Page 66 of Proof

“But they are making progress every day.”

“True. And so is cancer. When I was a kid, you rarely heard of anyone getting cancer. Now, they say one out of every three people will be diagnosed with one form or another. It’s scary.”

“It is. And that is why we count our blessings every day.”

“So true, girlfriend. So true.” Luna pulled into the parking area for the salon. “Here goes!”

They walked into Les Cheveux and were greeted by a bald man. Luna attempted to stifle a chuckle. Not a good endorsement. Chi-Chi was thinking the same thing and could not suppress her big smile.

The man in the black shirt, black pants, diamond stud earring, and the shiny chrome dome brushed his cue ball with his hand. “Is this what you have in mind, dearie?” Everyone burst out laughing. “Puh-lease. I get that reaction with every new client.” He became animated. “Do I really want a Baldilocks working on my hair!” He spun on his heel. “Of course, you do, darling.”

“Of course I do?” Luna sounded dubious.

“You must be Luna. I’m Felipé.” He accentuated the É. “Not Phil or Fel-eep. It’s Fel-eep-é. Now that we have that straight, follow me, darling.” He looked at Chi-Chi. “My, you are one delicious thing. You can come, too.”

They followed him past a row of minimalistic white chairs that ran along the black walls of the sleek reception area. A large white vase with palm fronds sat on an oblong glass table.

Next was another room in reverse color with a row of eight black salon chairs that faced individual mirrored stations hung on white walls. Three of the stations were occupied with customers, and the stylists were wearing black smocks with the salon’s logo. One stylist had an ear-hugging asymmetrical cut with the short side colored in bright fuchsia. The second stylist had a chin-length cut with black bangs and blond hair. Luna was getting nervous. Felipé could tell by the look of horror on her face. “Don’t panic, lovie. They are victims of a hair show.” He called out to them, “I told you not to go. You both need to do something. You’re scaring the customers.”

He showed Luna to a chair and gestured for Chi-Chi to take the next seat. He leaned against the station and folded his arms. “Let me guess. You want to lop off those locks.”

“I need a change. Oh, and now that you mentioned locks, I want to donate my hair to the charity.”

“That’s wonderful, darling. And because you are being so kind, we will not charge you for the haircut. You can fill out the paperwork here, and we’ll ship it to them.”

“Terrific,” Luna replied. “I was looking through your gallery.” She pulled up the style she liked on her phone and showed it to him.

“Darling, you are in luck. That particular ’do is one of my creations.” He tilted his head this way and that, looking at Luna from various angles. “I think that would do well for you.”

He looked at Chi-Chi.

She shrugged.

“Today I am her chaperone, but she makes the decisions.”

Felipé chuckled. “Okay. Patrice is going to get you set up.”

A young woman showed Luna to a dressing room and gave her a smock. “You can take off your top if you’d like and hang it on the hooks. We’re going to put a cape over this, so you might be more comfortable. You’ll be sitting under a heat lamp.” Patrice closed the door and waited outside.

Luna followed the instructions, removed her peasant shirt, and pulled the smock on. She wrapped the belt around her waist. She took another look at her long braid. “It’s been swell.” Then she flung it back over her shoulder.

Chi-Chi was waiting in the chair, reading a cooking magazine. “Are you ready, my friend?”

“As ready as I will ever be,” Luna said nervously.

Felipé returned. “Okay, darling, I am going to turn you around so you are facing away from the mirror. Cutting hair this long can be traumatic, and I don’t want you to freak out. Okay?”

“Okay!” Luna breathed out the word. “Chi-Chi? Are you going to stay and watch this?”

“I do not know if I should.” She was being sincere. “I may have an expression on my face that you will misinterpret.”

“Oh great.” Luna looked at Felipé. “How long is this going to take?”

“As long as it takes, dear. We do not rush this sort of thing.”

“Ballpark?”

“Two hours, at least.”

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