helped. I touched my head tentatively.
My hair felt like wet wool but was still as weak as cotton candy. I had flashbacks of the hours I spent in Lauren’s chair,
the way I looked when I caught the first glimpse of myself in the mirror, the way my hair felt when I reached up to touch
it. I started to cry again. I couldn’t let Pete see me this way. I put on a baseball cap and pulled out the phone book. I
found Jan Wilson’s number. Jan had a salon in her basement. She was famous for resurrecting ruined hair. I heard about her
through one of the Mushroomheads.
It was 7:15 A.M. I was crying when she answered the phone. I apologized for calling so early and, in between sobs, spilled out my sorry story.
She took pity on me and agreed to see me at 8:15. I roused Pete, took him to Lynette’s, and sped over to Jan’s house.
She walked around me, examining my hair. She tugged at it and it came off in her fingers. She examined it some more. “Honey,
your hair is dead,” Jan finally pronounced. “There’s nothing we can do now but cut it off.” She tugged at it again. “I think
we can save about a half inch off the scalp. It’s going to be short.” I started sobbing again and Jan kneaded my shoulders.
“I know. I know,” she murmured.
“Just do it,” I told her. “Just cut it off.”
Twenty minutes later, I looked like a chemo patient. All the money in the world couldn’t get my hair back.
I staggered out of Jan’s salon and drove to the bagel shop for a cup of coffee. I was dumping sugar into my cup when someone
came up behind me.
“Could it really be? Valerie Ryan?”
It was Michael Avila. Just my luck. “Yup,” I said, turning slowly to face him. “It’s really me. The hairless wonder.”
He stared at my head. “I love it.” He seemed sincere. “I think you look beautiful.”
“You do?”
He was still staring, now at my mouth. “Uh-huh.”
“Really?”
“I don’t lie.” He was looking into my eyes now. “Where have you been?”
“In court.” I told him that I’d finalized the divorce settlement.
“Actually, I’ve heard. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. How did you know?”
“It’s a small town. News travels fast.”
Michael’s pager trilled. He checked the screen. “Crap. I’ve got to run.” He looked sad. “Any chance I can take you out this
weekend? To celebrate?”
“Sure,” I told him. “Call me.”
“You got it.” And with that, the handsome detective was gone. Maybe my hair wasn’t so bad after all. I didn’t feel bald anymore,
I felt sassy and edgy and chic.But Michael never called me. I’m trying not to think about it.
’Til next time,
V
June 14
I called Lynette today. I had to know what the Rosens’ car was doing in front of her house on Saturday morning. She finally
admitted that Wade and Melanie had spent the night. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “Lynette, what happened?”
There was a long pause. “Sex happened,” she said, then giggled.
“Excuse me?” I was sure I’d heard wrong.
“Sex happened,” she repeated. “And it was incredible.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding. Melanie and Wade were incredible. Funny, happy, sweet. We had a little wine, then a little more, then
Wade offered to give me a back rub and Melanie started kissing me and Curt was kissing me and the next thing I knew, we were
all in the guest room. In the bed. Naked.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Is this something you plan to do on a regular basis?” I knew I sounded judgmental.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe.”
Michael Avila still hasn’t called.
’Til next time,
V
June 15
He didn’t call me today, either. I knew he was lying about liking my hair.
June 16
I feel vindicated!
I just heard through my new friend Donna Gold who heard from one of the Mushroomheads that C.J. Patterson pulled her kid off
Jerry Johansen’s team. No details, but it had something to do with
My hair felt like wet wool but was still as weak as cotton candy. I had flashbacks of the hours I spent in Lauren’s chair,
the way I looked when I caught the first glimpse of myself in the mirror, the way my hair felt when I reached up to touch
it. I started to cry again. I couldn’t let Pete see me this way. I put on a baseball cap and pulled out the phone book. I
found Jan Wilson’s number. Jan had a salon in her basement. She was famous for resurrecting ruined hair. I heard about her
through one of the Mushroomheads.
It was 7:15 A.M. I was crying when she answered the phone. I apologized for calling so early and, in between sobs, spilled out my sorry story.
She took pity on me and agreed to see me at 8:15. I roused Pete, took him to Lynette’s, and sped over to Jan’s house.
She walked around me, examining my hair. She tugged at it and it came off in her fingers. She examined it some more. “Honey,
your hair is dead,” Jan finally pronounced. “There’s nothing we can do now but cut it off.” She tugged at it again. “I think
we can save about a half inch off the scalp. It’s going to be short.” I started sobbing again and Jan kneaded my shoulders.
“I know. I know,” she murmured.
“Just do it,” I told her. “Just cut it off.”
Twenty minutes later, I looked like a chemo patient. All the money in the world couldn’t get my hair back.
I staggered out of Jan’s salon and drove to the bagel shop for a cup of coffee. I was dumping sugar into my cup when someone
came up behind me.
“Could it really be? Valerie Ryan?”
It was Michael Avila. Just my luck. “Yup,” I said, turning slowly to face him. “It’s really me. The hairless wonder.”
He stared at my head. “I love it.” He seemed sincere. “I think you look beautiful.”
“You do?”
He was still staring, now at my mouth. “Uh-huh.”
“Really?”
“I don’t lie.” He was looking into my eyes now. “Where have you been?”
“In court.” I told him that I’d finalized the divorce settlement.
“Actually, I’ve heard. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. How did you know?”
“It’s a small town. News travels fast.”
Michael’s pager trilled. He checked the screen. “Crap. I’ve got to run.” He looked sad. “Any chance I can take you out this
weekend? To celebrate?”
“Sure,” I told him. “Call me.”
“You got it.” And with that, the handsome detective was gone. Maybe my hair wasn’t so bad after all. I didn’t feel bald anymore,
I felt sassy and edgy and chic.But Michael never called me. I’m trying not to think about it.
’Til next time,
V
June 14
I called Lynette today. I had to know what the Rosens’ car was doing in front of her house on Saturday morning. She finally
admitted that Wade and Melanie had spent the night. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “Lynette, what happened?”
There was a long pause. “Sex happened,” she said, then giggled.
“Excuse me?” I was sure I’d heard wrong.
“Sex happened,” she repeated. “And it was incredible.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding. Melanie and Wade were incredible. Funny, happy, sweet. We had a little wine, then a little more, then
Wade offered to give me a back rub and Melanie started kissing me and Curt was kissing me and the next thing I knew, we were
all in the guest room. In the bed. Naked.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Is this something you plan to do on a regular basis?” I knew I sounded judgmental.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe.”
Michael Avila still hasn’t called.
’Til next time,
V
June 15
He didn’t call me today, either. I knew he was lying about liking my hair.
June 16
I feel vindicated!
I just heard through my new friend Donna Gold who heard from one of the Mushroomheads that C.J. Patterson pulled her kid off
Jerry Johansen’s team. No details, but it had something to do with
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