Manic Attack

XIII. Taking It Chloe-ly

I caught a glimpse of Rodney sitting on the black couch. He had his legs crossed at the knees; his slender hands held a magazine that had a girl caressing a shiny horsetail printed on the cover. Such an odd pairing it was, especially since the remainder of the horse was nowhere around her, but who was I to judge? This was what they called fashion, I supposed.

"Ariana Grande looks so good on this cover—" Rodney's phone buzzed. He placed the magazine on his lap and peered at the screen. His frown deepened. "Monica's here."

Finally.

I swiveled in my chair to face Rodney despite my hairstylist's protests. The assistant got to his feet, checked himself in the mirror and began walking towards the door. "Be right back," he said over his shoulder.

"Won't she come in?" I quietly asked the door Rodney had shut behind him.

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," the hairdresser said, "My roommate in prison was a wise guy."

I had never met someone who gave away every detail about their personal life without mentioning their name first. To say I felt uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. "Why—" My voice cracked, I took a moment to clear my throat and start again. "What was he in for?"

"Stalking."

When the door to the salon swung open and bright sunlight along with the sound of honking cars, forced their way in, I reached for my glasses on the dresser and put them on. The hairdresser protested again but his oily hands couldn't grip my head anymore, I wriggled out of his agonizing hold to turn my chair around.

"Back!" Rodney declared.

Not this guy again. "Where's Miss Knightley?"

Rodney gave a nonchalant shrug but the way his eyes danced suggested otherwise. "She's waiting outside." He lifted an arm. A brown paper bag hung from his fingers. "Here, put these on for now. News just came in that our boss wants to meet you. Today."

"T-today?" I asked, aghast, "I can't. I have other things to do."

"Riding your solar bike to the nearest zoo isn't nearly half as important as meeting the editor-in-chief of #GetTrending. Pretty sure it can wait."

I gaped at the blonde, smart-mouthed douchebag. How did he know what I had planned for the rest of the day? If not for breach of privacy, Miss Knightley and Rodney deserved to serve time for stalking. They and the hairdresser's prison roommate would hit it off really well.

"You're probably thinking how I know what's on your To-Do list," Rodney said. I shrunk back into the salon chair, fearing his telepathic skills. "You do the same thing every Thursday, Mr. Moseby. Even the animals are sick of you."

The hairdresser embraced my head like a gorilla hugging a hand of bananas. "Don't worry, Edward. I'll protect you from the meanie."

"Aim for the moon, even if you miss you'll land among the stars." Even I knew this quote was scientifically incorrect.

The brown paper bag entered my vision again. "Chop chop, bud. You don't want to get on Monica's bad side, especially today."

I ducked from the hairdresser's arms and swiftly got to my feet. My hair was stuck towards uncharted directions in slick spikes and curves. Einstien's legacy lives on. "Why today? Did something happen?"

"I don't get paid enough to answer your irrelevant questions. Please, just change into these clothes; there's a room at the back."

As I took the bag from Rodney, my hands heavy with reluctance, and headed towards the changing room, I heard the hairdresser ask, "What happened? She okay?"