Page 145 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
I shake my head. “Not if it means selling out my sister.”
He wouldn’t have squeezed me into his schedule with an early morning appointment if he hadn’t wanted the challenge of fixing my hair. He won’t turn me out of his chair.
“Fine. But Alison Fisher asked about her when she was in my chair last week.” Juan runs his fingers through my hair, studying it as though it’s bigger news than what he’s said.
“What did she want to know?” I can play as cool as Juan.
“If Frankie’s got a new agent yet, and if she’s ready to come back to Hollywood.”
“No, and no. At least, I don’t think so.” I blow out a breath.
If anything can get Frankie back to Hollywood, it’s Alison Fisher. Frankie is a huge fan of every indie film Alison has directed. She’s said more than once she’d love to work with Alison.
“I’ll let her know Alison was asking about her,” I tell Juan.
“Tell her I miss her, too. Whenever she’s ready to fix whatever someone else has done to that gorgeous mane of hers, I’m here.” He scrubs my scalp, then throws up his hands. “First, let’s fix this disaster.”
“Have at it, mate.” I turn my head side to side, scowling at my hair and—telepathically—at Piper.
“You have three choices, amigo. Shave. Bleach. Or Dye.”
“Well, die is out. I’m not ready to give my life because of this.”
Juan huffs. “D-Y-E. Like, turn your hair black.”
“Black?” I study myself in the mirror, trying to picture what I’d look like with black hair. Might be kind of cool. The darker color looks good on Frankie.
Juan shakes his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it with your complexion. You’ll look like a vampire. Although you’re not as pale as your sister.” He leans closer to examine my cheeks. “Are you wearing bronzer?”
“I was in the sun yesterday. I probably got a little tan.” Despite the buckets of sunscreen I applied all day and the factthat I’ve never in my life had a tan because of my Scottish heritage. But there’s a first for everything.
“Hmm,” he mutters. “Shave or bleach?”
“Why not wash? Piper said it would wash out. It’s a temporary color.”
Juan runs a handful of hair through his fingers, studying it. “It’ll fade after a few weeks, but the kind of shampoo I’d need to use to wash it out in one day would destroy your hair. You’re better off shaving it or going blond. After a few weeks, I can add some highlights to move it toward your natural color, but this over-the-counter stuff she used is brutal. I can’t do too much at one time until we know how your hair is going to react.”
I growl, then send a second telepathic growl to Piper. Frankie gets more attention for her hair than I do because she’s a woman, but I’ve been told my “thick, curly locks” are my best feature, too. I’m not getting write-ups in People or Us Weekly, but I’ve never been short on compliments about my hair—girls have a bit of a thing for the auburn, apparently. It’s soft, too, or so I’ve been told…back when someone’s fingers were actually in it. Been a minute, though.
“You can get it blond without ruining it?” I’m not shaving anything. I did that once and I don’t have the head shape for it.
“Absolutely. I’ll get you scheduled to come back in a couple of weeks. Then we’ll take the next step.”
Six hours later, I walk out of the salon looking better than I did walking in but strongly resemblingFight ClubJared Leto. I am ridiculously blond, and Juan cut off a lot of hair, damaged after the bleaching process shredded my ends.
I drive a block before I put my beanie back on. At least it’s October, so I won’t look like a tool wearing a beanie until Juan can add some red to my hair.
I’m irritated with Piper, but I had a lot of time in that chair to think about everything I’ve done to her. There’s the perfume andthe mannequin thing, but also the years of teasing every time we had forced family time. It wasn’t often, but I made sure she knew how I felt about her and her mom.
I reckon between that and my pranks, we’re close to even. Not quite—messing with my hair was low—but close. I’m tempted, though, to retaliate. I’m keen to see her eyes grow darker the way they do when she’s ready to go to battle. Her face takes on this intense expression when she’s lit up. She sucks in her cheeks until her cheekbones are deep slopes with her eyes hanging like full moons above them. I don’t remember noticing that about her when we were kids.
Or maybe I did, and that’s why I did what I could to rile her up.
I’m learning memory is a funny thing. It bends and stretches into what we want.
When I pull into the garage, I see Dex’s car parked on the street. I knew he and Britta were getting back this morning, I just haven’t had the bandwidth to think about it. But now I breathe a sigh of relief that I’ll have a bit of a buffer between Piper and me.
I’m surprised, though, when I go inside and start up the stairs and Britta turns the corner carrying a box. They’re moving out now? Dex had said they found a place, but I expected it would be a few weeks before they moved.
