess Street where the beauty salon is. I remember walking those streets with my mother before she died. It is a pleasure for me to travel the distance on foot recalling those memories.

Arrived at the door of the Groove Jet Salon, I enter without realizing it. A bell above the door informs that a visitor has just entered the shop. Chairs and large mirrors lined up on either side of the room. The salon is empty of customers. Stylists and assistants are present and busy cleaning accessories and chatting with each other. A young woman with pink dyed hair and bright makeup comes to meet me. Her exaggerated enthusiasm explodes with her gestures and words.

- Hello, my young lady, how can we help you today?

I do not know what to say. I have a sudden desire to laugh at the sight of this woman too colorful for my taste. She is beautiful despite her exuberance. I find myself responding without thinking.

- I want a new look.

- I see, the designer responds by displaying a smile that deforms her face. Perfect we will take care of you. My name is Missy, please take a seat in this chair. We'll make you a beauty my young lady, she said to me in a condescending tone. 

I guess that is her answer to the work that needs to be done. I sit down with a little hesitation on a chair leaning against a sink and leave myself to the care of Missy and her assistants. Once installed in an uncomfortable posture, one of the assistants speaks in a strident voice to others while washing my hair. She uses a mild shampoo with a smell of fruit followed by a conditioner. The sound of the water flowing over my head prevents me from hearing her complaints. The massage she makes with her fingers to penetrate the products allow me to relax. It is powerful. Despite her hateful voice, she has magical fingers.

Once my head is wrapped in a towel, I am guided to another chair. The exuberant Missy presses several times with her foot on a pedal to get me up at her level. She takes off the towel with a precise gesture and begins to unravel my long hair with a big black brush. She remains silent and takes her time combing my wild hair. Once everything is smooth, I notice that she takes her scissors out of her apron and starts her mission. With dexterity, she makes me a degraded cut that leaves my long hair in value. They fall perfectly around my face.

A colorist comes to take over and then makes me strands of a natural blonde that accentuates my chestnut color. While she carefully takes each strand of my hair to carefully apply my color, Missy comes to check every two minutes that the work is well done. This roundabout worries me because I do not know anything about the process and that Missy makes a forced smile every time our eyes meet in the mirror. They talk together in a low voice so that I cannot hear what they are saying. My concern is rising. But when she starts to remove the papers on my locks, I realize that the result is superb. The blonde blends perfectly with my natural color and enhances my shine.

Finally, Missy comes back to me and carefully comb my hair leaving frizz in places. While taking care of my styling, another assistant as colorful as the first one manicure my nails and covers them with a pale pink varnish. While I am covered with a thick layer of hairspray, Missy and the assistant begin to gossip about their evening the night before. Even if I am not included in the conversation, I learn everything about their crazy night. I envy their dynamism a little and start to fantasize that I am included in their story. I would find it great to have friends and have fun like they did. I am jealous of their carelessness.