The Angel Tasted Temptation (8 page)

That
was a hairstyle. What she had on her head right now was glorified straw.

This haircut would, she hoped, trim off that cornfed look and add some pizzazz to her look. Help her become someone besides Meredith Shordon, the girl everyone could predict with the accuracy of a ticking second hand.

It hadn't helped that she'd lived with practically every resident in the town in her back pocket, like overstuffed tenement housing in Siberia. Mrs. Billings, who had little to do but look out the windows of her small ranch on the corner of Elm and Grave Streets, could give an FBI deposition on Meredith's birthdate, her first day of school and the time Sheriff Coultrey caught Meredith and Caleb making out in the parking lot at Petey's.

A new haircut wouldn't quite get rid of all that, but it was a start.

Elona hurried into the booth, spouting a greeting and an apology in one quick, long sentence. A tall spike of a woman with short black hair, black high heels and a shimmery turquoise dress that looked almost plastic, Elona started by draping a neon tie-dyed cape over Meredith's khaki capris and pale blue T-shirt. Then she laid her palms on either side of Meredith's shoulders and peered at her in the mirror. Elona had even tinted her eyelashes in a bright mascara to match her dress.

Meredith had asked for someone who could give her an adventurous look. Clearly, she thought, taking another glance at her wild-child stylist, that had been a mistake.

"So, honey, what can I do for you today?" Elona asked.

Meredith inhaled the scent of citrus shampoo and the too-sweet smell of a perm from the booth next door, then closed her eyes and clasped her hands in her lap. The stone in the opal ring her grandmother had given her pressed against her palm, a reminder of the persona she was leaving behind, the girl who looked about as sexy as a mule in a miniskirt. "However you want. Just make me look sophisticated."

"Did you hear that girls?" Elona squealed. "She's letting me be in charge. When was the last time that happened?"

"Can we keep this between us?" Meredith asked. "I just want a cut that makes me look like ..."

"Yourself?"

"No! The complete opposite."

"The complete opposite?" Elona spun the chair around so that she was now facing Meredith. "Now, honey, why would you want to do a thing like that?"

"Because I look like—" Meredith didn't finish the sentence. The dishwater hair and lack of style spoke for themselves. She pointed at the pictures ringing the walls of the salon. "I'm from Indiana. And I look nothing like those women."

Elona studied Meredith for a long second, tipping her head right, then left. "The girls think you're perfect as you are. Of course, you could use a trim here," Elona reached forward and touched the ends of Meredith's hair, "and a bit of bangs and—"

"No! I want more. I want..." Meredith pointed again at the wall, at a photograph of a slim blonde with a pixie cut that framed her face in a slash of angles. To Meredith, she looked like the personification of Boston. "That."

"Oh no. No. No. That's all wrong for you," Elona said. "Girls, we have a tough case here." The salon hummed with activity around her, but as far as Meredith could tell, there was no answering voice to the African-American hairdresser. Who the heck was she talking to? Who were these girls? The ones in the booths on either side? And where did they get off, discussing her as a "tough case"?

Meredith jerked her head around. "Listen, this is my first real style and it's a pretty traumatic thing. I'd appreciate it if we could keep this event between us."

"Oh, I'm not talking to anyone outside of here," Elona said, her spiky black hair standing out around her head like a halo on the Grim Reaper. Meredith felt a flash of panic at being stuck with a stylist who looked like she'd been sent through a shredder. "I'm talking to my girls." She held up a pair of brass scissors and a matching comb. "Meet Bella and Luna."

"You
named
your styling tools?"

"Hey, the Marines do it with their guns. And I make beauty, not war with these. Ain't that right, girls?" She smiled at the duo.

Oh God. I've put the fate of my head into the hands of a full-blown Loony Tune.

"Okay, now let me look at you one more time," Elona said. She spun the chair around, cupped Meredith's chin and tipped her face right and left. "Nice heart-shaped structure. Deep blue eyes. A natural blonde, not something I see every day. Not too fine, not too thick. Hmmm ..." Elona closed her eyes and continued her "hmmm," turning the thoughtful sound into more of a low-pitched hum.

Oh no. Humming was a bad sign, particularly with closed eyes. Meredith wanted to bolt from the chair but the hairdresser had a dang good grip on her chin. "Uh, Elona?"

"Shh ... don't interrupt. I'm waiting for Brigitte to tell me what she thinks."

"Brigitte? What is that, your hairspray?"

"No, silly. Brigitte Bardot, one of the goddesses of hair."

"B-B-But she's like living on the other side of the world or something, isn’t she?"

"Good thing, too. I wouldn't have been able to consult with her in person. Do you know how hard it is to get one on one time with celebrities? Take a number and get in line, lady, Miss Bardot is too busy for the likes of you," she said, affecting the voice of what Meredith envisioned as a burly guy in a tank top. Clearly one of Sybil's—i.e., Elona's—many personalities. Elona raised the cutting implements over Meredith's hair. "Now. Let's give you your new look."

Meredith put up a hand. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Elona laughed. "Of course I do. And even if I didn't, Brigitte is here, in a way, to guide my hand."

Panic flashed in Meredith's gut. She glanced around, at the mounted posters of happy clients with stunning haircuts. From his station at the front desk, the redhead sent her a thumbs-up and a grin. Maybe Brigitte
had
been channeling her energies into this place from wherever Miss Bardot was right now.

What if Elona was wrong today, though? And standing on the other side of her psychic door wasn't Brigitte ... but Cyndi Lauper?

"I'm not so sure I want to do this." Meredith started to rise out of the chair.

Elona put a firm hand on her shoulder. "Trust me, honey. We're going to take the country right on out of you."

Elona had spoken the magic words. Meredith still wasn't so sure she wanted the spirit of a distant Hollywood celebrity having any input on her hairstyle, but if that's what it took to make her look like anything but herself, then she was willing to take a chance.

After all, wasn't that what she'd vowed on her trip to Boston? To take more risks? To stop being as scared of risk as a cat around a weedwacker?

She inhaled and closed her eyes again. "My head is yours."

"Hear that, girls? She's going to let us cut. Now do your best."

And with that, the first snip was made, sending tendrils of the old Meredith fluttering to the floor. Somewhere above her head, Meredith was sure she heard Bella and Luna laughing with glee.

Elona's Appearance-Is-Everything Crab Soufflé

4 tablespoons butter, separated

3 tablespoons flour

3/4 teaspoon salt

7 tablespoons milk

2/3 cup whipping cream

4 eggs, separated

2 6-1/2-ounce cans white crab meat, drained

1/2 cup dry bread crumbs

1/2 teaspoon onion powder

1/4 teaspoon paprika

Now, honey, you know if you make something that looks good, it's gonna take all the attention away from anything else in your life that's going wrong. Start by preheating your oven to 350 degrees. Then take one tablespoon of the butter and use it to grease a 1-1/2-quart soufflé dish.

Melt the rest of the butter in a pan, add the flour and salt and mix well. Can't you just hear Julia Child talking to you? Now I know she passed already to the other side, but I tell you, she's there, over your shoulder, helping you get this just right Add the milk gradually, stirring constantly, then bring it up to a boil and cook until it's as thick as a good shampoo.

Beat the egg yolks in a separate bowl. Don't be dumping them all in at once with the hot stuff; you'll get scrambled eggs instead of crab soufflé. Add a little of the sauce mix at a time, mixing it slow. Then add the bread crumbs, crab meat, onion powder and paprika.

In a whole other bowl (I know, but ask Julia, if you want to be a great chef, you have to dirty a few bowls), beat the egg whites until they've got stiff but not dry peaks. It's an art, just like cutting hair. Fold a little bit into the crab mixture to slacken it, as Julia would say, then fold in the rest. Gentle now, honey, don't want your peaks to fall.

Spoon it into the soufflé dish, pop it into the oven and bake for 45 to 50 minutes or until you can slip a knife into the center and it comes out looking as clean as a brand-new perm rod.

Don't wait to eat. Your new life is waiting for you and if you're pokey, you risk your soufflé deflating and your dreams escaping. Just ask Julia; she'll tell you the God's honest truth (because right now, she's got His ear).

Meredith's life had been ruined by a mullet.

Elona had pronounced her hair "outstanding" and apparently Bella, Luna and Brigitte had concurred. But all Meredith saw staring back at her from the wall mirror had been a fluffy, longer version of the 80's mullet, with layers on the top of her head and straight lengths of hair running along the sides.

Her life was over.

"Oh, don't you love it? Brigitte thought it would bring out your eyes." Elona eyes beamed with pride at her handiwork.

"It's ... it's ..." And then Meredith couldn't get out another word. She buried her face in her hands and started to sob.

"You don't like it?"

Meredith shook her head.

"But... but it's perfect for you."

"It's perfect for Duran Duran," Meredith cried between her fingers. She planned on never leaving this seat, never facing the world again. Or at least until her hair had grown out and resembled the look she'd had an hour ago.

In other words, she was staying here until the old Meredith grew back.

"Oh, honey, it's not so bad. Wait till you get home and play with it. Make it your own." Elona gave her a pat on the shoulder. "It's a big change. A lot to get used to."

"I look horrible." The words, muffled by her tears and her hands, came out more like "I wook how-wibba."

Elona came around to the front of the chair and gently peeled back Meredith's hands from her face. "No, honey, you don't. The girls agree with me. You'll see. Just get used to it."

Get used to it? Maybe in eight weeks, when her hair had grown out and she'd gone from a mullet to a shag. All her life, she'd had the same style—long, straight and plain. It may have been boring but at least she hadn't looked like an extra member of REO Speedwagon.

"Here, dry your eyes," Elona said, handing her a tissue. "And look again. It's not as bad as you think."

Meredith did as Elona said. She lifted one end of her hair, then the other. The haircut still looked like an overgrown mullet but it had ... possibilities.

"It's a big change," Elona repeated. "You'll love it soon, trust me. Brigitte is never wrong."

Meredith wasn't so sure the input of a star who wasn’t even in the same country, never mind the same room, should be trusted, but she paid Elona anyway, because the guilt at not paying would have plagued her for the rest of the day, bad haircut or not.

And besides, Meredith had to admit that Elona was the expert and maybe the fact that she'd just had her first haircut in a decade had sent her spiraling into some weird crazy feelings of regret. Maybe tomorrow she'd wake up and miraculously find herself with Cameron Diaz's hair.

Meredith glanced again in the mirror before she left Hair and Gone. It was going to take more than a night's sleep to make her look like Cameron Diaz.

When she got back to the shop, Maria and Candace assured her they loved the haircut and that it was perfect for her face and her new look. The clothes they'd bought the day before were sassier and hipper than anything Meredith had ever owned, and once she put on one of the new outfits she had stored out back, she could at least stop sobbing.

Maybe, in time, she'd be able to stop wearing waterproof mascara. But until her hair grew out, she wasn't taking any chances.

Six hours later, she stood on Rebecca's front stoop, clutching her purse, and waited for Travis Campbell to come and pick her up. She wore the new outfit she'd changed into, a dark blue skirt and silky pink T-shirt. She'd fiddled with her hair until she was afraid she was going to go bald, all to no avail.

No matter how much she strove for City Girl, Meredith was sure she came off looking more like Country Gone Wrong.

A silver convertible slid into the parking space in front of her. Travis sat behind the wheel, his dark hair a bit windblown from the topless ride.

Heat smoldered within her at the sight of him. He was more man than any man she'd ever met before, certainly sexier than the boys who'd been in her high school.

They
had
been boys. Inexperienced in the world, and in knowing what made a woman tick.

Travis was a M-A-N.

He parked the car, slid out of the seat and came around to face her. "I wasn't sure you'd be here."

In jeans, with a battered black leather jacket over a white T-shirt that stretched across the planes of his chest, Travis looked like an ad for sex.

Oh, Lord. This was more than she'd bargained for. Meredith let go of her purse. It hit against her hip, the strap tugging against her shoulder, a dead weight reminding her of what was inside. Was she up to this? Could she really go through with it?

Besides, would Travis even want to sleep with a woman who now looked like the long-lost third member of Wham!?

He took a step toward her, reaching up and touching her hair. "I like this," he said, lifting the ends and releasing them in a flutter against her neck.