Leandra Jamison studies the cobwebbed
ceiling tiles as her hairdresser scrubs a mint shampoo into her hair.
"I hate these sinks."
"Why?" Cyndee rubs
vigorously, jamming Leandra's neck into cold ceramic.
"They hurt my neck."
"Oh. Here." Cyndee reaches
into the cabinet above her head and brings down two thin towels which
she doubles over. "Lift." Leandra does and Cyndee shoves
the towels beneath her head. "Better?"
Cyndee pats Leandra's shoulder. "You
got to learn to speak up, honey. Hear me?"
"OK," Leandra says.
Cyndee shuts off the water and wraps a
clean towel around Leandra's head. "Follow me."
Leandra hoists herself from the chair,
arthritic knees groaning in protest, and sits in the chair Cyndee
indicates, arranging herself on the vinyl.
"So what's new?" Cyndee asks
as Leandra studies the photographs taped to the mirror.
"We're moving," Leandra says.
"Exciting!" Cyndee unwraps
Leandra's head and begins toweling out her hair. She throws a dirty
smock across her chest and fastens it at the neck. "Where to?"
"That's great. Did you find a
"Nice and new?"
"Your husband handy?"
"But it's well-maintained, I'm
sure." Cyndee takes a comb from the jar of blue disinfectant.
Leandra watches other people's dandruff swirl around inside. "Did
you sell your house?"
"That's gonna' be hard with two in
Leandra laughs. "I'm a writer."
Cyndee presses a finger to her chin.
"You know, the Moonlight is hiring dancers. I have a friend who
clears two thousand a night there."
"I'm not sure I'm the type of
person they're looking..." Leandra gestures vaguely at her
stomach and her thighs.
"Oh, don't you worry. They take
anybody down there. Those men will rain the money down on you, even
with those extra twenty pounds."
Leandra stares at Cyndee.
"I mean..." Cyndee's face
falls. "It's just an idea."
Cyndee doesn't get a tip. Leandra has
learned to speak up. In silence.
Labels: Fiction, Trifecta Writing Challenge