year, taking one of our best manicurists with him. Since then it was all estrogen, all the time.
“Nope,” I said. “We’re not.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but he was still smiling. “I wonder,” he said, all charming, “if perhaps I could fill out an application in case an opening became available?”
“Sure,” I said, pulling open the bottom drawer of the desk, where we kept the pad of applications. I ripped one off, handed it to him, along with one of my pens.
“Thanks so much,” he said, taking a seat in the corner by the window. I watched from where I was as he wrote his name across the top in neat block letters, then wrinkled his brow, contemplating the questions.
“Remy,” Lola called out, walking into the waiting area, “did we ever get that shipment from Redken?”
“Not yet,” I told her. Lola was a big woman who wore tight, bright clothes. She had a huge laugh to match her huge frame and inspired such respect and fear in her clients that no one even came in with a picture or anything when they had a hair appointment: they just let her decide. Now, she glanced over at the guy in the corner.
“Why are you here?” she asked him.
He looked up, hardly startled. I had to admire that. “Applying for a job,” he told her.
She looked him up and down. “Is that a clip-on tie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding at her. “It sure is.”
Lola looked at me, then back at him, then burst into laughter. “Oh, Lord, look at this boy. And you want to work for me?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure do.” He was so polite I could see him gaining points, quickly. Lola was big on respect.
“Can you give a manicure?”
He considered this. “No. But I’m a fast learner.”
“Can you bikini wax?”
“Nope.”
“Cut hair?”
“No, I sure can’t.”
She cocked her head to the side, smiling at him. “Honey,” she said finally, “you’re useless.”
He nodded. “My mother always said that,” he told her. “But I’m in this band and we all have to get jobs today, so I’m trying anything.”
Lola laughed again. It sounded like it came all the way from her stomach, bubbling up. “You’re in a band?”
“Yes, ma’am. We just came down from Virginia, for the summer. And we all have to get day jobs, so we came here and split up.”
So they’re not Mormons, I thought. They’re musicians. Even worse.
“What do you play?” Lola asked.
“Drums,” he said.
“Like Ringo?”
“Exactly.” He grinned, then added, in a lower voice, “You know they always put the redheaded guy in the back. Otherwise all the ladies would be on me.”
Lola exploded in laughter, so loudly that Talinga and one of the manicurists, Amanda, poked their heads around the corner.
“What in the world?” Amanda asked.
“Good God, is that a clip-on tie?” Talinga said.
“Look,” Lola said, catching her breath, “we’ve got nothing for you here. But you come down to the coffee place with me and I’ll get you a job. That girl owes me a favor.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “But come on. I don’t have all day.”
He leapt up, the pen he was holding clattering to the floor. He bent down to get it, then brought the application back to me. “Thanks anyway,” he said.
“No problem.”
“Let’s go, Ringo!” Lola yelled from the door.
He jumped, grinning, then leaned a little closer and said to me, “You know, he’s still talking about you.”
“Who is?”
“Dexter.”
Of course. Just my luck. He’s not just in a band, he’s in that band. “Why?” I said. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging. “You’re officially a challenge. He’ll never give up now.”
I just sat there, shaking my head. Ridiculous.
He didn’t seem to notice, instead just patted his hand on the desk, as if we’d made a deal or something, before walking over to Lola.
Once they’d left, Talinga looked at me and said, “You know
“Nope,” I said. “We’re not.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but he was still smiling. “I wonder,” he said, all charming, “if perhaps I could fill out an application in case an opening became available?”
“Sure,” I said, pulling open the bottom drawer of the desk, where we kept the pad of applications. I ripped one off, handed it to him, along with one of my pens.
“Thanks so much,” he said, taking a seat in the corner by the window. I watched from where I was as he wrote his name across the top in neat block letters, then wrinkled his brow, contemplating the questions.
“Remy,” Lola called out, walking into the waiting area, “did we ever get that shipment from Redken?”
“Not yet,” I told her. Lola was a big woman who wore tight, bright clothes. She had a huge laugh to match her huge frame and inspired such respect and fear in her clients that no one even came in with a picture or anything when they had a hair appointment: they just let her decide. Now, she glanced over at the guy in the corner.
“Why are you here?” she asked him.
He looked up, hardly startled. I had to admire that. “Applying for a job,” he told her.
She looked him up and down. “Is that a clip-on tie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding at her. “It sure is.”
Lola looked at me, then back at him, then burst into laughter. “Oh, Lord, look at this boy. And you want to work for me?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure do.” He was so polite I could see him gaining points, quickly. Lola was big on respect.
“Can you give a manicure?”
He considered this. “No. But I’m a fast learner.”
“Can you bikini wax?”
“Nope.”
“Cut hair?”
“No, I sure can’t.”
She cocked her head to the side, smiling at him. “Honey,” she said finally, “you’re useless.”
He nodded. “My mother always said that,” he told her. “But I’m in this band and we all have to get jobs today, so I’m trying anything.”
Lola laughed again. It sounded like it came all the way from her stomach, bubbling up. “You’re in a band?”
“Yes, ma’am. We just came down from Virginia, for the summer. And we all have to get day jobs, so we came here and split up.”
So they’re not Mormons, I thought. They’re musicians. Even worse.
“What do you play?” Lola asked.
“Drums,” he said.
“Like Ringo?”
“Exactly.” He grinned, then added, in a lower voice, “You know they always put the redheaded guy in the back. Otherwise all the ladies would be on me.”
Lola exploded in laughter, so loudly that Talinga and one of the manicurists, Amanda, poked their heads around the corner.
“What in the world?” Amanda asked.
“Good God, is that a clip-on tie?” Talinga said.
“Look,” Lola said, catching her breath, “we’ve got nothing for you here. But you come down to the coffee place with me and I’ll get you a job. That girl owes me a favor.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “But come on. I don’t have all day.”
He leapt up, the pen he was holding clattering to the floor. He bent down to get it, then brought the application back to me. “Thanks anyway,” he said.
“No problem.”
“Let’s go, Ringo!” Lola yelled from the door.
He jumped, grinning, then leaned a little closer and said to me, “You know, he’s still talking about you.”
“Who is?”
“Dexter.”
Of course. Just my luck. He’s not just in a band, he’s in that band. “Why?” I said. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging. “You’re officially a challenge. He’ll never give up now.”
I just sat there, shaking my head. Ridiculous.
He didn’t seem to notice, instead just patted his hand on the desk, as if we’d made a deal or something, before walking over to Lola.
Once they’d left, Talinga looked at me and said, “You know
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