Page 44 of Underground Prince

Verily, rightly so, remained silent, but it was easy to picture their exchange as soon as I left. A platitude from Verily, a shrug or a shake of the head from Noah, some form of dismissal as he simmered in his frustration. It was how it always was between us.

I was so pissed I didn’t realize I’d been trying to run my fingers through my up-do before a hank of hair fell into my eyes, obscuring my vision in red and orange. I stopped at an intersection, tucking my hair back into my now-lopsided bun, and a storefront caught my eye.

I could do it right now.

There was enough peevishness in me to want to.

The light changed, and my decision was made. With some hope, there would be an opening and I wouldn’t have time to rethink, to call Verily and discuss.

I liked you better as a brunette.

Oh yeah, Noah? I thought as the entry bell tinkled above me. I like me better as a stranger.

* * *

“Whoa,” I said as I peered into the mirror.

“You like?” my stylist, Goren, said behind me, his hands poised to do more work if I didn’t.

I touched a finger to the reflective glass, and for a moment I couldn't believe I did this. My hair was scattered with highlights in colors of dark plums, peachy sherbets, magenta pinks and pale lavender. It was mainly the ends, as I asked Goren to keep with the ombré look I had coming in. A lot of my hair was left blonde, but he caramelized the color, buttering it up and making it less brassy. My layers were choppier, ending just below my shoulders, and heated into loose curls. When I moved…my hair bounced.

“You sure?” Goren seemed hesitant at my reaction. “I’m not sure you like.”

“I really do,” I said sitting back in the chair to allow him to finish.

“Like My Little Pony,” he said. “Except without the sparkle. You like sparkle?”

“No thank you,” I said. “But this? Absolutely.”

His bald head gleamed along with the silver piercing in his eyebrow as he gave me one last sweep and fluff with his fingers. “Perfect. You are like a dream.”

I laughed under my breath, slipping out of the black poncho. I’d been here three hours, but time had loosened, almost been lost as I gave myself over to this man and his talent. I told him I wanted extreme but not fluorescent, color but not rainbow, and he provided.

“Grand. That will be three hundred,” he said.

Well, there went everything I’d earned since starting my new job. Both of them. But was it worth it? Glancing in the mirror one more time as I picked up my bag from the floor, I thought, Hell yes.

“You’re the best, Goren. I’ll make sure to recommend you.”

“Follow me on Twitter, like me on Facebook.” He air-kissed both my cheeks. “And come back. You will need touch-ups, my fairy girl.”

It was dark outside once I paid and exited. My wallet felt much lighter, but not as weightless as my head as I stepped outside and the wind kicked up Goren’s blowout.

I checked my phone, saw I had a few texts from Verily, so I sent her a quick message saying I was fine and wandering around the city.

Wandering…

Hmm. It was around eight thirty, the sun leaving this city behind. Gray clouds took its place, transforming into bleary white smears from the lights of the skyscrapers. Stars were rarely visible in New York City, a loss I felt at random moments. Like right now, when I looked up and suddenly I was desperate to see the patchwork of sparks.

Head lowered, I headed east. I picked up a lamb kathi roll from a halal truck on the way and wolfed it down as I kept up the pace, striding through the streets and dodging cyclists and cars and chutney stains, until I was there.

Hands on my hips, I debated going in, or why I came, or what I felt would be accomplished. But going home wasn’t an option. Texting Matt sure as hell wasn’t a possibility, and Verily was busy—somewhere with Noah, hanging out with the past.

A swell of determination flowed up into my cheeks, and I pushed through the bar’s door.

It was semi-crowded, the smell of warm bodies and flat beer enveloping me as soon as I entered. I made a path to the bar, but realized I didn’t have to fight my way through—most people, men, were stepping aside, allowing me to pass.

“Oh, right,” I said to one who I accidentally made eye contact with. I pointed to my head. “This.”

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