Love Gently Falling (6 page)

Zinnia's brows arched. “Really? What brand do you prefer?”

Rita continued being friendly, telling Zinnia about the new line her salon had started carrying. “But I think I might have enough to last me until I go back.”

Now Zinnia expressed sympathy for Rita's mom. “Johnny told me all about it. Such a shame. I hope Donna's doing better.”

Rita gave her a brief update. “But I'm not sure how long it'll be before she can return to work.”

“Oh…that's too bad.” Zinnia shook her head with pursed lips.

Rita waved her arm toward the wall. “This is really something, Zinnia. Very lively and cheerful.”

Zinnia's green eyes twinkled. “You don't think it's too much?”

“Too much?” Rita feigned surprise. “I'm sure your clientele must love it.”

“Oh, yeah, I get lots of compliments. My goal is for clients to leave here feeling happy and refreshed.” She seemed to study a shiny white chair. “I think it accomplishes that.”

“Well, you certainly seem busy enough.” Rita nodded to a pair of women just entering the salon. “Good for you.”

“Speaking of busy. One of those gals is my next appointment.” Zinnia called out a warm greeting, then made what seemed a slightly forced smile for Rita. “Thanks for stopping in. I hope your mom gets well soon.”

Rita felt relieved to get out of Zinnia's. She wasn't sure if it was the loud music or loud colors or simply the discomfort of spying. But she couldn't deny that Zinnia had a successful business on her hands, or that her clients seemed genuinely happy to be there. And despite the history Rita had with Zinnia, something she chose not to think about, she had to admit that her mom's competition was doing a lot right. As soon as she entered her mom's salon, she couldn't help but grimace over the severe contrast in these two salons. She would never say this to her mother, but Hair and Now felt like a mortuary compared to Zinnia's.

“Why so glum, chum?”
Charlene watched curiously as Rita stashed her handbag in the back room's closet. “Your mom still doing okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, as far as I know.”

“So what's troubling you?”

Rita slowly closed the closet door. “I was just at Zinnia's…”

Charlene scowled. “Oh…well, what did you think of it?”

“It's so different from here…”

“Yes, but didn't you find it, you know, a bit garish?”

Rita pursed her lips. “I'll admit it was on the bright side and a little loud for my taste. But it was friendly and upbeat.”

“Looks to me like they had a paint-gun war in there and the flowers lost.”

“Oh, I wouldn't go that far.” Rita smiled at that image. “I mean, sure, I'm not a big fan of all those wild colors in one place, but it's not like we have room to talk.” She waved her hands toward a dull rose-colored wall. “Have you really looked at this place lately, Charlene?”

Charlene shrugged. “Like I said, upgrades are expensive. We're hanging on by a thread as is. And now with Donna laid up. Well, I don't know…”

“I understand that. But I'm trying to think of some way—something not too pricey—to perk this place up.”

“That would be nice.” Charlene helped herself to another doughnut.

“I've seen some of those makeover shows. There are improvements you can do that aren't that costly. I just need to make a budget and see what I can do with it.”

“Say…” Charlene held up a sugar coated finger. “I know a way we could make a little money…you know to use for your makeover plan…that is, if your mother would let us.”

“What's that?”

Charlene took Rita over to the wall in the back. They called it Memory Lane, and it was full of old photos of the salon. “Remember
those
?”

“Yeah.” Rita smiled at a cute shot of her mom. “Look at that wild mane of hair. That must've been the Farrah Fawcett era.”

Charlene pointed to one of the earliest pictures. “No, I mean, look at this picture of the salon, taken when we first opened.”

Rita looked at one of her mom in a haircutting chair. Hamming it up with a hand behind her head, she had a cheesy smile. “Mom's signature frosted shag haircut. Circa the midseventies. Mom said that's what everyone wanted when they came in here those early days.”

“No, Rita, I mean, look at those chairs.” Charlene tapped a green chair in the photo.

Rita bent forward, squinting to see the chairs better. “I don't really remember those chairs. But that's because Mom changed everything when I was pretty young.”

“Well, did you know that we still have those green chairs?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Your dear mother has refused to let them go. At first she thought she might open a second salon and use them. Then she just forgot about them. But they're all in the there.” She pointed to the door that led into the storage area that Rita remembered as a nightmarish sort of place that no one ever wanted to venture into.

“Oh…?” Rita frowned. “And…?”

“And according to my daughter-in-law, you can sell things like that on eBay and Craigslist. Some people are really into all that old stuff and will pay big money for them.”

“Really? You think we could actually sell the chairs?”

“Sure. If you could get Donna to agree.”

“Interesting idea…”

Charlene glanced at the clock on the wall. “Time for my three o'clock. Just a haircut, and we don't have any more appointments. Jillian and Yolanda already went home. I could stick around until closing in case there are walk-ins. That is unless you plan to be here.”

“I'll be here,” Rita told her. “Go ahead and take off when you finish.”

“I'll put the towels in the washer before I leave, if you wouldn't mind putting them in the dryer.”

“No problem.” Rita opened the door to the storage room and turned on the lights.

“You're really going in there?” Charlene looked concerned.

“Yeah. If you don't hear from me before you leave, send in a search party.”

Charlene laughed. “Will do.”

The storage room was long and narrow. Like a man-made cave, it went the full length of the entire salon. And, of course, it was filled with everything imaginable and sometimes reminded Rita of a scene from a Stephen King movie. Bracing herself for spiderwebs and who knew what else, she started to create an alley past broken hairdryers, fake plants, shelving units, wobbly tables, boxes of Christmas decorations, rolled-up area rugs, cardboard boxes, and plastic crates. She had no idea what she'd do if the lights went out—probably scream for help.

About midway through she discovered a row of ghostly-looking lumps. Covered in old sheets, she suspected these were the chairs. She gingerly removed the first sheet to reveal it was indeed a chair. But it seemed to be a much brighter green than what she'd seen in the faded old photo. In fact, upon closer inspection, this chair was quite handsome. Constructed of stainless steel and covered in lime green vinyl, it wasn't only retro-cool, but as she sat down in it, she discovered it was quite comfortable, too.

“What a treasure!” she exclaimed as she attempted to move the chair into the alley she'd made. Because of the heavy metal base and solid construction, she could barely budge it, and there was no way she could carry it out of the storage room. Not about to give up, she transformed one of the area rugs into a skid, and after she maneuvered the chair onto the rug, she slowly slid it down the alley toward the door.

She was slightly breathless but excited when she finally got the lime green chair into the back room. It was really attractive and would probably look even better if it was dusted and cleaned up a bit. She grabbed a damp towel and some cleaning solution, and went to work on it. By the time she finished, she could imagine a very upscale LA salon being interested in something like this. And to think they had a full set! She went over to look at the old photo again. Not just haircutting chairs, but shampoo chairs, too. She sat down in the chair again, testing to see if it still turned and moved up and down. A little oil and it would probably be as good as new.

“Hey, look what you found.” Charlene grinned as she came into the back room with a laundry basket of towels.

“These are really cool chairs.” Rita stood up to admire it again.

“I think someone might pay good money for them.” Charlene shoved the towels into the washer, pouring in soap.

“They seem really well made.”

“Well, they didn't come cheap.” Charlene turned on the machine then came over to examine the chair. “Not even back in the seventies. But Donna insisted on the best. And with the money that Bernice gave her to invest in this place, she could afford it.” Charlene ran a hand over the smooth lime green vinyl. “Hair and Now was a happening place back in the seventies. We were hopping busy all the time. Kept all eight cutting chairs filled, with women in the waiting area.” She sighed. “But that was then.”

Rita returned to the old photos. “The salon was pretty cute,” she said. “I really like those floors. Perfect with these chairs. I'm surprised Mom wanted to change everything. Especially with these chairs still in such great condition.”

“Some of her clientele had made negative comments…thought the green was too bright. And business had been really booming, so your mom could afford to redecorate. Of course, dusty rose was all the rage at the time. The customers loved it…back then.”

“But this color of green is so much more contemporary,” Rita said. “In a retro-cool sort of way. And these chairs are so well made. It would be expensive to match this quality with something new.”

“Your mom's always had a good eye for quality…when she could afford it.” Charlene was pulling on her coat now. “Speaking of Donna, I thought I'd swing by and say hello to her on my way home.”

“Tell her hi for me. And tell her I'm still here, trying to figure out how to make this place work better. That should make her happy.”

“But I'm not going to mention the chairs.” Charlene shook her head. “I'll leave that to you.”

Charlene left and Rita sat back in the chair, wondering what she really could do to make this place work better…as well as make her mom happy. But she had a feeling the answer was going to be found in these lime green chairs. And not necessarily in selling them, either.

Rita was just sliding the fifth chair into the back room when she realized that someone was trying to get in through the back door. She glanced at the clock by the washing machine and, seeing it was well after seven and way past closing time, she got worried. Who would be coming here at this hour? Remembering what Charlene had said about local break-ins, she crouched down behind the chairs and tried to come up with an escape plan.

“I'll start up front and you start here in the back,” a male voice announced as footsteps came into the room and the door closed.

“I
always
have to start in the back,” another man said.

“That's because you're the younger brother.”

“But it's
harder
work back here.”

“I know.” He chuckled. “Why do you think I want the front?”

“Hey, Mason, why are the lights on in here?”

“And what's up with those green chairs over by the bathroom?”

Peering between the chairs, Rita could see these guys had on red and white jackets with the words
Jolly Janitors
stitched on the fronts. So that was it.

“Oh, uh, hello,” she said a bit sheepishly as she stood up. And now both men jumped back as if they were afraid of her. They were young African Americans and, based on their conversation, she assumed they were brothers.

“What're you doing here?” the taller guy pulled a phone from his pocket, holding it toward her like a weapon. “Should I be calling the police?”

“I'm Rita Jansen,” she said quickly. “My mom is Donna Jansen, the owner.”

“You supposed to be here?” the shorter guy asked with narrowed eyes.

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Then why are you hiding like that?”

“I heard someone come in and thought you were burglars.” She approached them, holding out her hand. “My apologies. I can see that you're simply with the janitorial service.”

“Yeah. I'm Mason,” the taller one said cautiously. “And this is my brother, Drew.”

She shook both their hands. “But I thought this was Johnny's account,” she said as she went to get her coat and handbag.

“You know Johnny?” Mason sounded relieved, but still looked slightly suspicious.

“Yes. I went to school with him.”

“At JFK?” Drew asked with interest. “That's where we go. Mason's a senior. I'm a sophomore.”

“You're in high school and you work for Jolly Janitors?”

“Just part time. It's how we're earning money for college,” Mason explained.

“Well, good for you. And I have to say that everything seemed very clean and neat when I got here this morning. Jolly Janitors do good work.” She pulled on her coat. “I'm going to get out of your way now. I assume you lock up and turn everything off?”

“That's right, ma'am,” Drew assured her.

She told them goodbye then hurried out into the cold dark night. They seemed like nice guys, and it was probably a good job for earning college tuition. But as she drove through the parking lot, she wondered about Johnny. What kind of job was it for a man going on thirty?

Instead of going home like she'd planned, Rita decided to swing by the hospital. Visiting hours didn't end until eight. If she hurried she'd be able to spend the last fifteen or twenty minutes with her mom. Of course, when she got to her mom's room, she remembered that her dad would still be there, too.

“Since you're here, I think I'll go home,” Richard quietly told her. “I still haven't had dinner and I'm a little worn out.”

“Yes, yes,” she eagerly said. “No problem.” She waited as he bent down to whisper something in her mom's ear, watching as her mom's eyes lit up. Then he gently kissed her, squeezed her hand, and said goodbye.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Rita told her mom as she went to her bedside. “But I was eager to talk to you tonight.”

“Hah-lo,” she said slowly.

“Hello to you, too.” Rita said. “How are you doing?”

“Gooo…” Donna made a half smile.

“Glad to hear it.” Now Rita began to tell her mom about finding the green chairs. “They're such cool chairs, Mom. I can't believe you kept them all these years. Charlene thinks they'd bring a good price on eBay or—”

“No.” Donna held up her left hand. “No.”

Rita patted her hand. “I know. Charlene also said you don't want to sell them. And I agree with you one hundred percent.”