We were eating our lunch in the back room at the salon.
“Last week,” I said to Kamy, “this lady brought in those sticks that a doctor uses to check your tonsils.”
“Uh-huh,” Kamy said, reading her text messages.
“She wanted to know if I could give her a perm on them.”
Kamy whooped, set her phone on the cluttered counter. “That’s crazy!”
“You bet! I told her, I’m sorry, Mrs. Hammond, but I’m a beautician, not a magician.”
Kamy laughed so hard she almost puked up the lunch we’d just devoured from La Cantina. “One time,” she said after she’d gotten her breath back, “I was doing a color consultation on Mrs. Lee. And I was halfway into it, you know, color charts, swatches, level this, retouches, blah, blah, blah. And I notice something moving on her lap. Like, under her cape.”
“She was a he?”
“Her dog.” We laughed.
“Hey, I need your advice,” she said. “Vincent messed me up last time.” She lifted her extensions in back so I could see.
I thought it’ll take a miracle to fix that. “We can stay after our last clients. I’ll see what I can do.”
“ Thanks! Oh, I’ve got a guy at 2:00 for a wax service.”
“Really?” I’d don’t do waxing, haven’t since cosmetology school. “What’s he getting done? Eyebrows?”
“No, Debbie booked it as a Back, Crack and Sack appointment,” Kamy said.
As the shock registered, my mouth gaped open.