Momma blinked and her hand holding the comb hovered in the air. “Well, let’s see…about five years or so.” I could tell she was trying to keep the conversation light, and I could also tell that she was a little rattled by Mrs. Bennett’s angry tone and flinty glare.
“Yes,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I’ve graced this establishment of yours for five long years, and I’ve referred at least a dozen people to you. Why, most of my friends from the country club come to you and likely keep your business afloat! The very least you could do to show your gratitude for all that goodwill is to send your daughter out to get me some fresh lemon for my cola. And remember, it would only take one phone call from me for half your clientele to find another beautician.”
Behind me the salon’s phone rang. I heard Darcy on the other line booking an appointment and I knew she probably had yet another customer on hold. Then, the bell over the entrance rang, too. Someone had just come in for their appointment. The Saturday rush had arrived.
Momma stepped forward and swiveled the chair slightly to turn Mrs. Bennett back toward the mirror. “Amber, would you please head down the street to the grocery store and bring back some lemons?”
I couldn’t believe she was backing down when she knew Darcy was already struggling because I’d been late, and we were just starting to get busy. But Momma didn’t look at me. Instead she focused on combing out a section of Mrs. Bennett’s hair.
I glanced in the mirror and saw Mrs. Bennett studying me with a crocodile smile.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said woodenly.
“Be quick about it,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I’d like to be sipping my cola by the time your mother puts me under the dryer.”
The grocery store was a half mile away, and I had no transportation other than my Reeboks. The day was already hot and humid, and by the time I jogged to the store, collected the lemons, and got back, my makeup was running and my hair had gone completely flat.
Darcy shot me a pained look as she checked out a customer while trying to book a client at the same time. The phone was lit up with people on hold, and there was a line at the door of people waiting to be checked in.
I knew Darcy really needed help, but I also knew that Mrs. Bennett would throw a fit if she didn’t get her Tab right away, so I held up a finger to Darcy and raced to the back with the stupid lemons.
After using my own change to get a Tab from the vending machine, I sliced the lemon quickly, hung it over the edge of a glass, and darted over to Momma’s station. Doing my best to push a smile to my face I said, “Here you are, Mrs. Bennett.”
She made a face at the glass. “Is that clean?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“It doesn’t look clean,” she said.
Behind me I heard a customer complain loudly to Darcy that she’d been standing at reception for several minutes and hadn’t been checked in yet.
“I promise it’s clean, Mrs. Bennett,” I said, looking to Momma, who I hoped would back me up.
“Amber,” Momma said softly. “Please get Mrs. Bennett another glass.”
I pressed my lips together and turned to hurry to the back and dig out another glass. My heart was racing with anxiety, and I could hear both the constant ringing of the phone and the bell above the door dinging. Still, I took an extra twenty seconds to wipe down the glass with a towel and hold it up to the light to make extra sure that it was smudge-free, then rushed it back out to Mrs. Bennett.
“No ice?” she asked me when I again attempted to hand her the glass.
I bit my lip hard enough for it to hurt, and instead of arguing with her I turned on my heel and went to the back again to grab a few cubes from the ice tray.
The third time I headed to Momma’s station I got there just as Mrs. Bennett was getting up. She refused to take the glass from me and instead walked over to the dryer Momma pointed to, waited for her to lower the hood over her rollers, asked for a magazine to read, rejected the one Momma offered her, then, at last, took the glass from me, only to hold it up and say, “I said lime, not lemon.”
I sucked in a breath and beside me Momma did, too. Mrs. Bennett eyed us as if daring either one of us to challenge her. Everyone knew she’d told me to get her some lemon.
I looked at Momma, whose face was flushed with her own anger. In the background another customer was getting angry with Darcy, who sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
“Amber,” Momma said. “Please go back to the store and get some limes for Mrs. Bennett.”
I stood rooted to the spot, so angry my hands curled into fists. Mrs. Bennett was being ridiculous, punishing both Momma and me, and for what? Because Momma hadn’t taken her suggestion to ground me for being fifteen minutes late?
“Amber!” Momma said sharply. “Do as I say, child.”
“But Darcy—”
“She’ll manage! Now, go, and remember, bring back some limes for Mrs. Bennett.”
She emphasized the word to let Mrs. Bennett know she couldn’t change it to oranges or grapefruit when I got back.
Mrs. Bennett actually chuckled; she thought the situation was so funny. I turned to leave, but not before she got in a parting shot. “Next time, Amber, perhaps you’ll remember to be punctual.”