You Complete Me (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

Chapter 5

“The driver will take you to Bloomingdale’s. That’s where my mother gets all her dresses,” Lincoln whispered in my ear as I began to walk out of the school’s doors.

“Fine,” I sighed, climbing into the sports car as Lincoln shut the door for me.

“Randy, you know where to take her.”

“Of course, Mr. Taylor,” Randy answered with the window rolled down.

Lincoln waved at me as Randy pulled the car out onto the highway. Watching the trees pass in a green blur, I noticed Randy was listening to a classical music station. It made me wonder what Randy enjoyed doing in his spare time, if he had kids or a wife, and most importantly what kind of man he was when he wasn’t out driving neglected kids around.

“Randy, could you tell me where you’re taking me?” I asked politely, still watching out the window.

“Mr. Taylor said it was a surprise. I’m sure you will enjoy it, Miss Evans,” he answered with a small smile on his wrinkled face.

His thinning, brown hair was combed neatly against his scalp and his blue eyes watched the road carefully. He knew his duty was to bring his cargo to the destination safely and most importantly in one piece. I think it was mandatory to wear a black and white tuxedo on the job, because Randy didn’t come across as a man who work a tux for the hell of it. His tied was neatly tucked into his jacket that was buttoned once and his work pants were always neatly creased and pressed.

“Here were are, Miss Evans,” Randy announced, pulling into what appeared to be a day spa parking lot.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place. I can’t aff-“

“Yes, Mrs. Taylor has a membership here and Mr. Taylor was very specific that he wanted you here. The woman at the reception desk knows what he wants done with you,” Randy explained, getting out of the car and opening the door for me.

“I’m starting to think I’m Lincoln’s charity case,” I muttered to myself, climbing out of the car and shuffling into the salon.

“Hello, you must be Mr. Taylor’s girlfriend?” the woman said kindly.

“No,” I laughed, running my hand through my short, blond hair. “Just his best friend.”

“Oh right. I apologize. This way,” she answered, coming around the desk and leading me farther into the salon.

There were barber chairs lined up against one wall with a line of people waiting to get a new change, a line of pedicure tubs and massage chairs sectioned off, manicure stations, facial work benches waiting to revive your skin, and so many other things. The red paint accented the gold work stations nicely and offered a sophisticated look to the place.

“First, we will leave you with Chin Lee. She will do your pedicure and show you where to go when she is finished,” the receptionist informed me with a smile.

Her dark hair was scraped back into a neat bun while her pencil skirt hung loosely from her hips. She wore a white blouse that ruffled near bust line and was covered with a fancy black jacket. Chestnut eyes showed kindness yet professionalism. Remembering that she had spoken to me, I nodded my head once in response.

“Come over here,” a woman, who I assumed was Chin Lee, directed me in her severe Chinese accent.

I obeyed her and sat in one of the massage chairs that was connected to a pedicure tub. Filling it with water, she sprinkled rose petals and threw in a spoonful of some kind of bath salt. Gesturing to the tub, she pointed to my feet.

“Feet in there.”

I nodded and set my feet into the hot water. It gushed in between my toes and relaxed every muscle in my body. Sighing in contentment, I closed my eyes as the message chair worked the knots out of my back and Chin Lee started taking care of my feet.

****

“Wake up! Next station,” Chin Lee shouted in her accent as my eyes flew open.

Rubbing them, I sat up in the chair realizing I had fallen asleep. Yawning, I reluctantly climbed out of the leather chair and viewed my new toes. A deep plum color shined in the light on my toe nails. They were freshly buffed, clipped, and groomed which had never happened in my entire existence. I noticed Chin Lee had done my fingernails as well without even waking me, how thoughtful.

“Follow me,” Chin Lee commanded as she walked out of the nail station and to the facial benches.

“Hello, I’m Carmen,” the woman there greeted with a small smile. “We’ve all heard a lot about you from Mr. Taylor.”

“I’m sure you have,” I laughed as I watched Chin Lee leave and Carmen took my hand.

“Go ahead and lie down here and put your head on this white towel,” she instructed, gesturing to the black workbench.

I did as she said and watched her stir a white fixture quickly with some kind of applicant brush. Not knowing a single thing about what she was doing, I closed my eyes once again. The cool, grainy mixture was painted onto my face as Carmen moved the brush up and down. She avoided my eyes and lips with precision and moved the brush with fluid, expert motions. My face tingled as the mixture began to harden into what I imagined as a mask.

“Just leave this on until they are finished with your hair. Lori will know what to do,” Carmen said, painting the last strip on my face and helping me sit up.

“Thank-you,” I exclaimed. “I’d smile, I don’t want this to crack.”

She laughed and nodding in understanding. Leading me to the barber chairs, I admired her curly, blond hair. It hung in tendrils from her head and framed her face quite nicely. Her skin was flawless and her blue eyes were deeply compelling.

“Lori will take over from here,” she said with a brilliant, white smile, gesturing to a short, stout woman about the age of my mother.

“Okay, thanks.”

“Sit down, darlin’”, Lori directed in a hint of a southern accent.

Her dark hair was pinned back into an elaborate chignon. It was obviously done by a professional, probably Lori herself. I sat down in the chair still amazing at how beautiful her hair was. The dark chestnut color reminded me of rich, milk chocolate and hazelnuts.

“So here’s the deal,” she began looking at me in the mirror in front of me. “We’re going to have to trim up your original hair, just get all the dead ends chopped off and then add some length if we’re going to do anything with style.”

“Okay, you’re the expert. Work your magic,” I replied, waving my arms around my head to suggest the amount of magic it was really going to take.

With her clippers propped in her hand, she began clipping and shaping. Layering and restyling the hairstyle I was given pretty much when I was in fifth grade. I had cut my own hair for as long as I could remember. Often times, I looked up tutorials on Lincolns computer and recreated the look. I kept it simple, though. Nothing a pair of rusty shears couldn’t handle. 

When Lori was finished cutting, she tightly weaved in extensions that matched my light hair color perfectly. They hung to the middle of my back in soft waves and cascaded gracefully around my face. Lori quickly braided, twisted, curled, and pinned up the extensions.

“There you go, baby doll,” she drawled, twisting me around in the chair to see myself in the mirror.

“Woah.”