The sun had yet to fully rise as I unlocked the back door of the salon. I flicked on the lights and ventured in. This time was always special to me. I liked to open Glow earlier than needed so that I could enjoy a quiet sense of peace before the day truly began. Plus, my best friend, Keisha, always came in early to mentally prepare before a day of hair and makeup, and before the inevitable drama would begin.
It wasn’t long later that I heard Mary (our front desk receptionist) come in through the front door. She called out, “Good morning,” and got right to work. The desk chair slid across the floor, and the computer chimed. Keisha came strolling in, full of confidence and with two cups of Starbucks, one in each hand. Her father was White and her mother Black, creating this gorgeous woman with icy-blue eyes, full lips, and long, voluptuous, naturally curly brown hair (that, I may add, I never had to do any work on—it was that perfect).
“Jenny, coffee’s here,” she said handing me my cup.
“You’re a lifesaver.” I grabbed it and immediately pressed it to my mouth.
“What’s on the docket today?” Keisha took a seat at one of the beauty stations, swiveling around in the chair as she sipped at her coffee.
“Shannon will be here essentially all day. She has to get in all of her treatments before the end of the month.”
“Oh yes, she’s single . . . ready to mingle?” Keisha waggled her eyebrows.
“I’d assume not. The divorce was out of nowhere, I heard, and I think Shannon really loved Bryce.”
Keisha took another drink. “Or was it the money and power she loved?”
“With these women, you never know.” I finished up my coffee and dropped the Starbucks cup into a garbage can.
“Speaking of love, when are you going to let me set you up on a date?” Keisha winked.
“Never,” I said as I walked around the salon ensuring everything was perfectly clean and in place. This salon was my baby, my relationship, my everything. It was important to me that it was pristine.
“Oh, come on. Let’s get you back on the horse. What’s your type?” she asked.
“I don’t have a type.” I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, you actually do. It’s sterile and can’t return any feelings or affection.” Keisha gestured in a swooping motion.
I took a seat in the salon chair beside her. “Ha ha, very funny.”
“This salon can’t love you back.”
“I know that, but I just don’t have the time to date.” I turned my chair toward the mirror and applied some light makeup, ensuring I didn’t conceal the spackle of freckles that covered my nose and cheeks. Olivia was wrong about those. They were beautiful. There were no wrinkles or lines to be found, aside from my deep dimples. I straightened my white flowy blouse. I wasn’t sure if it was right for my small frame when I bought it, but it grew on me because it was plain and didn’t draw any attention.
“Make the time. Hire another person to work the salon.” Keisha got up from her seat and stood behind me. She placed her hands on my shoulders and looked at me in the mirror. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m only thirty-one,” I challenged.
“And soon you’ll be forty.”
“That’s an awful thing to say!” I laughed.
Keisha shrugged her shoulders. “I only speak the truth.” I spun my chair around and rolled my eyes at her playfully.
She was right. Time didn’t stop or slow down for anyone. And it seemed the busier you were, the faster it passed by. I hadn’t been on a date since before I opened Glow, and I knew deep down that I needed something more, something outside of these four walls, outside of the wealthy women I served. I had been living vicariously through them, but that’s just a fancy way of saying I hadn’t been living at all.
“So, how are we going to deal with the whole Shannon situation? Can we stagger everyone else’s appointments?” Keisha picked up the salon planner.
“I think that’s what we’re going to have to do.”
“It’s pretty ridiculous, you know. I thought this was a salon, not a day care for middle-aged women,” Keisha teased.
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. These women have it all, and they still find something to complain about or fight over.”
“Can we raise their membership fees, since we added babysitting to our services?”
Our laugh was cut short as the front door chimed.
“Go on through, Ms. Block. Jenny is ready for you,” Mary said.
“It’s Mrs. Madison,” Shannon corrected.
Oh, good God. She was keeping Bryce’s name, holding on to the possibility she’d regain her fortune, power, and husband. That poor woman.
Shannon emerged from behind the black curtains dramatically, as if she were entering the stage of a sold-out Broadway show. All that was missing was a spotlight and the applause. Her long golden-blond hair was faded, as she hadn’t had it touched up in a while. I’d take care of that today. Her perfectly carved nose looked as if it had been created by an artist, and it was. That artist’s name was Dr. Richardson, Karen’s husband. Her skin was as smooth as marble in a way that only Botox can do. Also thanks to Dr. Richardson. She wore only the fashion greats—Armani, Gucci, Prada, Chanel, Versace—and on this day, she was dressed in a hodgepodge of them all. White Versace linen pants, Prada sling-back heels, Armani blouse, and Chanel sunglasses with a Gucci bag. She was thin and curvy in the way only a forty-year-old can be, which requires copious amounts of time in the gym, extreme dieting, and regular trips to the physician. Unlike women much younger than her, she looked like she put a lot of effort into achieving her appearance. Effortless was never a word you’d put in the same sentence with Shannon.
She whipped off her sunglasses and smiled at Keisha and me. Her makeup was heavy. She was overcompensating for the loss of her marriage—that much was obvious. My heart broke for her. Shannon was a housewife. It was how she had introduced herself the first day we had met just over three years ago. “I’m Mrs. Shannon Madison, wife of Congressman Bryce Madison,” she had said. It was her identity—until it wasn’t. Now, another woman held that title. As humans, we define ourselves by the things we are most proud of—being a mother, a salon owner, a free spirit. But what happens when you lose that? Who do you become?
“Hi, Shannon. We’re so glad you could make it in.” I walked to her and kissed both her cheeks.
She hugged me a little harder than she usually did. I knew she needed it, so I hugged her tightly, rubbing her back with one of my hands. We released one another when she was ready, and I smiled and nodded at her. She nodded back. Her eyes moistened. She took a deep breath, and her eyes lost their glisten almost instantantly. She had been practicing composure. Keisha and Shannon hugged and exchanged pleasantries.
“What can we do for you today?” I asked.
“First, champagne. Then, the works. Head to toe. Every treatment and service you have, I want it. I want to leave here drunk and beautiful.” She laughed, but she was very serious.
In the time I had known Shannon, she had always been so put together. She wasn’t a big drinker, and she rarely lost control. She did juice cleanses and every fad diet under the sun. She took care of herself. This Shannon wasn’t one I was familiar with, but I understood she was hurting and clearly trying to numb the pain.
Keisha grabbed a bottle of champagne and popped it. She poured a glass and set the bottle beside her, while Shannon took a seat in the salon chair.
“Beauty is my specialty,” I said as I wrapped a cape around her.
“And booze is mine,” Keisha added.
“Then I’m in good hands,” Shannon laughed and looked at both of us. She raised her glass and drank the whole thing in one big gulp.
8
Shannon