Page 50 of The Perfect Divorce

Carissa tosses a cape over me and secures the Velcro around my neck. “So, what’ll it be today? Liberty spikes? Mohawk? Maybe add some funky colors?” She smiles as she runs her fingers through my hair, checking its length.

“Dealer’s choice.” I smile back.

“Green liberty spikes it is then.” She grabs a clipper with no blade guard and starts cleaning up my hairline. “So, how are Sarah and Summer doing?”

I debate as to how to respond to that question but decide to stick with the cookie-cutter answer. The expected answer. I can’t and won’t dump all the shit that’s going on in my life on her. Plus, this is a place for me to relax and escape for an hour, not wallow about my divorce.

“They’re good,” I say. “Sarah’s busy with the foundation, as usual, and Summer’s doing well in school and focusing on swimming right now. She actually just won her last swim meet.”

“Good for her,” Carissa says without pausing her work.

“She definitely doesn’t get it from me.” I force a laugh. “How about yourself?” I ask to get the spotlight off me. “What’s new?”

“Same old, same old. Just here, working. When I’m not cutting hair, I’m cleaning or ordering inventory or balancing the books, paying bills, running payroll.” She turns the clippers off and quickly glances at the locked door to her right. “I could really use a vacation one of these days.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Ever since I made named partner at my firm, it’s just work, work, work.”

“Mmhmm,” Carissa replies, slightly nodding her head. “Let’s get you over to the washing station, and I’ll give that big brain of yours a nice scalp massage.”

I chuckle as I get to my feet and follow her. “I know I’ve already kept you late, so you can skip the hair wash if you’d like, even though the scalp massage sounds great right about now.”

“Nonsense.” She flicks a hand. “I’ve got nowhere important to be anyway.”

It’s nice talking to a woman who isn’t jumping down my throat every chance she gets. Sarah could really learn a thing or two from Carissa. As we walk through the salon, I notice she scans the back door, past the restroom and her office. She checks her watch and does a once-over on the front entrance again.

“Are you sure you’ve got nowhere to be? I don’t want to hold you up.”

Her mouth opens but it takes a moment for words to come out. “Yeah, I’m sure. Go ahead and take a seat.”

She seems nervous or maybe anxious, but I decide not to press any further.

“Let me know if this is too hot,” Carissa says, turning on the sink.

Warm water gushes over my hair, completely saturating it.

“It’s perfect,” I say, letting my eyes close and my mind go blank.

I must have dozed off because all of a sudden, there’s a tap on my shoulder, and Carissa leans down, whispering, “All done. I’ll meet you back at the chair.”

I blink several times and slowly rise, watching her as she walks to her station. She’s still double-checking the office, the back door, the entrance. I follow and take a seat in the chair.

She strokes the hair on my neck with her thumb. “Would you like a shave with the straight razor tonight?”

“Sure, why not.”

Carissa pulls out a razor and looks over the blade, feeling the edge of it. She places a hot, moist towel over my throat and says, “Just lean back and relax,” before beginning the process, applying preshave oil and taking slow passes up my neck. I can hear the scrape of the blade as the hairs give way, leaving nothing but smooth skin behind. If this goes on long enough, I could fall asleep again. The smell of the shaving oil mixed with the soothing— Then a sharp pain bites at my throat just under my chin.

“Shit!” Carissa blurts out before covering her mouth. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

I reach my hand up to the spot where the pain is, touching it before bringing it to my line of sight to find blood clinging to my fingers. More of it trickles down my neck, underneath the cape, no doubt staining my shirt. Some blood dribbles over the cape and drips to the ground. I don’t think she nicked me that bad, but when the skin is warmed, it softens, and the neck already has a ton of blood flowing through it.

“Get me a towel and something cold!” I yell in a panic. “Now!”

“I’m sorry!” She races into her office, appearing no more than a moment later with a large dry towel and a can of sparkling water. “Here,” Carissa says, pressing the towel against my neck and extending the can to me.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s the only cold thing I have.”

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