Page 23 of Perfect Pitch

Corinna pipes in, somewhat oddly. “Hair’s hair. It grows back—if you want it to. Have fun with it.”

Holly claims, “I want to do your headshots.”

Phil, not surprisingly asks, “What colors were you thinking?”

Then there’s a bunch of oohs and ahhs. When I describe what I saw in Vogue France’s spread, Emily gives her unwavering support. “Yes. I can totally see it. Make certain they do a balayage.”

I know the word means “to sweep” in French, but still, “What does that have to do with my hair?”

“It makes the color more organic, even though you’re using colors that are definitely not. Otherwise, it looks like Monet threw up,” Phil declares bluntly. There’s a pause before he says, “Damn it. I’m not certain I have a clean shirt!”

Alison takes me off speaker. “Does that answer your question, Austyn?”

“More than.”

“Do you need the name of a salon we would trust our clients to go to?”

“My roommate suggested Page 96 here in the city.” I cross my fingers that Alison doesn’t spit on it.

“Excellent choice. Since we send a large number of our patrons there, I’ll be happy to make a quick call and see when they can fit you in. I assume you want to do this as soon as possible?”

“I’m grateful, Alison.”

Her voice softens. “You’ve bailed us out of more than a few sticky situations, Austyn. It’s our pleasure to help you simply by alleviating your worry and making a phone call.”

“Thank you. Have a good meeting.”

She scoffs. “Uh-huh. I imagine your day is going to be infinitely better. Talk soon.” Then she disconnects.

I stand up and jab my arms back and forth like a boxer. “I’m totally doing it.”

Trevor’s mouth gapes open. “They don’t care?”

“Nope. In fact, they’re... Hold on. Let me answer this. Hello?”

“Hello. This is Page 96 Salon looking for a Ms. Austyn Kensington. Are you she?”

Holy crap. Alison wasn’t kidding when she said they had connections. Calming myself, I say, “Yes, this is she.”

“Wonderful. We have an appointment today at three o’clock available with our master stylist, Marcel, to color your hair. Ms. Freeman explained you’re looking for a non-traditional color balayage over dark hair. Is that correct?”

“It is,” I confirm, excitement bubbling inside.

“If you have any pictures, photographs, inspiration boards you would like for him to work from, please bring those with you. However,” her voice drops confidentially, “Marcel is a true artist. He’ll grasp very quickly what kind of vision you’re going for.”

“I look forward to it.”

“As do we.” She rattles off the street address and a reminder to dress in older clothes before disconnecting.

Immediately, I jump onto the couch and bounce up and down like it’s a trampoline. “I’m finally breaking away from the Kensington Borg!”

I debate telling my mother about my hair, but I know her love for me. She won’t care. And that’s when Corinna’s comment hits me. I repeat part of it to Trevor. “Hair’s hair. It grows back.”

He rakes his eyes over the length of my hair. “True. What time do you have to be down there?”

“Three.”

“I’ll drive you down and then pick up cheesecake at Juniors to celebrate with tonight. New hair, new Austyn. New... opportunities.”

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