About That Night...

Naughty girls look the part.

“I just want something different.”

“Be more specific, please.”

“I’m not exactly sure what,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m placing myself in your capable hands. I want a new look.”

Julienne expected exultation, or enthusiasm at the very least. After all, Ramón had been after her for the entire five years of their acquaintance to do something…anything with her hair.

But he only eyed her skeptically above the slices of black eyeglass frames resting low on his nose.

“How new?”

“New-new. Just not anything too short or too crazy.”

He circled her slowly, assessing, reminding her of Uncle Thad whenever he stepped inside an old building to assess the construction of walls and decorative moldings for restoration.

“What prompted this sudden need for a new you?”

“I just turned thirty.”

“Okay, a milestone birthday. What else?”

“What do you mean ‘what else’?”

He frowned.

“I’m just ready for a change.” She wasn’t about to tell him the truth.

“Does this sudden inspiration have anything to do with Dr. Whiteside?”

“Ramón, what kind of question is that?”

“A personal one I need an answer to, before I’ll touch my scissors to this mop you’ve been growing forever.” He sniffed haughtily. “Once I cut into the length, it’ll take decades to grow back out if you don’t like it. I don’t have the patience to listen to you sob the whole time.”

“Oh.”

She could understand caution. She’d lived a whole life filled with it. And she really had no reason to be uncomfortable about fessing up to Ramón. He’d been styling her hair ever since Ethan had insisted she make an appointment with his stylist. Besides…

Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Ethan does factor in a little. We called off our engagement six months ago and I’m ready to move on with my life. I’m ready to head in a new direction.”

Curiosity finally sparked in Ramón’s expression, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the back of the chair, his face so close she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave mingling with powerful traces of permanent wave solution from an earlier client. “A new direction, hmm? How new?”

“New-new. I plan to enjoy myself.”

There, you said it and you didn’t even blush. See, girl, twenty-one days of self-hypnosis are paying off.

“You’re booked in for the whole day,” Ramón said. “You want more than just a new hairstyle, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Facial, makeup and image consultation? The works?”

She nodded again.

Ramón bolted upright as if he’d been shot from a gun, making Julienne jump in the chair.

“Celeste, round up the troops,” he bellowed toward the front of the salon. “Jules’ll be leaving here a new woman.”

A new woman! That’s exactly what you want to be. Now sit back and enjoy the transformation.

Julienne didn’t have a chance to sit back and enjoy anything before being herded into a dressing room, instructed to strip out of her suit and don a black salon overcoat.

The troops arrived. Kathy the skincare specialist and makeup artist. Stephanie with the body spa. Judith, the salon’s colorist, though Ramón assured her he’d be doing her color himself. She already knew Katriona, the six-foot-two manicurist, who dripped gold spandex and flaunted her cake makeup and razor-stubbled cheeks proudly.

“Well, hey, sister,” she said. “What’s this Ramón said about real nails? Tell me you’re finally giving up that modish farmhand look you’ve been sporting since the dawn of time.”

To Katriona real nails meant acrylic and lots of it, along with sparkly gems, traffic-stopping colors and gold jewelry that resembled Barbie-doll sized nose rings.

“Just something feminine for tonight. I can’t wear them too long or I won’t be able to work. I’ve got my interns taking samples at a one hundred and thirty-six-year-old church this week.”

“Fascinating, I’m sure,” Katriona said in a decidedly bored drawl. “But what’s happening tonight? Something more lively than scraping paint chips off rotting floorboards, I hope.”

“The closing performance at the Risqué Theatre.”

“The Risqué?” Ramón asked, his fingers coming to a sudden halt in her braid. “You’re joking.”

“No,” she said, unsure why he was so surprised. “The Risqué Theatre is a building of architectural and historical significance. I’ve been there lots of times.”

“With your uncle?”

The subject matter performed at the Risqué was on the racy side for her sweet, but whole-other-generation uncle. “Ah, no.”

“I know you didn’t go with Dr. Whiteside.” Ramón frowned. “I can’t imagine him stepping foot inside the place no matter how architecturally or historically significant it is. The Risquéisan erotic theater, Jules. I’ve seen performances there that made my hair curl.”

A feat in itself, given that as far as she could tell his perfectly coiffed hair looked as smooth as a pin. While Julienne had never attended any hair-curling performances herself, she’d seen some very provocative ones. “Well, um, I usually go by myself.”

Ramón relinquished his grip on her braid and motioned to his crew with a smug smile. “Jules, sweetheart, that man was the root of all your troubles. I am so happy you’ve finally broken free. Once we get you a new look, we’re going to have to work on getting you a new guy.”

Julienne had a new guy in mind, but she didn’t intend to share that with Ramón and company. Which was just as well since Ramón began conferring with his crew again in a rush of instructions that made her head spin.

They circled her. They freed her almost waist-length hair from its braid. They held swatches to her cheeks and discussed color choices. They generally consulted on her new look.

Ramón reassured her with a smile but Julienne mentally chanted her key phrases and breathed like she’d sprinted a quick mile by the time they’d arrived back at his station. He issued orders like a drill sergeant to an assistant, who opened tubes of haircolor and mixed various thick pastes in bowls.

“I’m going to do a little highlighting and lowlighting to frame your face.”