Paul's hand extends into the cab, waiting to help me out onto the slick sidewalk.
"Now is not the time to worry, Chasity. Let's go. Your appointment started ten minutes ago. We can't afford to miss it."
Much like the dark sky, my eyes are ready to start pouring at any second. I haven't even been in New York City for ten minutes, and already the experience is straight out of a horror movie.
Begrudgingly, I let Paul pull me out of the bright yellow taxi. The sidewalk is crowded with people, even with the bad weather. Paul doesn't let go of my hand as we fall in line with the crowds. He's probably afraid I'll run away before we can reach the Upper East side salon he said he's taking me to.
Without a word, he veers us to the right side of the sidewalk, stopping just before a set of double doors, which he holds open for me. I mumble a thank you as my palms start to sweat. The second I step inside, I'm expecting to hear all the typical sounds. Blowdryers, talking, hairspray cans. But, it's silent once the door closes behind Paul. The sounds of the New York City streets are muffled already, almost too far away.
"What kind of salon is this?" I look up at him as he continues strutting past me in that way he usually does. Somehow, he looks even more posh here in New York than in Los Angeles.
"The kind you've never been to before," He muses, smirking. "Get used to it."
The short hallway we walk down opens up to the front desk, and a waiting area. I stand against the wall as Paul goes up to one of the ladies behind the glossy desk. All of them stare at me as Paul exchanges words too low for me to hear. When I look away to escape their eyes, I realize that the floor is a crisp marble. My dirty converse look out of place standing on it. No wonder they're staring.
As Paul turns back to me and gestures to follow him, I almost don't move. I contemplate running. Running out this fancy salon, clutching at my hair for dear life, just like he thought I would out on the street. But instead, I just trudge after him without a word.
He didn't say we were here to cut my hair. But it doesn't matter. Even the mere chance of it happening is too much for me. I won't cut it.
The further we go into the salon, the louder and the more expensive it gets. All the hairdressers and the people in their chairs look like they belong on the cover of magazines. The fancy lights and big mirrors everywhere only help them out, highlighting and reflecting their beautiful faces and features and clothes everywhere. As I catch a glimpse of Paul and I in one of those big mirrors as we hurry past, I can't help but think he fits in, and I look even more out of place the longer I'm here.
When we pause in front of an open station and the gorgeous woman standing beside the empty salon chair looks right at me, I realize I've finally met my demise.
"Chasity Novelo." The woman says my name in her accented voice like it means more to her than I understand. "Paul has told me so much about you. I'm Shannon."
The more she speaks, it finally registers that she must be from somewhere in France.
"Hi Shannon, it's nice to meet you." I have to force the words out of myself. Run. Run, now. She's the one who's going to cut it all off. Run!
"The pleasure is all mine," Shannon clasps my hand for a moment before looking to Paul. "You're late. If you weren't one of my best friends, I'd have turned you away already," She chuckles while moving in for a hug.
Paul laughs, too. "Yes, well, I can't make planes at JFK touch down myself. Chasity's flight was running behind, and I had to go fetch her from baggage claim. You know I don't leave my girls to fend for themselves."
