MOMMA WASN’T AT ALL PLEASED that I walked into work at her salon fifteen minutes late. I could hear it in her tone.
“Amber?” she called as I tried to duck behind the reception desk. Pulling up the neck of my shirt so it didn’t hang off my shoulder so much, I approached her chair, and nearly stopped in my tracks when I noticed who was sitting there.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Hey, Momma. Hello, Mrs. Bennett. Nice to see you.”
Fredericksburg’s wealthiest woman narrowed her eyes and looked at me in the mirror as if she couldn’t quite place me. She’d been a regular of Momma’s for a while now, coming in once a month to get her hair dyed jet-black, and done up like Alexis from Dynasty. She did look a bit like Joan Collins—the actress who played Alexis—with her thin, angular features, dyed hair, and green eyes, but she lacked the classic beauty of the Hollywood star. Still, that didn’t stop her from throwing out the occasional crisp line laced with a slight British lilt.
“Who’s this?” she said, looking down her nose at me. Never mind that I’d greeted her at the reception desk for the past year and a half every time she came in.
“This is my daughter, Mrs. Bennett. Amber,” Momma said.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told her.
“Late?” Mrs. Bennett repeated, eyeing me a little more crossly now. “Why were you late, young lady?”
I cleared my throat again, nervous around such a sharp-tongued and powerful woman. “I got held up,” I said. “I’m sorry, Momma. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s fine,” Momma said, but she was frowning at me. I suspected she knew that I’d been late because I was trying to decide what outfit to wear for my date with Spence that night. He’d be picking me up at six, right from the salon. I’d gone with a short jean skirt, torn black stockings, lots of bangles, a thin off-the-shoulder heather-gray cutoff sweatshirt cinched at the waist with a red belt, and my new Reebok high-tops with thick bright-white socks. It’d taken me two hours to come up with the combo, do my hair, and apply my makeup, and even though I’d thought I’d left plenty of time, I’d still been fifteen minutes late to work.
Saturdays were the busiest days at the salon, but things didn’t really get going until around eleven, so I’d figured it’d be okay to come in a tiny bit late. But if I’d known that Mrs. Bennett was going to be there, I’d have made sure to arrive on time. She always demanded Momma’s sole attention and often had some harsh criticism for her that left Momma a wreck the rest of the day. Mrs. Bennett was a mean woman, and her husband, Dr. Bennett, wasn’t any nicer. They both came to Momma to get their hair done, and why she put up with them, I couldn’t say.
“You’re not going to teach your daughter anything by allowing her to break the rules, Gina,” Mrs. Bennett said tartly. “You should ground her.”
I sucked in a breath, but Momma laughed lightly. “Oh, now, Mrs. Bennett. I don’t think that being a little late warrants a grounding. Amber’s a good girl. I’m sure she won’t make a habit of it.”
I watched Mrs. Bennett’s expression in the mirror go from merely displeased to something closer to anger. She didn’t seem to like that Momma was letting me off the hook. And, seriously, what business was it of hers anyway? Not that I’d ever say something like that to her, but I could sure think it.
The long red fingernail of her right index finger tapped on the arm of the salon chair as she glared first at Momma, and then settled her gaze on me, as if I were an evil young lady who’d gotten away with something.
The air around us gathered tension and Momma said, “Well, then, Amber, you’d best get over there and help Darcy cover the phone.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
As I turned to leave, Mrs. Bennett said, “Wait,” and I stopped in my tracks. That red fingernail continued to tap, tap, tap on the arm of the chair. “I would like a glass of Tab,” she said, her words clipped and crisp. “With a fresh squeeze of lemon. Not lime. Lemon.”
My eyes widened. The Tab was no problem—I’d just get it out of the vending machine—but where was I supposed to get a lemon? I looked at Momma, who shifted her shoulders uncomfortably.
“Mrs. Bennett,” she said gently. “I’m afraid we don’t have any fresh lemon here at the salon, but Amber would be glad to get you that Tab.”
Mrs. Bennett twisted in her chair and pressed her lips together in a fine line. “How long have I been your customer, Gina?”