Ch. 3: “Gorgeous hair is the best revenge.” ~Ivana Trump

Oh. My. Freaking. God.
This is what I say to myself when my mom and I walk into the Crystal Rose salon that’s full of wealthy, anorexic women dressed in black and white to match the marble floors. I shiver not only from the air conditioner blasting to keep out the ninety-degree heat, but from the faces on the creepy women—their lips are pursed, makeup caked on, and all the wrinkles from the tanning beds make them look older than my grandma.

Against the walls are a rainbow of nail polishes, gels, shampoos, and hairsprays stacked on wire shelves. A tall woman at the front desk glares at me. I look down at myself. Jean shorts and Dad’s old “The Who” t-shirt. I so shouldn’t be here.

I have half a mind to turn back and run, but Mom gives me a push until my boobs hit the edge of the desk. The tall woman, whose nametag reads “Shelley,” asks in a deep voice who I have an appointment with. She sounds like the Beast from the Disney movie. Her voice certainly doesn’t match her name. I make figure eight’s over the smooth, cold surface of the desk. “Her name is, uh…”

I look back at Mom, who walks up next to me and smiles. “My daughter has an appointment with Miss Toni.” She attempts to tuck a strand of hair behind my ears but I swat her away.

Shelley hands me a piece of paper. My name is at the top of the ticket; the wash, cut, color, style, dry boxes are marked off. If I had a pen I’d write in the other box, “Kill Self.”

I go to the back where there is an endless row of sinks. The leather chairs in front of them have plastic covers on the top half and towels with a monogrammed rose drape the bottom. A woman walks towards me, wiping her hands on a towel. The combination of her clunky boots and silver dangling earrings play a tune. “Follow me to this chair, honey,” she says. Could she BE more southern?

Of course, I just have to get my hair washed by this woman who gossips with another girl with bleach blonde spiky hair. “So that loser finally got dumped, huh? Girl, I know! ‘Bout time, right?” When she turns off the water, I feel my head to make sure it’s not bleeding from her long nails digging into my scalp.

She then points me in a general direction and says,”Toni’s over there.”  I guess that thing called southern hospiality doesn’t exist in this place.

After squinting at the business card holders on the edge of each station while also trying to hold up the towel that’s about to topple over like the Leaning Tower of Piza, I find Toni’s station.  I collapse in the chair and look in the mirror; in the reflection, my mother is talking to some weird girl with red dreadlocks. I slide down in the seat and lean my head back. Please God. Just strike me dead. My annoying mother and the burning fumes from the hair dryers are giving me a migrane.

I close my eyes, but am suddenly awakened by that same weird girl who looks like she dunked her head in a vat of red Kool-Aid. She snaps the towel off my head as I yell, “Ow! Son of a bitch!”

“Now,” she says popping her gum. “Let’s see what we can do here.”

Mom comes up from behind and taps my shoulder. “Here. I got you something to drink. Maybe this will calm you down.” She hands me a sweating bottle of 7-up.

“What? No cherry?” I ask, grumbling.

“Just drink your coke.” She sits in the empty chair next to me in front of a mirror with an arch of spotlights, making her look even more pale than she usually does. She crosses her legs and arms at the exact same time and stares at me.

I take a sip of 7-up and reach to put it down on Toni’s desk. “Mom, can’t you do something else? Or better yet would you mind, like, going away?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Besides, who else can take the before and after shots?” She holds up her iPhone.

Seriously? As if I’m not humiliated enough. I put up my hand in front of my face (like that’ll do any good). “Mom, this is stupid. It’s not like I’m getting my hair done for anything important like my wedding.”

She snaps a photo. “Come on Peach. Just enjoy this moment. Besides, you probably won’t get photos like this for another 20 years.”

“Aww, what an encouraging remark.” I look at Toni in the mirror, who is combing out the tangles in my hair. “My mom doesn’t think I’ll find a guy to marry until I’m in my 40’s! Such a great mother, right?”

Mom snaps another photo. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that marriage is not your priority; I know you.” She lowers her phone and raises her eyebrows. “More than you think.”

Though I didn’t say it out loud because I was too distracted by the giant wad of hair Toni just combed out, Mom’s remark sounded kinda creepy. She snaps one more picture and I try to get up to grab her phone but Toni pushes me back in the chair. “I swear Mom, if any of these photos end up on Facebook, Instagram or anything social-media related, I’m suing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re going in your scrapbook.”

Damn. I was hoping she gave up that hobby. I rub my forehead. “Mom. I beg you.”

She puts her phone down. “Fine. But I’m still not moving. I just want to make sure your hair is just right.”

Toni searches inside a drawer for scissors. “Don’t worry, Leanne.”

Leanne? What are they, like BFF’s now?

Toni twirls the scissors in the air. I suddenly feel like I’m Sweeney Todd’s next victim.

I move my head away from those deadly things. “Just how much are you chopping off? I don’t want to come out of here with one of those bowl cuts like my Aunt Sue’s”

“It’s just a trim,” says Mom. “And besides, her hair wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad? You could serve stew on that woman’s head.” Mom makes a brief giggle.

Toni sprays some more water into my hair like the bottle is a squirt gun. “I’m just going to cut the split ends before the coloring goes in.”

“What kind of coloring, exactly?” If Toni colors my hair exactly like hers, I’m torching the place.

“Just a few streaks of blonde highlights mixed in with spiral curls.”

I jerk my head away. “Umn, no, I don’t think so. I draw the line at curls. I’m not Shirley freaking Temple.”

Mom rolls her eyes and looks at Toni. “Forgive my daughter. She has a problem with change.”

“I do not!”

“Peaches, you have to trust me; I know you will love it,” says Toni as she puts her hands on my shoulders and flashes me a schoolgirl grin. That’s so fake.

I close my eyes and count to ten like I usually do to calm myself down when I feel like I want to punch somebody. I play with the braided straw bracelet that Kyle bought me at an arts and crafts fair a few months back when we were still talking. Even though there are times when I feel like running the guy over with my car, I wish he was here with me. Or Dad, or Brian, or anyone but my mother.

After the hand finally reaches the hour mark on my watch, Mom is still using her I’ll shoot you in the back if you move stare. I ask, “Wouldn’t you rather be doing something?” Mom takes out an Emory board from the front pocket of her purse and starts to file her nails.

The foil squares and purple curlers are pulling my cheeks so hard, that I can’t even enjoy the pleasure of frowning. If this takes another hour, Mom and Toni will have to call an ambulance for a stretcher. I’ll be for sure dead by then.

Once Toni lets me get out of that damn chair and sit in another chair in the corner to let my hair set, I finally think I’m gonna get some quiet time. Mom then walks over to hand me a People magazine, but I put it aside. I refuse to be one of these stuck up women in here who read gossip magazines. Mom then gets off on a speech, saying we haven’t had enough mother-daughter bonding.

“Is everything OK with you?” she asks.

“Well no, but did you have something specific in mind?”

“I mean with your hair. You’re not used to having your hair styled so fancy like this.”

Now that’s uncalled for. “Yes I have. Plenty of times.”

“Getting a trim at Supercuts from a guy named Spanky isn’t exactly in the same class as this.”

“OK A, his real name isn’t Spanky; it’s Spencer. And B, I go to him because he’s hot.” Oops. “I mean, he’s decent.” That didn’t sound right either. “At least he looks alot more normal than guys like him.” I point to a guy in a suit walking by with dark sunglasses and a pony tail all the way down his back.”

“Oh, really? Then why is your hair always frizzy?” Another zap. What has happened to this woman? I miss the days when she didn’t care what I looked like. She would usually say something cliché like, ‘You’re perfect the way you are.’ Why is she all over my back today? It’s getting annoying.

“What about that special hair dryer I use? Or used. It only overheated because our electricity sucks.”

Mom leaned forward, raising one eyebrow. “And whose idea was it to buy the cheapest one at Wal-Mart?”

“Spank—” I fold in my lips and grab a magazine, holding it close to my face. “OK, I get it.” So I bought a crappy hair dryer a few months ago. I would have bought a bobby pin from the guy if he asked. Everytime he runs his fingers though my hair, I get this incredible urge to jump out of my seat, wrap my legs around his waist and make-out with him—right there in front of everybody. That’s why when I schedule an appointment I bring a friend along for restraining purposes.

“How are we doing?” asks Toni who comes out of nowhere.

“How are we doing? I’m hangin’ in, but I don’t know about my mom here.” My mom laughs and says I am such a kidder.

When we get back to Toni’s station, Toni finally takes out the curlers and squares of foil; I’ve never felt so liberated in my life.

Toni styles my hair for another half hour and Mom bombards her with questions like, “What conditioner should she use? Is the spray better than the gel? Should she let it air dry or use the curling iron?”

I feel like stabbing my eye with a pick comb right now. Toni excitedly says, “OK, we’re all finished!” She lowers the chair and turns it around to face the mirror. “How do you like it?”

I almost don’t recognize myself. I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I do look pretty good.  Spiral curls all around, with half of it up in a twist. And wow, who knew I would look sexy as a blonde? Toni did work some kind of miracle on me. Too bad it will all probably deflate by morning. “Yeah, it looks good.”

“Good? That’s all we’re going to get?” Mom says.

“Really, it looks great.” I just need to get out of here before I die of exhaustion. I unsnap the black smock and grab my purse on my way towards the front.

The same tall, deep-voice lady appears yet again and asks again if she could help me. “Who did your hair?”

I look around to find my mom who is giving Toni a hug. Seriously? I turn back around. “Huh? Oh, Toni.”

She looks it up on her computer and says, “$250.”

“No, no. I’m Peaches Templeton. I had a 4:00 appointment with Miss Toni.”

 “Yes, that’s right.” She speaks slowly, acting like I’m a crazy person.

 Dang. I could have gotten an iPad for that amount of money. I take out my wallet. 20 dollars in cash. Bummer. Well, I have a credit card that’s supposed to be used only for emergencies. And I guess this is an emergency. If I don’t pay, this woman could burn me with her death glare alone.

Oh. Woops. I look at a receipt that has fallen out of my wallet. $158.99 for the Complete Works of Shakespeare. I forgot about that.  But, hey, that is a necessary item for a soon-to-be English major.

Suddenly my mom shoves another credit card in her face. “Here. Use this one.”

“Mom, no. I got it.”

“Don’t be silly. My treat.”

Even though I kinda figured she’d pay for it, I politely smile and say thank you, walking away from the two crazy ladies. Just when I think I’m finally gonna get out of here easily, Mom drags me to the sticky, leather chairs in the spa section near one of the entrance doors.

I’m worried she’s gonna make me get a facial, but she’s too busy digging through her massive tie-dyed purse. “Now. We’ll go to Macy’s first but you know what, I think we’ll go to the mall that just opened. It’s further away, but it’s much bigger. I printed out MapQuest directions for a better route. Where is that stupid thing?” At this point, half of her purse that contains everything from Junior Mints to toilet paper to Tarot cards is poured out all over the glass coffee table. “Oh, forget it. I’ll just ask someone.”

“Mom I have Google Maps on my phone. We’re good.”

“Yeah, but I need…” She wanders off, trying to find someone at the front desk. She rests her elbow on the counter and taps her fingernails and foot at the same time.

I come up behind her. “I said I can find it!”

Mom turns and puts a hand on my shoulder. She says softly, “OK. Calm down.”

“Then let’s go.” I need to get out of here pronto. I start to open the door to the real world with real air, when–

“But Peaches, we need to go somewhere that’s near it.”

  Please just shoot me. “God! Where are you taking me now?”

“I want it to be a surprise.” She sits back in the chair and takes out a pen and notepad out of her purse. Oh, sure. Those she can find. “Now, let’s make a list. What do you need?”

“Why do you need to write it down?”

“So you’re not throwing things together at the last minute.” OK, so she knows me more than I thought. “Now, what shoes do you plan on wearing?”

“That’s why we’re going to the mall. Shoes, dress, jewelry. I literally want to pull my hair out, but I know my mom would have a fit if I touch one strand.

“I thought you said you had a dress. You ordered it online, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I lied about that in the car on our drive to this god-forsaken hell hole. I doubt the dress I pick will meet her approval of being “dressy” enough, so I’m getting the dress on my own.

Mom is still scribbling away in her notepad. “I just hope that dress fits like a size five should and not feel like a size one. Remember when you ordered those pants from DELiA’s and you couldn’t even get the zipper up?”

“Yes. I remember,” I say, rubbing my temples.

Mom straightens up when another thin woman dressed in a slinky black dress answers the phone at the front desk. When she runs over to her, I walk out of the salon and breathe in the fresh air. I take the keys out of my pocket, quickly get in my car and place my hands on the wheel.

Ah. Quiet. Nice. I close my eyes, wishing everything around me would disappear. And I could be the only one left on the planet. Well, me and Matthew McConaughey.

I peek to see if my wish comes true, but my mom comes out of the salon flailing a piece of paper in hand. When she sits, she’s out of breath from, what, the ten steps she walked from the salon to the car? “OK, here’s the plan for the rest of the day.”

Will the madness never end? I rev up the car and put it in reverse just a second after Mom closes the door.

She turns on the radio and flips to the oldies station until I click on a Top 20 station that blares a Beyonce song.

She starts to turn the station again, and then I switch it, back and forth until I slam on the brakes at a red light. “Mom, please! Could you please just back off? This is my car.”

“Peaches, what is with you today?”

“What’s with me? What’s with you? You’ve become this different ‘mom’ all of a sudden. I mean, what happened between yesterday and today?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always been a mom.”

“Please. Even Brian gives me more rules than you. You’re usually so laid back and let me do what I want. Like, what’s the deal?” Mom’s face drops. She folds her hands in her lap. I lower my voice. “You’re just kind of creeping me out.”

Three cars around me honk in unison. “The light’s green,” she says quietly. Almost like she’s ashamed of something.

“Seriously, Mom. What’s going on?”

“Peaches, go. We’ll talk about it later.”

That went well. At least it’s back to silence.

Wrong again.

Mom perks up and says, “Guess what I have planned for us after shopping?”

Just murder me now and get it over with.