Vanity Insanity (19 page)

The pursuit of the Jewish religion threw me off a bit but didn’t surprise me. A.C.’s father came from a strong Jewish background. When he fell in love with A.C.’s mother, his family, overwhelmed by racial and religious flags waving in their strict culture and society in general at the time, decided to part ways. Grandma Perelman did send A.C. and his sister Elizabeth a birthday card with money each year. Evelyn’s family was really not much more supportive, and so Evelyn and John were alone on their island of diversity. Familial influence was infinitesimal. I was the closest thing to a cousin for A.C. growing up. Early on, A.C. embraced the Catholic religion. Around the time of high-school graduation A.C. began questioning the Catholic Church—not attacking, just questioning.

“Now don’t make fun. Growing up Catholic was an education of sorts…but I know that I need to check out a few things while I’m on this earth. Besides, there were some awfully attractive women in the Methodist church. You wouldn’t know. You haven’t even been to check out the women in your own church.”

“OK, so is your little Angel someone you met at Creighton, Arthur? In a law class or something?”

“Not exactly. She works in the cafeteria. She is a bit younger, but that doesn’t matter. She gets it more than the older women I’ve dated. And don’t call me Arthur.”

Here’s where A.C.’s hunger or passion annoyed me as a lifetime observer of what, occasionally, could be considered impulsive or even reckless. “A.C., is she in college? How old is she?”

“She’s eighteen, almost. Her birthday’s tomorrow. And she’s saving money to go to college.”

“Angel may get you, but I don’t get you. You’re converting to Judaism, you’re robbing the cradle…Is there any other bomb you want to drop on me today?”

“We’re getting married.”

Even the shampoo was silent.

I took a deep breath after this sucker punch. No music was playing since I hadn’t set up the new sound system yet. I looked at A.C., but I felt I was looking at a stranger. The fluorescent lights of the new place shone on the side of A.C.’s bald head.

“I really love her, Ben. I want you to be my best man.”

I looked down at the box I was holding and placed it on the ground. I walked over to the pink chair from my mom’s old shop. The “beauty chair,” which had been outdated in the sixties and seventies, now held a retro look that I was incorporating in the new place. I’d bought two other chairs for the new, yet-to-be-hired employees, but I would use the pink-and-black chair for my own. I stooped down to look under the chair and noticed that the scapular from Octavia was missing. In the move from Maple Crest, the little Catholic charm must have fallen off along the way.

I walked over to another box that I knew held the black radio Mom had let me take, kind of as a housewarming gift. For me the archaic radio held comfort and memories. For the new place, it would provide a conversation piece; I plugged it in and looked for a good station.

“Angel and I are going down to the courthouse next week. I’d love for you to meet her. Come down. Stand up for me, Ben. Her sister will stand up for her. We’ll take you both out to a little wedding lunch after…”

The excitement of my moving day had fallen like a weak balloon following a long party. I felt tired as I considered all of the flags waving in my face right now. No church wedding. No Mr. and Mrs. Perelman. I had never met this girl, and I was to stand up for a marriage I didn’t really support. I found a clear station playing Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy.” I turned the song up.

A.C. stared at me, his green eyes waiting curiously.

“Sure. What time, Arthur?”

A.C. exploded. “My man!” He jumped over several boxes and shook my hand. “My best man! I’ll get the details to you…You’re gonna love her. I just know it. Love her!” He looked around the room, and as if to ensure my answer, he started moving boxes and emptying them without knowing where things went. “Now, we’ve got some interviewing to do.”

“Yep.”

“Looks like we have about fifteen minutes before candidate number one shows up. What do you need me to do? Do you want me to start putting these things over there?”

A.C. wanted me to talk. To say something, say anything. His energy was really starting to annoy me.

“Well,” I slowly said to A.C. without looking at him, “you could help me come up with a name for the place.” He did owe me.

A.C. knew that my creative talent went only as far as the hair on the head in my chair. For the past several months, I had been considering name upon name for the biggest risk I had taken in my life. Grandpa Mac had loaned me more money than I felt comfortable borrowing, and I hoped to pay him back sooner than later. I would, of course, have to put up a temporary sign,
a quick sign made by Kinko’s. It would take weeks for the permanent sign to come in. The pressure to come up with a name was really hitting me hard, especially as I stood in the new place with all of the equipment that I had just bought. Sinks, hair dryers, furniture. If this place didn’t fly, I would be in debt for a long time. My goal of moving out of Mom’s house was either around the corner or a year out—dependent on the success of this venture. The name of the salon would need to bring in more clientele to cover my overhead. For a moment, I shifted all of the pressure toward A.C.—and without remorse, because of what he had just dumped on me.

I stared at him, waiting with raised eyebrows.

“You definitely need something catchy but not goofy…no more Marcia’s Beauty Box.” A.C. had never made fun of me working in the hair industry. He respected the work I did. “Curl Up ’N Dye is already taken.” He smiled.

I frowned.

“Sheer Pleasure…no, too erotic…Hairanoya? What do you think of that?”

I crossed my arms.

“Give me some time on this one. How much time do I have?” He sounded sincere.

“Three days.” At least I had deflated some of his annoying energy. A.C. looked as though he were really working on something.

The sound of the bell above the door announced the entrance of a candidate. The previous renter of the bay, who had managed a candy store that tanked, had put a bell above the door. Where Jolly Ranchers failed, I hoped that conditioner would succeed. I’d kept the bell but hoped the energy would shift as I moved in with my business.

Toby Windsor, candidate number two, stood in the doorway and looked uncomfortable as he noticed A.C. and me. “You must be Toby.” I motioned for him to come in. My first candidate must have been running late. Jenae Tolliver should have been here ten minutes earlier, and Toby was about fifteen minutes early for his appointment. A business owner and manager only a few minutes, I was already learning to be flexible.

Toby was a slightly overweight young man who was average in all other physical ways. Average height. Average style of dress with his khakis and white, button-down shirt. Average brown hair with average eyes framed by his average big glasses, which were average, at least in the eighties. The average façade lasted for thirty seconds until he took a deep breath and reached up to touch the top two corners of the door, each twice in a row before he walked to stand right in front of me with a folder in his hand. He said nothing. Behavior, not so average.

“Take a seat.” I grabbed a chair from behind two boxes in the mess that was causing distress to Toby, whose eyes scanned the room, his cheeks red and his eyes rounder.

“We just moved in today, Toby. The place will be cleaned up by opening.” It wasn’t that I cared what he thought; I just hoped that my comment would calm him down. Toby looked at the chair, and walked a full circle around it, and then sat down. I grabbed a stool for A.C. and sat down on two boxes, avoiding eye contact with A.C., who would probably be making a face about the interesting candidate and trying to throw off my attempts at being professional.

“I’m Ben.” I held out my hand to shake Toby’s; he looked at it as though it were obscene. He nodded his head his head twice and looked down at the folder in his lap. I put my hand down.

“From the resume you sent me, I can see you’ve established quite a long list of clients.”

“Yes.” His first word was spoken in an average voice.

“I actually called a few clients and your present boss. They all speak highly of you.”

“Yes, they do.” As Toby spoke, his cheeks filled with redness, as if someone had just slapped him very hard on each cheek.

“I guess, then, it would make sense if you let me know if you have any questions for me. Any comments? Anything?”

Toby cleared his throat and offered the folder to me as he stood up. “This is a list of requests and special contingencies I have.” He cleared his throat following the word “special.” “I will know that you cannot concur with them if I do not hear from you.”

“Great. I’ll just give the folder to my assistant,” I said, again without looking at A.C., handing him the folder. I didn’t offer my hand to say good-bye.

Toby got up to leave as the bell above the door rang again, this time announcing the late candidate number one, Jenae Tolliver. A beautiful woman with what A.C. would call a naughty body rushed in past Toby, who avoided eye contact with the knockout. I yelled to Toby, “Thanks, Toby. Have a nice day.” A.C. snickered behind me.

Jenae smiled at Toby, who disregarded her as he walked around her, touched the two top corners of the doorframe again, twice each, this time in the opposite order, and left the salon.

“Wow. This place is awesome! I love the retro look.” Jenae took in every little detail as she walked toward A.C. and me. One side of her hair was a bright magenta, lying smoothly to that side, with a good portion of it covering one eye. The remaining side was an almost-black color. The ridiculous hairstyle could not hide her beauty. Jenae wore a black, fitted, short skirt and a tight, white, revealing blouse. Her large earrings and high-heeled shoes were the exact color of the magenta side of her hair. Three of her fingernails were without the magenta nail polished that coated the remaining seven nails as though she’d run out of time as she was getting ready for her interview.

“I’m telling you. This place is soooo different from any other place I’ve worked in. I love it! Oh, look at the pink chair.”

“I’m Ben. You must be Jenae.”

“Ben!” Jenae squealed as she shook my hand with one hand and grabbed my other arm with her other hand. “You are too cute…and who is this guy?”

“This is A.C., my assistant.” Not really.

“A.C.? What does that stand for? Absolutely charming?”

A.C. smiled a toothy smile that made him look goofy. “You got that right.”

I gestured to Jenae to sit down, and she pounced down on the chair, crossing her legs in an angle, a well-rehearsed pose.

“I got your letter, but I didn’t get your resume or references.” I began the interview.

Jenae’s huge, dynamic, blue eyes were complimented by dramatic eye shadow. When you erased all of the magenta and most of her makeup, Jenae was stunning. Really stunning.

“Oh, I brought them with me.” She pulled several papers out of her oversized purse. “You can call any of these people any time. Actually, call this guy late at night. It drives him crazy. So funny.” I looked over Jenae’s list of clients and then handed the papers to A.C.

“I’ll get in touch with some of these people soon, but until then, do you have any questions?”

“Questions? Uh, no, no questions.” Jenae seemed to sit up straighter with a serious expression. “I think I should let you know that doing hair is my life. It defines me. I have been doing other people’s hair for as long as I can remember. I love helping people feel good about themselves. Don’t you?”

“Well, that’s a big part of the job, I guess…” My laugh sounded awkward. A.C. cleared his throat.

“Sorry I was late. I hate being late.” Jenae looked over at A.C. and winked. “Why don’t you two call me if you have any questions? I think we would work well together. Just a feeling. I do get really strong feelings sometimes…Oh, great radio. It’s so fun!”

Both A.C. and I rose to walk Jenae to the door. She glanced out at the parking lot and put her hand to her forehead. “No, no! Oh, gawd, am I really getting a parking ticket? Gotta go. Call me!” she screamed as she ran out the door.

Neither A.C. nor I said a word as we watched Jenae run to her car. We both turned back to sit down when I heard an eruption of laughter from A.C. He was laughing so hard, he was crying.

“Those were two major wackos! The girl was hot, though. Wait, you’ve got to hear this.” A.C. pulled out the folder that Toby had given me. “That Toby guy’s requests include the exact layout of his station, where he wants his combs and hair dryer…when he wants to take his
breaks…And that Jenae, what a trip. She was a looker, though. So do you have to start over, or do have any more candidates tomorrow? You do open in three days.”

“I think I’m done.”

“Done?”

“Yep. I only have two extra chairs and stations.”

“You’re kiddin’ me. You are not hiring those two head cases.”

I said nothing and started emptying boxes.

“Benny, I won’t let you do it. You’ll bomb. You need to think clearly about the money you’ve put into—”

“A.C., did you see the number of clients on Toby’s list? Did you see how long most have been coming to him? Following him each time he moved to a different salon? I called some of those people. One lady said she wouldn’t have anyone else do her hair. He has the clientele that will follow him to the Old Market. I have a business that can benefit from that. And don’t call me Benny.”

“He is messed up!”

“He’ll be to work early.”

“Yeah, touching doors and ceilings and…”

“I’m hiring both of them.”

A.C. wrinkled his face and shook his head. “The girl? You haven’t even seen her resume. She was late…”

“I liked her energy.”

A.C. looked into my eyes with a serious expression. “Either you want to date her or you feel sorry for her…” He was shaking his head, trying to think which made more sense for me. “So glad I could help. You really listen to my advice.”

“I didn’t really want your advice. I just wanted you here to help me feel better about the process, and pretend to be my assistant.”