Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
It was a multiple exclamation point kind of message brimming over with good cheer and positivity. I smiled and then frowned when I checked the time and realized I couldn’t get out of it without causing an issue for a haircut person I’d never met.
And that was how I found myself in West Hollywood on a Saturday afternoon at a hipster hair salon called Stylin’ Tea.
I glanced up at the clever logo of a pair of scissors resting beside a teacup. The bright colors and playful tilt of the saucer gave the impression I was about to enter a kids’ salon, but the sophisticated font and podcast info didn’t jibe with that notion. Neither did the drag queen behind the reception desk.
I pulled at the bill of my cap and shuffled toward the large-bosomed queen in a lowcut flouncy dress wearing a towering burgundy wig bedazzled with teensy butterflies. I’d never been this close to a real drag queen and this one was larger than life…from her wildly contoured cheekbones and puffy red lips to her blue eye paint and long lashes.
“Hello,” I choke-whispered, clearing my throat noisily before trying again. “Hi, I have an appointment with Noah. Originally, I was supposed to see Jase, but—”
“He-ll-oooo!” She boomed, opening her arms wide in welcome as she skirted the glass-and-steel podium. “Come in, darling. We’ve been expecting you! Noah will be with you shortly. Can we offer you iced tea, hot tea, coffee, water…a martini?”
“A martini?”
“Behave, Darcy.” A handsome man with dark blond hair and twinkling eyes slipped behind the reception desk and offered me a friendly smile. “Don’t mind her. She’s sassy, but mostly sweet. Are you here for me?”
Hmm. I wouldn’t mind if he’d said yes. He reminded me of a trustworthy cowboy from the silver screen—congenial and easygoing and—
“No, he’s Noah’s new client.” Oh. “Your three o’clock is running a few minutes late, Easton.”
“Thanks, doll.” He winked before turning to help the gentleman who’d sidled next to me.
Darcy frowned. “Now what was I saying?”
“Uh…a martini?”
She threw her head back and cackled. “Kidding, kidding. I’ve been off the sauce for so long, I think I’ve forgotten how to make a decent martini. However, I’ve become an expert at non-saucy beverages. Would you care for anything at all?”
“No, thank you.”
“In that case…” She gestured toward the lobby with a flourish. “Make yourself at home, honey. I’ll call you when Noah’s ready.”
I wandered the colorful waiting area dotted with fuchsia chairs and lined with photos of impossibly handsome men and beautiful women with newly coiffed hairdos. On the wall nearest the entrance, built-in mirrored alcoves were stocked with neatly lined rows of hair products—shampoos, conditioners, mousse. I idly traced the lettering on a bottle of frizz serum, humming along to an old Madonna song piped through the speakers.
Two more patrons entered, followed by three others. The salon was soon filled to the brim with chic and fabulous LA gays. And me. I felt like a wilting dandelion in a roomful of hothouse flowers.
Maybe I could just leave this Noah person a twenty for the inconvenience before I skedaddled. Or send him the money later. There was no way I was going near that front desk now. It was far too congested.
The handsome cowboy was helping the drag queen corral the small swarm of pretty people lingering around the reception area. No one would notice if I slipped outside and—
“Mr. Hartwell! Yoo-hoo! Oh, there you are.” The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Darcy stepped forward, motioning me to follow with an exaggerated windmill-like gesture. “Come along, darlin’. Noah’s ready for you.”
So much for making a getaway. Ugh. I vowed that when this was over, I’d set a standing monthly appointment with my local neighborhood barber, where the average age of the clientele hovered around seventy-two and no one was fabulous or fancy.
But for now…
“I’m ready.”
I pasted a smile on my face and followed the queen into the salon.
The very noisy salon.
Hair dryers hummed above the sound of conversation and a Prince classic. I caught snippets of lively chatter as we moved through the space.
“Lordy, that club is the worst. I’m never going back. Twinks doing coke in bathroom stalls is so—”
“Girl, you should have seen my ass in those jeans. I looked fuckable as hell and—”
“Loved that movie! It’s a good sex flick. Turn it on while your boyfriend is giving you head or eating your—”
Oh, geez. I don’t belong here.
That was my last coherent thought as we approached the semi-private station at the rear of the salon, where a figure dressed in black stood with his head bent over his cell.
“Noah, love! Your three o’clock is here.”
“Thanks, Darcy.” The man set his phone on a low shelf, then turned to greet me with a smile in place and his hand outstretched. “Hi there, I’m Noah.”