Chapter 3
Sindy
The sidewalk was slick, and I was having trouble keeping my balance. I was on my way back from the deli, my arms loaded, when I saw a black limo pull up to the curb in front of the salon. The chauffeur opened the back door, and one very long, very expensively dressed leg ventured out. It was Mrs. Brand, one of my favorite customers.
Even though I had my beauty license, my stepmother never let me take clients. She insisted I needed to spend more time learning from her daughters, Ethel and Myrtle. I knew from experience that Mrs. Brand never made appointments. She was a very successful, busy woman who couldn’t be held in check by silly things such as appointments. And I also knew the salon was crammed to the rafters and she would be in for a wait.
I stepped up my pace so I could make it to the door in time to hold it open. She swept through the entrance, tugging at the fingers of her glove and looking around for my stepmother. “I’m here!” she called out to the room at large.
I saw my stepmother, Clarabella, whirl around with panic on her face. Both of my stepsisters already had a stream of customers in various stages of progress. Some were under dryers, some sitting with coloring and a timer, and some had their hair cut on only one side of their heads. There was no way they could be freed up. Clarabella herself was not a stylist. She was just, well, Clarabella, the boss. Now, here she was faced with one of the most influential women in the city who, without an appointment, wanted immediate service. She scurried forward as I set the deli lunches down on the table behind the counter. I wanted to witness this.
“Clarabella, I’m here now. Please get me into a chair. I lost track of time and didn’t realize Christmas was tomorrow.”
“But, Mrs. Brand, we didn’t expect you. I’m afraid my girls are all tied up.”
Mrs. Brand pulled herself up to her full height, plus four inches extra from her stiletto heels, and raised her chin. “Am I to understand you are turning me away?” It was more than a question. It came closer to asking Clarabella whether she wished to die by the knife or the gun.
Clarabella panicked. She quickly scoped the room, looking for an opening in which to insert Mrs. Brand. Her mouth hung open, and she was panting with dread.
Mrs. Brand looked in my direction. “What about her?”
My stepmother snapped her head over her shoulder to look at me. “Do you mean Sindy?”
“I don’t see anyone else standing there.”
I looked at my stepmother, wide-eyed. I wanted so badly to help Mrs. Brand. It would be a gold star for me, and at the very least, I wouldn’t have to sweep for the next hour. I nodded encouragingly.
“Oh, very well. Sindy, would you escort Mrs. Brand to number four styling station? Keep it simple and elegant.”
Mrs. Brand nodded and followed me. As it happened, number four styling station was in the back corner where it was quiet and out of the flow of traffic.
“Forget what she said. It’s Christmas, and I’d like a nice updo if you don’t mind.” Mrs. Brand was a good, but busy woman.
“I don’t mind a bit,” I told her, putting a cape over her expensive designer dress. “If you don’t mind stepping over here, let’s get your hair washed first.” She nodded and followed me.
I shampooed her hair and considered what sort of style I would give her. Since I was being given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I wanted it to be very special. Then I remembered an example I’d seen in a French stylist magazine that had come in the mail two days earlier. I remembered looking at it longingly and wishing I had someone on whom to try it. It appeared my wishes had come true, because Mrs. Brand had exactly the right hair length and texture to pull it off.
With Mrs. Brand in the chair, I began combing her hair into wet sections that I could trim slightly. I realized with some anticipation that she happened to have the perfect facial structure to support the style I had in mind. “With your permission, Mrs. Brand, I would like to try a style that is absolutely the newest thing from Paris. I saw it in a magazine two days ago, and while it’s a little too avant-garde for the normal woman who comes in here, I believe you could pull it off with some real panache. Would you be willing for me to try it?”
She nodded. “Surely, why not? If it doesn’t work out, only my family will see me tomorrow, and they all think I’m nuts anyway. If it does work out, I promise you more customers.”
“Deal.” I was busily working at shaping her hair properly when there was a commotion near the front of the salon. My stepsisters, each with a golden envelope in hand, were shrieking, their arms waving in the air.
“Did someone win the lottery?” Mrs. Brand asked in an impatient tone.
“I’ll be right back.” I moved closer to my stepsisters and asked what was going on. Ethel handed me her envelope, and I read that it was an invitation to a birthday party for probably the most eligible bachelor on earth. His name was Lance Royal, and everyone knew that he’d already made his fortune and was now looking for a wife.
Therefore, it came as no surprise that my stepsisters were beside themselves to have been invited. Dropping everything, they began arguing between themselves as to which one of them he would choose. It never occurred to them that there would be any other females attending the party. I shrugged and went back to Mrs. Brand. “Looks like they got an invitation to the party of the year.”
“Oh? What party is that?”
“Lance Royal is throwing himself a birthday party. My sisters will be impossible to live with between now and then,” I told her, parting her hair and snipping.
“Why aren’t you going?”
“I wasn’t invited, to begin with, and secondly, he wouldn’t be interested in me.”
“Why ever not? You’re much prettier than your sisters.” Her eyebrows rose as she listened to Myrtle and Ethel squeal.
I sighed. “My stepmother would never spend the money on the right dress for me, and anyway, if my sisters are going, I’ll have to stay behind to keep the salon open. It’s okay, I’m used to it,” I said, although I had trouble keeping the disappointment out of my voice.
Mrs. Brand watched me work in the mirror’s reflection. “How long have you been a stylist?” she asked me.
“I’ve had my license for five years, but my stepmother prefers that I keep the salon clean and answer the telephone, run errands, that sort of thing.”
“Whatever for? She could hire a teenager to do that.”
Mrs. Brand was silent as I continued working on her hair. She had beautiful hair, I had to admit, so it made it that much easier. I pulled it into an updo and feathered some bangs and delicate wisps around her ears. I sprayed it well so she could sleep on it overnight and still have it look fresh for Christmas Day. When I was done, I removed the cape, handed her a mirror and turned the chair around so she could see herself.
“Well, my word. I can’t believe that’s me.” She was plucking at the wisps over her ears. “I’ve never looked this good. You cut it to shape my face perfectly. Your stepmother is a fool. You should be her lead stylist instead of those homely, annoying stepsisters of yours. Sindy, I have to say this was a pleasure. I’m going to have a little talk with your stepmother on my way out.” She stood and retrieved her bag and coat. “Merry Christmas to you, dear,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.
I grabbed the broom and started to sweep up the clippings, but I kept one eye on Mrs. Brand. My stepmother’s mouth was agape as she watched the other woman leave the salon. She came toward me and bent her head low, holding out her hand. “She left you a tip, although I don’t understand why. You were lucky to get away with it this time.” She handed me a folded bill, and I turned my back to the salon as I opened it. It was a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. I smiled. Generous as it was, the tip ’would hardly be enough to buy the right shoes, even if I had an invitation. I shrugged my shoulders, sighed, and headed into the center of the room where someone was shrieking my name once again.