Paris
I HADN’T PLANNED on a mini makeover.
Before we went to Tabitha’s house, she insisted on swinging by Anna James. Not being a frequenter of Calistoga, I assumed she meant a friend.
As we drove down the road with all the ritzy shops, I glanced at them. There was Peruvian bedding, Italian shoes, English stationery, fine chocolates, and French clothing stores.
“Oh, damn, I passed it,” Tabitha said as she hit the brakes.
I looked out the window as she made an illegal U-turn and discovered Anna James was not a person but rather a salon.
“Tabitha, what are we doing here?”
“Just a little change, that’s all.” She parallel parked at a meter and hopped out, peering back in. “Come on. This will be fun.”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea. I have to get back to work. Tyler is waiting for me.”
“Tell Tyler this is my wedding gift and I needed you to open it now.”
Trepidation had me moving slow. Still, I got out and followed her. With a shiver, I pulled the lapels of my coat tight.
“Brrr,” she said when she noticed the way I’d bundled, “Grayson and I really should move somewhere warmer.”
I laughed. “Like Bora Bora.”
“Exactly! See, we get along brilliantly.”
The hair salon was on the corner and had huge double glass doors leading the way in. Stepping through them, the air smelled incredibly clean with only a slight undertone of chemicals. Soft music played and there was a bar with wine and champagne.
I’d been in my fair share of salons in L.A., but this was nice in a different way. More sophisticated and less trendy. Everything was muted colors. Soft. Inviting. There were a dozen or so hairdressing stations with giant mirrors and separate color and sink areas.
Tabitha walked up to the reception desk, her high heels making a clicking noise as she did. “Hello,” she said to the girl behind the counter with the blue hair.
Oh, God. Blue and red made what color? Purple? Maybe I should tell Tabitha this wasn’t a good idea.
“Hi, Tabatha,” the receptionist smiled. “Patrick was thrilled when you called. Let me just tell him you’re here.”
Patrick was Patreek.
“Thank you.” She smiled and turned to me. “You are going to love Patrick. He’s the best around.”
I patted at my hair. It was a little messier than usual but that was because I had to rush this morning and didn’t have time to wash it. “I’ve never had color put on my hair,” I told her.
She gave a little shrug. “Talk to Patrick and do whatever you feel comfortable with.”
A man came out of the back wearing black skinny jeans and a white collared shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel. He had shiny black hair and dark glasses, and he smiled at me like he’d just won a million dollars. “Zo,” he said in an accent I thought might be Brazilian. “You must be Paris.”
“Yes, I am,” I replied, pulling the ponytail holder from the back of my head.
His dark stare narrowed as it locked on my wild locks and they came free. “So, what are you thinking,” he said, running his fingers through my tangled mane, or trying, anyway. “Oh, my,” he said when they got caught.
I gulped, feeling like a science experiment. “I’m not sure.”
“No worries. My chair is this way,” he announced, pointing to the very last station. Now, his words were more like, “No vwrorries. My char zis thus wayyy.”
Tabitha grabbed my hand. “I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see what he does with you.”
That made one of us.
I sat in the chair and watched as Tabitha plucked a bottle of champagne from the bar, along with two glasses.
It wasn’t long before Patrick came around and struck a pose against the mirror. With his arms crossed and his chin dipped deep in study, I knew he was picturing all kinds of crazy things.
Feeling nervous, I ran my fingers through my hair like he had, hoping it would untangle a bit before he attempted that feat again.
As he pursed his mouth, I realized he had grabbed color samples and was contemplating. “Purple?” He raised the color strand.
Adamantly, I shook my head no.
He held up another color swatch. “Maybe blonde, like Tabitha’s?”
Speaking of blondes, the mentioned one popped the cork and screamed, “Oh, that could be fun.”
I shook my head even more vigorously this time. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She pouted, “Why?”
“Too much upkeep.”
Her lips twisted as she poured the off label champagne. “Oh, that’s true.”
Another color sample was pressed to my head. “Black, like mine?” Patrick offered.
And the shaking of my head continued. “I think I like the red.”
He nodded. “Yes, I agree. It suits you. I can work with it. Smooth it out and shine it up. It will be magnificent.”
I took the flute Tabitha offered because I knew I was going to need it.
Magnificent sounded like it got a whole new meaning the way he said it.