Page 94 of Love & Other Disasters

Thirty-Two

Violet sat in the styling chair flanked by Rico and Sasha. The trio studied colors for highlights recommended by Sasha, Rico’s hair stylist. The salon had light gray walls, wooden floors, and crystal looking chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. An enormous window on one wall bathed the space in natural light.

“I want something sophisticated, not crazy,” she told him.

Sasha nodded once and stared in concentration at the hair swatches. He chose two and held them on either side of her head letting her examine them in the mirror.

“This one,” she said, choosing the strawberry blonde. She might as well get her money’s worth out of this color and cut. She hadn’t had a professional touch her head in years.

Sasha tucked her choice away and gathered up the remaining swatches. “Be right back.” He wore a black T-shirt and an ankle length denim skirt under his work smock, topped off with dark black hair, perfectly coiffed, and a stripe of hot pink.

“Does Sasha go by ‘him or ‘her’?” Violet asked Rico.

“It’s ‘they’,” he replied. “Sasha’s more gender fluid, but doesn’t get offended at any of them.”

“Okay,” she replied. “I don’t get it, but who am I to tell someone else what to do or be.”

Rico smiled and patted her on the shoulder

“Let’s get this party started.” Sasha returned stirring a concoction in a bowl. “Pop off those glasses and let Sasha make you even more beautiful than you already are.”

“What? You have a magic wand?” she quipped.

“No magic wand needed,” Sasha said, running his hands through her hair and appeared to examine it. “All of us are perfect in our own way. Sasha just highlight your head to compliment your face. You feel good, and it shines through.” He stretched a rubber cap over her skull and started using tweezers to pull slight amounts of hair through. She looked like an alien with an unfortunate lack of hair.

“You sound like my therapist, but I have a self-deprecating sense of humor.”

“Self-deprecation has no place in the salon, the bedroom, or the heart.”

“That’s very specific,” Violet said.

“You listen to Sasha, and soon you won’t need the therapist,” Sasha looked up and grinned at her in the mirror.

Violet laughed. “Do you always refer to yourself in the third person?”

“It makes me sound sage, doesn’t it? Now let’s make that boy eat his heart out.”

“He’s not even here, so I’m not worried about that. This is for me, anyway.” A fresh look for a new outlook on life. No one would tell her how to live it again.

“That’s right, girl. You embrace that fierceness.”

“You’re such a positive person,” Violet mused.

“I’m wearing a skirt in public. I have to be.” Sasha stepped back and examined the sprigs of hair sticking out all over her head. “Yes, it is easier when I wear pants. But, the amount of crap I get for the skirts has gone down over the years, and if it makes things easier for the next queer to come along to be accepted. Then, it’s worth it.”

She’d never considered it that way. “I don’t care what people wear as long as I don’t see their junk.”

Sasha laughed and pointed the dye filled brush at her. “I like you. Rico’s an excellent judge of character.”

“I’d like to think so,” Rico said, walking up holding a giant drink and a large pretzel.

“Are you eating carbs?” Sasha asked.

“It’s for Violet,” Rico replied, breaking off a piece and shoving it into her mouth. She chewed, not about to turn down a pretzel. Then, Rico pulled off another chunk and ate it.

Sasha stared at him. “Sure.”

“Don’t judge me,” Rico said, devouring the rest of the pretzel.

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