Split Ends (9 page)

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, why? Is it obvious?” I start to pat my jeans, but it's clear whatever she was asking me, it isn't my clothes.

She tosses a white clipboard on the countertop, and I feel like I'm at the starting gate waiting for her to say go. I want to explore. I want to discover what it's like to feel like a stylist in Yoshi's Beverly Hills.

“Yoshi asks that all applicants read our manual and fill out this application so that he can refer to it when speaking with you. You can wait in the back room while you write.” She looks me up and down. “Out of clients' view. Even though it's only a teaching model, Yoshi has a strict policy about the appearance of his stylists,” she says, as if to make sure I get her message. “
Yes, you look like dog meat. To the dungeon with you!”

I look down. The Chip & Pepper jeans are not enough to overcome the rest, I guess. “My cousin dressed me,” I say, thrusting my shoulders back. I grab the clipboard and head toward the salon.

“Yeah, you look great,” she calls after me. “It's just that Yoshi doesn't allow skinny jeans in the shop. No denim at all, actually.” She crosses her arms. “We think it looks tacky and lazy.”

This from someone who's forcing me to gaze at her belly button.

“No skinny jeans, but midriffs are okay?” I ask innocently. Really, there's not a catty sound attached to it.

She yanks down her shirt. “No, but I have plans after work today.”

I don't even want to know.
“You look darling. I was just clarifying for myself.” I start to gaze at the walls and the gorgeous pictures from magazines and autographed glossies of the Hollywood elite.

“Renee Zellweger has been here?” My eyes zoom to the next photo. “Faith Hill? Oh my gosh, McDreamy? I love him. I totally love him!” I look back at the receptionist. “Have you met all these people?”

“Just a few of them. You're going to save the starstruck
routine for me, right?”

“Oh, absolutely! It's just so weird to think I have a shot of one day working on Hollywood royalty, you know? My hairstyles might be seen all over the world.”

“I know. It's big, but you have to play down that you care an iota.”

I giggle my excitement. “I'm sorry. Of course, I know you're right. No starstruck.”

“Fill out the paperwork first. It will get you in a serious mood to meet Yoshi.”

My eyes go right to the forms and the glaring empty spaces marked Previous Experience. Lying is bad enough. Lying on paper is illegal. She's right. I'm definitely out of the giddy mood. “My cosmetology license is—it's in another state,” I say to the girl. “I've already had my state review, but I'm still not approved to work here.”

“As long as you're in the application process, that's fine. California is one of the states that makes it hard to transfer. Yoshi knows that. You don't need a license to sweep hair.”

No, I don't. But what is that supposed to mean
? “But I need a license to wash hair,” I say hopefully.

“If Yoshi finds your work satisfactory, he'll make sure you get what you need for California's extra hours. You won't be cutting hair for a long time, so I wouldn't worry about it.”

“Right. I'm a long way from working on Hollywood royalty—that's what you're saying to me?”

“Don't be discouraged; just be realistic. So, what's Scott like?” This is said with a hint of friendliness. “Is he as cool as he seems? Have you known him long?”

I'm worrying about how long it's going to be before I touch hair again. I should have brought Vanilla. I could have snipped her hair and blow-dried it. She could have kept me company.

But back to Scott. I can't remember if he's my boyfriend or cousin at the salon. She asked about a boyfriend. Is that what she meant? “Yes, we've been close for a long time.”
Always avoid answering directly.
That may become my new mantra. Just like
Don't ask, don't tell
at home.

“I'd kill for his job. Do you get to wear the clothes all the time? He's genius. His work on
You Are My Life
. . . classic. He's like a stylist for real people, you know? He's not dressing people up to look ridiculous for photo shoots. He avoided that whole ugly legging thing that cost so many stylists their job. I hear he's the prince of prosthetics, too, and considering his own line of products. That is so hot.”

Oh yeah, my cousin's line of jelly boobs. Now there's a
pinnacle of success to take home to Sable. Not.

“He's very artistic, and he's a perfectionist. I guess it shows in his work.”
Relationally? That's another story.

I look down at my jeans. Heaven forbid she asks me what they are, because I don't remember as of two seconds ago.
Salt and pepper, chili pepper, something food-oriented.
Overpriced is all I remember.
“I get to wear the clothes. At least for a little while. I just moved here, so I'm going to be building my wardrobe.”
Duh, like I didn't have a wardrobe
in New York City?

She leans in toward me. “Yoshi is really excited you're here. He's so anxious for some of Scott's bigger clients. They always come to Yoshi in an emergency, but not regularly, and he's so competitive, he can't stand them going elsewhere. It's like every client at another salon is a dagger to his heart; he takes it personally.” She shakes her head. Yoshi's better than all of the others combined. A true artist. But he's not very relational. You know when Jennifer Aniston's marriage broke up? Chris McMillan was there for her. That's what people want from their hair people these days: relationship. Yoshi's just got the talent, not really the emotional pull. He does have Kelly Winkler. You know her? From
Lilly Minder, MD
? The show on Cable 54? She's
in here all the time.”

“I'm not familiar with it, no.”
Cable 54?
Apparently, there are a few more TV options here in lala land.

“Oh, girl, you have to watch it. TiVo it; it's on Tuesday nights. It's all the buzz here. Kelly is hot, hot, hot. She's got a movie going this summer when
Lilly
stops filming, and so Yoshi knows she's ready to break out. That's why he took her personally.”

“So are the stars nice? Do they expect a lot?”

“You came from Ted Gibson. Didn't you have some there? So many people are bicoastal these days.”

I should just shut up now. I'm bicoastal. Which sounds like a disease, but it's apparently an affluent way to live.

“Now that Kelly Winkler's on board, Yoshi's getting some of the other stars of the show, because they all think they're going to break out as well. They won't, but it's good for appearances. Yoshi's focused on the movie stars because then he'll get screen credit, and that should help the product line immensely. That's the ticket here in town. Product. Royalty streams. Your cousin seems to get that.” She stands up. “Scott has a lot of film stars. I can see the family resemblance.”

Ah, so he is my cousin
.

“I'm Jenna.” She holds out her sleek, graceful hand. “While you're getting the run of the place, just come ask me any questions. I'm the office manager, so if it's happening, I'm aware of it.”

I love it. In Wyoming, we'd be lucky to have a receptionist. Here, we've got an office manager!

“Just for future reference? No skinny pants or denim. It's policy. If you appear smaller than the clientele, they don't come back. We joked that we should print on the mirrors, ‘Objects standing behind you in the mirror are bigger and more tank-like than they appear.'” She laughs melodically. “Yoshi wants his clients to sizzle and his stylists to be hot enough to be inviting but classic enough to be couture.”

Whatever that means. “Seriously?”

“It's our motto.”

“It doesn't make any sense.” I mean, I know I'm a country girl, but that doesn't make any sense. How can it be a motto?

Jenna's jaw twitches. “Look, just fill out the forms. It isn't exactly your place to be telling Yoshi what makes sense.” She thumps her hand on the granite, and I realize I've failed the one piece of education I brought with me: I ticked off the receptionist. Worse yet, I ticked off the office manager, and this I managed in the first five minutes!

A door opens and I snap back to attention. A tall, Asian man with gold highlights in his black hair approaches me and looks to Jenna. “This her?” he says, as though I'm not standing right there. I wonder how he can tell I'm not a client, and my mind immediately goes to my boots. The only clothing of mine that I'm wearing.

Yoshi is clean. Unconscionably so. I half expect his teeth to glisten when he smiles, but of course, he never does.

Jenna nods subtly, thoroughly disgusted with me.

“Come in the back, please,” Yoshi orders. “Jenna told you no skinny pants?”

I can hear the rushing of my heartbeat. “Yes, sir.”

As I'm led through the salon, I'm a bit starstruck as I imagine myself bent over the simplistic yet elegant wash sinks. Maybe I'll be leaning over Lilly Minder—or hey, maybe even the next Cary Grant or Dr. McDreamy—one day!

There are magazine covers lining the hallway to Yoshi's office, and they are all current. “The salon is in so many magazines.”

“Of course it is. You were expecting . . . ?”

“Just that, sir.”

“We're currently doing makeover shows for
Wake
Up, LA!
and the E! network. There is no shortage of opportunities here.”

“I brought in my portfolio,” I say, holding out my book as he enters his office. He just waves it off and sits behind a desk filled with trophies and pictures of him with famous people. I keep the application clipboard, my heart pounding at how I'll get out of this
. God help me. I can't lie
to him.

Yoshi doesn't look at me. He looks right behind me into a mirror and watches himself. I want to turn around and see what he's saying to himself, but I imagine that's just as rude as what he's doing, so I keep forward, trying to pretend he's not looking right through me. He kicks the door shut with his leg. “Sit down. You're making me nervous.”

I sit.

Yoshi crosses his leg over his knee. “Let's get a few things out of the way. I know you're from Wyoming, so don't bother filling that out.” He finally looks at me over my portfolio. “It's better for both of us if you don't lie on paper. I know you've never stepped foot in New York. I called the salon Scott said you worked for and they'd never heard of you. And your license is from Wyoming, so I should assume you were working in New York . . . why?”

“I—I—”
But what can I say, really?
“I'm good, Yoshi.
And I will listen to everything you have to teach me. I'm better than if I was from New York because I come with absolutely no attitude. None whatsoever.” Except that slightest bit of old Hollywood royalty fantasies, but I'm totally willing to squelch that.

“Listen, I know what my training is worth. I know why people will lie to get it. I know Scott Baker would lie to his own grandmother to get what he wanted.” He pauses and pulls his glasses down to stare directly into my eyes. “I would too, though, so I don't hold it against him. Or you. You're a survivor. I like that. But you lie to me again and this is over, all right? I don't care who your cousin is.”

“I'm not a liar, sir. But I need this. I want to be the best I can be at my job. It's not about the money or even meeting the stars—though I'm more Hollywood-struck than I thought I'd be. It's just, I often see the image I want to make on a customer, but I don't have the ability yet. I have the foresight but not the skill. You can give me that skill, and that's why I'm here.”

He nods. “It's good you understand that. I get so many of you thinking you're the next Yoshi straight out of beauty school.” He laughs. It's creepy; it reminds me of the old snickering Peter Lorre.

“Your cousin may have a talent for dressing, but it's clear he hasn't a clue of how hairstylists get licensed,” he mumbles. “It's my license at stake if I don't check out your references. California has very strict standards. Sure, people can buy licenses, but I'm glad you didn't go that far. I'd rather see this.”

I nod. “I'm so sorry about the misunderstanding.”

He looks straight at me with his piercing black eyes. “It was intentional, no?”

“It was intentional,” I admit. I mean, I didn't stop Scott.

“Have you studied? The bigger the outfit—”

“The smaller the hair.”

He nods. “Very good. Headbands?”

“Perfect for today's sleek look. Used widely in the New York shows this year and making a distinct comeback.”

Again he nods, and I can't help but think my
Vogue
subscription was worth every penny, because it's not like I've ever had use for this stuff.

“You don't get into my academy unless I want you in my academy. Your credentials matter not an iota. I can teach anyone to cut hair, but do they have the image I want for Yoshi? That is what matters to me.”

He's keeping himself locked on his own image in the mirror. “There are four levels here. You'll be starting out at level one, where I will teach you to wash hair again. A good shampoo is why people come back. You get water all over them, they're gone. If you leave them relaxed, with a good head massage, they are putty in your hands.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Level two, I'll be teaching you to cut again, and color properly—the Yoshi way. For the first year, you will be mixing my color to my exact specifications. We have a color room, and you'd do well to get acquainted with it and listen and learn from my color mixing. See where the patrons start. Where they end. Color has its own advanced training, which you'll be taking later. I'll be quizzing you on the mixes by the end of the week, but you'll be concentrating on shampooing. We practice that on real people. No heads. Do you have a head?”