After what seems like an eternity of cutting, she steps away, gestures for me to stand up. “Come, come. Almost done. Wash, style, and then you see.” She leads me to a sink with a U-shaped divot in the front, puts me in the reclining chair, and settles me backward, so my neck rests in the U. Warm water, strong hands. She doesn’t just wash my hair, she massages my scalp, powerful fingers digging into my scalp and the back of my neck, loosening tension, relaxing me. Kneads shampoo into my now-short hair, rinsing it away. Towels me dry.
“Okay, back to chair.” She sprays a little foam into her palm, rubs her hands together a few times, then works the mousse into my hair. “It will take time to remember, but you only need a very little product now. Shampoo, conditioner, mousse, only a little. Before, so much hair, you need a lot. First few showers, you will squirt too much. Just laugh, every girl who cuts all her hair away does it. I had long hair, like you, once. Cut it all off, dyed it purple like so.” She gestures at her head. “To make my father angry. I use too much shampoo for weeks. Never remembered.”
She uses a blow dryer on my hair, brushing stiffened fingers through it, working it forward, smoothing it down on the sides. I feel it tickling my forehead, my temple, brushing my eyebrow.
It took her perhaps fifteen minutes total to wash, dry, and style my hair. It feels miraculous. It took me fifteen minutes just to shampoo all my hair, another fifteen to rinse it. And it would still be sopping wet for at least twelve hours after washing it. Sometimes a full day, or more.
Now, it’s washed, dried, and styled in fifteen minutes. No hours of brushing.
This alone makes me giddy.
“Yes, very good.” Mei places her hands on my shoulders, squeezes, leans down close to my ear. “Ready?”
I have to let out a nervous breath. “I think so.” I straighten my spine. “Yes, I’m ready.” I close my eyes as Mei spins the chair around.
“Okay,” Mei says, “now look.”
I open my eyes, and my breath leaves me in a whoosh. Short, messy. Perfect. It’s boy-short. Pulled forward into my eyes, long narrow V-shaped points draping down in front of my ears. The cut accentuates my exotic features, makes my already large, dark eyes appear dramatically larger, highlights my high, sharp cheekbones, heart-shaped face, my lush, kissable lips.
“Can I do makeup on you?” Mei asks.
“Sure?” I shrug. “I don’t usually wear much.”
“Not much. You don’t need much.” She opens a cabinet under her station and pulls out her purse, lays cases and tins and brushes and tubes out on the counter of her station.
Spins me away from the mirror yet again, brushes blush on my cheeks, runs eyeliner under my eye, smears eye shadow on my eyelids, lip stain on my lips. I don’t wear much makeup, never have. I was always told that I don’t need it, that natural beauty such as mine is best appreciated with little or no adornment.
When Mei is done, she turns me around, and yet again I am left breathless, speechless. My eyes are enormous, their natural almond shape and dark irises emphasized and highlighted. My eyes are . . . hypnotic, this way. My cheekbones look razor sharp now, my lips even fuller, darker red. The overall effect is subtle, but dramatic. Smoky, mysterious. Sultry. Sensual.
“My god, Mei.” I am near tears. “I look like . . . I don’t even know. Not even myself, anymore.”
“Is it good? You are crying, but I don’t know if it is a good cry or not.”
“No, it’s perfect. I love it. It’s perfect. I can’t believe this is me I’m looking at, right now.”
I turn my head this way and that. Examine myself from different angles. I really, truly do not even recognize myself. I look edgy, modern, sexy, exotic. Nothing like the formal, Old World aristocratic beauty I used to look like. Used to be. I love the messiness of it. The wind could ruffle it and muss it, and it wouldn’t ruin the look. I could run my hands through it, and it wouldn’t look worse. I do so, feather my fingers through my hair, marveling at the lack of weight sliding through my fingers. I push all the hair to one side, draping it all over to the left, and my look changes slightly. To the right, the same, a subtle change in the way the look sits on me. Brush it forward again and mess it up.
“See? You get it.” Mei smiles at me. “Mess it up. Play with it. You could slick it back, too. That would look badass, very dramatic, very different. It makes you look beautiful, a new you. Still woman, not butch at all, just short, and edgy. Different.” She unbuttons the cape and pulls it off me so the loose hair falls to the floor at my feet.
I rise to my feet and lean into her, wrap her up in a hug. She stiffens at first, clearly not comfortable with such affection, then somewhat awkwardly hugs me back.
She pushes me away after a second. “Oh-kay, hug time over now.”
“Sorry. I’m just . . . thank you, Mei. Thank you so much. I love it.”
“I’m very glad.” She glances at Logan. “Any friend of Logan is a friend of mine. You come back any time. We have girl talk, drink too much wine, and bitch about stupid boys.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. You come here Friday night. I close at seven, we have a good time together.” She gathers her makeup into her hands, glances at me. “You have your own makeup?”