Page 11 of Dear Pink

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First stop, Curl Up and Dye. I doubt this salon takes walk-ins, but I might as well try. I push the glass door open. The same Elsa music plays throughout the salon. How can they stand it?

A blonde coiffed receptionist in a headset ignores me when I approach her sleek white desk. I hear her put people on hold one after another. The waiting room is empty except for a few champagne bottles, a huge pitcher of water with cucumbers floating on top, and a platter ofpetits fours.I eye them and wonder if anyone in the history of this salon has ever touched one.

I put my purse on the desk and the receptionist lifts her finger like an old-fashioned schoolteacher, indicating I should wait. I’m completely out of place. I search for an exit when a woman with Tammy Faye hair and makeup walks toward me. Bright red lipstick accentuates her large smile. Panic surges through my veins. Maybe she won’t notice me?

“How may we help you today?”

No such luck. I glance around to make a run for it.

“Sweetie?” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder. Her warmth contrasts with the overall cold salon vibe.

Seeing no escape, I accept my fate. “I want to ma-a-k-k-e an appointment.” My stammer sounds like someone arranging to cut off a limb rather than strands of hair.

“Whatcha need?”

“A cut and maybe color?”

“Sure. My 10:30 appointment canceled. Are you free now?”

I shake my head yes, but my bug eyes must betray my confidence. I swallow hard. I’ll ask her for a small trim and leave.

“I’m Gretchen. Come on in and have a seat. Last chair at the end of the hall, darlin’.”

I follow behind, her three-inch heels clicking against the marble floors. How does she manage to walk in them? I rise onto my toes and mimic her sophisticated sway. I slip a little on the polished floor and catch myself. Yikes.

As we approach her station, the bright lights around the mirror make me squint, and I bump into the legs of the chair. Gretchen pats my shoulder, guiding me into the smooth leather seat, and wraps a shiny black cloth over me. She gives me a reassuring smile in the mirror. “Care for a mimosa?”

Before I object, she opens a small fridge and hands me an orange fizzy drink in a champagne flute. I take a sip and another, tasting the delicious sweetness. I start to ask for a half-inch trim, but she plops an enormous book titledHairdosI Lovein my lap. It’s a homemade scrapbook filled with fashion photos, Polaroids she took of her clients, and various glossy ads.

“I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I’m a hairstyle genius.” She leans over me, lifting my bangs, and her enormous breasts press into my arm.

I gulp, clear my throat, and scan the room for the emergency exit.

She flips through the book. “What about this one?”

It’s the same one-layer hairstyle I have now but with super short bangs and an asymmetrical length. I say nothing, so she flips a few more pages, stopping at a very short and overly styled cut. “The contoured shape would complement your face.” She leans over me again, tucking my hair to my ears. I get a strong whiff of her Chanel perfume.

“Won’t I look like Princess Diana? Or Dorothy Hamill?”

Gretchen throws her head back in a giant laugh. “You’re not old enough to remember either of them.”

I swallow the rest of my drink and choke on a piece of orange rind. “You sure I can pull off this style?”

She takes the empty glass from my hand and turns to the last page. “This is the one.”

I smile. Audrey Hepburn stares at me from the page with a perfect pixie cut.

“You would look exactly like her with this style.”

“Yeah?” I ask, but I know she’s right.

“It’s a drastic change, but you’ll be Audrey reincarnated. Well, with smokey grey eyes.”

My face flushes. “Can you dye it hot pink too?”

Gretchen wrinkles her nose at the suggestion. “Hmm. Too much pink. Maybe a chunk in the front here.” She grabs a handful of my long bangs and stretches it above my head. “Yes, dyeing this part would enhance a cute short cut. It’s edgy. What do you think?”

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