What Looks Like Crazy by Charlotte Hughes Page A

didn’t know whether it was due to her circumstances or whether she’d just realized what bad taste she had in footwear.
    â€œNo,” she said. “I know it was a bad decision, Dr. Holly, but—”
    â€œKate,” I said.
    Alice nodded and yanked several tissues from the box. “My life is such a mess.”
    I nodded. If I had a dollar for each time I’d heard those words, I could afford to live next door to Mona. “How are things at work?”
    Alice shrugged. “We’ve sort of called a truce while I look for another job. I sent out several resumes, but I haven’t heard anything. It’s too soon.” She removed her glasses and mopped fresh tears. “Boy, I really screwed up.”
    â€œSounds to me as though Liz, not to mention her boyfriend, is only adding more stress to your life, and that’s the last thing you need,” I said. “You may have to ask her to leave. And tell her to take Roy with her,” I added.
    Alice began wringing her hands. “I don’t know. I was really counting on that money. She promised to have five hundred dollars for me on payday. That’s half my mortgage payment.”
    â€œYou didn’t ask for money up front?” I asked, trying to keep the amazement out of my voice.
    She gave an enormous sigh. “No.”
    I didn’t know what to say. It was just unfathomable that Alice Smithers would take in a complete stranger without references or at least some kind of deposit.
    â€œI know I did a stupid thing,” she said. “I know I’m going to have to push for the money and set ground rules, even if it kills me.”
    â€œMost definitely,” I said, hoping we had made some progress.
    Â 
    On Saturday morning Francois ushered us through the back door of his salon and led me to a chair. It was all very chic, with soothing spa colors. Francois wore black skintight denim with a loose-fitting white linen shirt. He picked through my hair and gave a dainty sniff. “Dees hair does not vork. Eeet is all vrong.”
    I looked at Mona. “What did he say?”
    Mona shrugged. “I have no idea. Cut out the gay Frenchman act, Frank. Speak English.”
    â€œThe hair sucks, babe,” he said, sounding more like a bartender in a cowboy bar.
    â€œCan you do anything with it?” Mona asked.
    â€œIt can be salvaged, but she’ll need a good cut, and I strongly recommend a new color.”
    I looked from Mona to Frank. “You’re going to dye my hair? I don’t want you to dye my hair.” Frank gave me a hard look, threw up his hands, and stalked away.
    Mona frowned. “Great! You just hurt his feelings.”
    â€œI don’t want him to dye my hair!” I repeated, knowing I sounded like a broken record. “I thought I was here to get a trim.”
    â€œThe man is a professional,” Mona said. “He knows his stuff.”
    â€œHe might know hair,” I whispered, “but he doesn’t know squat about French. That’s the worst French accent I’ve ever heard.”
    We both looked toward Frank. He was sitting at the far end of the salon, arms crossed, chin hitched high. “What’s he doing?” I asked.
    â€œPouting.” Mona hurried toward him. “Frank, Kate is so sorry she hurt your feelings. She is very confused and depressed right now, which is why she let herself go to begin with. Please forgive her.”
    He sighed. Finally he stood and walked toward me. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “Your hair is too long. It makes your face droop, and that adds age. I can cut it, add highlights, and take ten years off your face. It’s your call.”
    I knew my mouth was hanging open. I had not realized I looked that awful. Bad enough that I was shaking in my heels at the thought of seeing Jay again; I didn’t want him to think I’d turned into a hag. “You can really make me look ten years