Hello, Gorgeous!. MaryJanice Davidson
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when the chip in her head reported Jenny’s blood pressure and pulse, but she rallied quickly when it pointed out that Jenny was mildly stressed. “We are not Northwest, Jenny. Stop double-booking.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She knew the younger woman was appropriately cowed, so she didn’t push. “And the highlights look great.”
Jenny smiled. “I’m a walking ad for this place, and you know it.”
“I do know it.” Jenny really was. Small, skinny, with shoulder-length blond hair (and red highlights now) and greenish blue eyes, Jenny was ridiculously pretty, one of those women who always looked effortlessly “done.” Which, of course, was not why Caitlyn had given her the job, but it certainly didn’t hurt. “Where’s the mail?”
Jenny reached beneath her desk and withdrew a box, which was overflowing. Caitlyn eyed it with distaste. “Paperless office, my big white butt.”
“Chief, if we could just go one workday without talking about your butt…”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And here comes your ten o’clock.”
Caitlyn turned in time to nearly get knocked off her feet by the exuberance of her client’s greeting. “Caitlyn! Thank God you’re here! I was worried you were still out!”
“Hi, Karen.”
“Not that I have a problem with any of your girls, but you really get me! And I’ve got a signing tonight! And as you can see, the situation is dire!”
“It’s not that bad,” she replied, inspecting the other woman’s roots. Karen was, unfortunately, both a close talker and incapable of communicating in a normal speaking voice. The combination meant Caitlyn usually bent back a good six inches when Karen was chatting, and eventually clawed for the Advil. “We’ll neaten up these ends for you, and that’ll make a big difference.”
“Great! Let’s do it!”
“Okay.” Caitlyn waited while Karen hung up her coat, then walked her over to the chair. Caitlyn’s throne/home-away-from-home was in the perfect location—she could do heads while keeping an eye on the others, observe Jenny’s phone manner, and know when the mail showed up. Also, the drawers were wide and deep, and stored many things.
“Let’s get started. What do you think about covering the gray and maybe lightening up this brown with some goldish highlights?”
“I think that sounds great! But anything will be a vast improvement!”
“Oh, cut that out. You’re too hard on yourself.” Karen was an attractive, plump thirty-five, but she disliked looking her age. “Tonight’s the signing?”
“Yes! I’m a nervous wreck!”
Yikes. Karen’s volume rose in direct proportion to her emotional state. She did PR, and most of her clients were local writers. “It’ll go great. You’ve planned the heck out of it.”
“That’s true!”
“I’m just gonna get a couple of Advil.” Caitlyn rummaged in the top drawer, then paused. She hadn’t been sick a single day since the government cheerfully infected her with nanobytes. Not a cold, not a headache.
Karen would be the definitive test. If she didn’t have a skull buster after doing Karen’s head, she would never have one.
Find out once and for all, Caitlyn thought. Am I a true freak, or is there a chance that things could ever get back to normal?
“So where have you been?! We’ve all wondered!”
“Visiting friends around the country. On second thought, I’ll pass on the Advil. So,” Caitlyn prompted, picking up a comb, “tell me about tonight. In vast, lengthy detail.”
Chapter 5
“I’m a freak,” she told Stacy over strawberry daiquiris that night.
“So?” Stacy replied, waving the waitress over. “Two more of these, please,” she said, pointing to their half-empty glasses. “Hey, how’s the baby?”
“Fat,” the waitress replied. Carrie was stitched over her left breast in red thread. “Colic’s done, thank God. Now I don’t have to worry about dropping him off at the county.”
“Even better, now you can have him over,” Stacy replied promptly, which made the waitress crack up.
Caitlyn shook her head. Stacy knew every waitress, bellboy, waiter, cook, chef, Mall of America employee, and dry cleaner in Minneapolis. She never forgot a face, a name, an offspring, or a discount. And she hadn’t been infected with nanobytes. Truly inspirational.
“So, you’re a freak,” Stacy said when the waitress had left. “What else is new?”
“Not the only girl in the sorority who knew who Nietzsche was, was a freak. Freak freak.”
“Again: so?”
Caitlyn sighed noisily, trying to suppress her annoyance. “So, what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Does this have something to do with the fact that you own Mag instead of just being the manager like everyone thinks?”
“No. I went back today, by the way. Place is doing great.”
“Of course it’s doing great. You give free manicures while your customers are waiting for their hair to cook, so why wouldn’t it do great?”
She grinned in spite of herself. “We in the trade prefer ‘foil technique’ to ‘cook.’ And tell me that wasn’t a great idea.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a great idea. Back to your freakish nature, which is nothing new, FYI. Does this have something to do with your Houdini last fall?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So, what happened?”
“You’d never believe it.”
“Hey, I believed you wanted to switch from psych to econ.”
“This is somewhat different,” Caitlyn said.
“And I believed you when you said you wanted to buy Mag and do heads and run your own business, when your folks had left you so much money, you’d never have to work again.”
“Again, that doesn’t really fall into the realm of the unbelievable.”
“And I believed you when you put most of your inheritance into a trust for that charity The Foot, which means they get to spend the interest, and you can’t ever touch the principle. Of your own money! Which means that the richest twenty-something in Minneapolis often eats ramen for supper.”
“Hey, you can get five packs of them for eighty-five cents,” Caitlyn said.
“So I know you’re a freak, okay? I’ve known for years. What, you’re trying to shock me now?” Stacy took a slurp of her old drink, then turned her attention to the new one. “Mmmm, strawberries. Go on, then. Shock me.”
“Well, I’m supposed to work for the government now. They did me a favor and now I’m supposed to do them a favor.”
“Oh. Well, I figured it was something like that. Is that why you’re looking so buff? You’re like Sydney Bristow on Alias…normal on the outside, and buff on the outside, but you know all this extra stuff too.”
“Nothing at all like Alias.” She was pretty sure. As usual, a conversation with Stacy involving alcohol was confusing and soothing. “But yeah, it’s why I’m looking so buff. Let’s put it this way: I was sick—”
“More like seriously fucked-up from the accident.”
“Right. And they helped me get better, and now they’re saying they didn’t