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“You must be Paul,” said Rachel as she came
around the love seat to shake Paul’s hand.

“Hi.” Paul looked uncertain if he should
stand up to greet her. He shook her hand and smiled, clearly as
uncomfortable as Alma.

Rachel turned her attention to Alma and
looked like she was greeting an old friend as she reached out to
take her hands. “Alma! I can’t tell you how excited I am that you
decided to come.” She took Alma’s hands and pulled her off the
seat. “I am going to get you whatever you want today. Okay? We’re
going to go bananas. Shoes, skirts, jewelry, mannies, peddies,
anything you want.”

“You don’t need to do that, honestly,” said
Alma.

“Yeah, babe,” said Stephen. “Let’s not spend
everything we made the day after we made it.”

Rachel gave her husband a wry, knowing
smirk. “This coming from the guy trying to hide four crates of
stuff he bought off eBay in our storage locker.”

Stephen blushed and chuckled
uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” said Rachel. “I know all about it,
bucko. So zip it.” She turned back to Alma. “You and I are going to
make a day of it. I’ll take you to my hair place, and they’ll set
you up. By the end of the day you’ll feel like a new person.”

“When are we going to leave for Missouri?”
asked Alma.

“We can leave tomorrow,” said Rachel. “He’s
still got to get the van and I’m sure he’s going to want to play
around with all of his new gadgets. We’ve got plenty of time.
Right, babe?”

Stephen shrugged, aware that he wasn’t being
given much of a choice in the matter. “Whatever you say,
beautiful.”

“Paul, do you want to come with us?” asked
Rachel, although her tone implied that she assumed he would hate to
go along for the girly extravaganza.

“Shopping, hair styling, manicures,” said
Paul. “That sounds absolutely,” he paused, “like the worst day
ever.”

Rachel and Alma laughed.

“You’re welcome to chill here with me,” said
Stephen. “We can test out all the new toys. We’ll fire up the grill
and get some beer.”

Paul pointed at Stephen with a gracious
grin. “Sounds like a plan.”

Stephen got off the couch and slapped Paul’s
knee as he walked past. “Come on, I’ll show you the gear I
got.”

Paul got up and Alma looked at him as Rachel
was whisking her out the door. They smiled at each other and Paul
blew her a kiss. Rachel had already pulled her out the door before
Alma could reciprocate.

CHAPTER NINE

New Friends

March 10th, 2012

“I don’t know,” said Alma.

The stylist was a tall, thin gay man that
Alma was fairly certain was wearing more foundation than she was.
He had impossibly blue eyes, surely the result of designer
contacts, and surgically plumped lips. His stereotypical lisp
seemed exaggerated, but he knew how to make a girl feel good about
herself, and he used his talents expertly.

“Listen, Miss Harper,” he said her name as
if he adored the way it sounded coming off his tongue, “I’m here to
make you happy. I’ll snip and clip whatever you want me too, but I
promise that I know what I’m doing.” He held her long hair in one
hand behind her as if putting it into a ponytail and leaned forward
so that their cheeks were nearly touching. He looked at her in the
mirror of his station. “I don’t charge two hundred a pop for a
Super Cuts.”

Alma’s eyes widened. “Two hundred? Are you
serious? Rachel,” she turned to look back at the reporter who was
sitting across the room from the stylist’s station.

“Don’t say it,” said Rachel with her arms
out to her side, fingers splayed as the polish dried. “This is my
treat. Too late to back out now.”

“Oh my God,” said Alma. “I’ve never spent
more than fifty dollars on a hair cut in my whole life. This is
crazy.” She was more amused than exasperated and settled back in
her chair, content to let Rachel pamper her if she wanted.

“No, darling,” said the stylist. “This is
Laurelies,” he said the studio’s name with flourish. “And you know
what they say about Laurelies, don’t you?”

“What’s that?” Alma was starting to
appreciate the peek into a lifestyle she’d never enjoyed
before.

“Laurelies gets the men between your
thighs.”

“Julian.” Rachel chastised the stylist with
her tone.

He pointed his silver comb at her. “You know
it’s true, you slut.”

“I honestly don’t know why I continue to put
up with you,” said Rachel.

Julian snickered and turned Alma’s chair so
that she was facing Rachel. “Please, honey, you know you’ve always
wanted to be my fag hag. Here, look at your friend and help me
convince her that I’m right.” He held Alma’s hair to display the
short look that he was hoping to achieve. “Wouldn’t she look
amazing with short hair?”

Rachel nodded and said, somewhat
unenthusiastically, “Sure, I guess so.”

“You guess so?” asked Julian, frustrated by
Rachel’s passionless response. He spun Alma back around and looked
at her through the mirror. “Trust me, honey. You’ve got sharp
features and a long face. We want to puff you up a little, you
skinny thing. We’ll cut the hair here,” he acted as if his fingers
were scissors as he demonstrated, “just below the chin line. Then
taper it up in back a little, to give you a sort of pixie, badass
thing. The front will be longer, and I’ll show you how to thicken
it up to give your face a little more oomph.” He thrust his hips
along with the onomatopoeia.

Alma looked at herself in the mirror; her
tired, same old self. The same face she’d stared at
unenthusiastically her whole life. While others often said she was
pretty, they nearly as frequently added the aphorism, ‘You should
pay more attention to yourself.’ That was, of course, code for,
‘You’d be pretty if you took the time to try and look nice.’

She sighed, closed her eyes, and said,
“Okay, do it.”

Julian squealed in delight. “Nurse, get my
scalpel before she changes her mind.” He got the scissors from his
drawer and wasted no time before making the first cut. He stopped,
a foot long section of hair dangling from his hand, and asked, “Are
you sure you don’t want to change your mind?”

With the huge chunk already gone, there was
clearly no turning back now. Alma shook her head and gave an
exasperated, gleeful yelp. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do
this.”

“Miss Harper, my dear, you’re going to be
thanking me when this is done. I promise, you’re going to get so
much dick you won’t know what to do with it. And if you need a few
pointers, I’ll give you my card.” He stopped and looked at her
through the mirror. “You are straight, right? You two aren’t dykes,
are you?” He motioned back and forth between Rachel and Alma with
his scissors.

“Julian, I’m married,” said Rachel as she
eavesdropped. “You know that.”

Julian shrugged and then got back to cutting
Alma’s hair. “So what? Rocko was married.”

“Shut up, Julian,” said Rocko, the
effeminate greeter that was casually flipping through a magazine at
the front desk.

“I’m not saying, I’m just saying,” whispered
Julian as if telling Alma a naughty secret.

The stylist spent the next half hour trying
to convince Alma to let him dye her hair as he finished her cut. He
wanted to dye the tips of her longest strands pink, but she kept
telling him that her school wouldn’t allow any unusual hairstyles
on teachers. This led to a lengthy discussion about Julian’s
experience as a gay teen in Kentucky before he moved north. Alma
wasn’t homophobic, but she was also ashamed to admit that she
didn’t have any close gay friends. It was somewhat intriguing,
perhaps even intoxicating, to get a glimpse into the life of
someone like Julian. By the time he was done, she would’ve gladly
called him a friend. Suddenly, the two hundred dollar cost of the
session seemed more than reasonable.

“What do you think?” asked Julian as he
handed Alma the hand mirror to inspect her cut. He spun her around
and then stepped back in wait, as if hoping for an Oscar
nomination.

Her hair hadn’t been that short since she
was a child. “I like it.”

Julian applauded and then raised his arms
with jubilance. “She likes it. Hallelujah, she likes it! I told you
that you would.”

“You were right.” She handed him the mirror
and then pushed at either side of the bob which caused her hair to
balloon up. “I don’t know how you got it to puff up so much. I’m
just worried that I’m going to wake up tomorrow and it’ll just lie
there, all flat.”

“Easy, easy secrets,” said Julian. “It’s the
magic of science and chemicals and stuff. I’ll get you some shampoo
and conditioner to increase volume, and then you’ll use a spritz.
You’ll have to get a big round brush like the one I used and then
just curl and spritz, curl and spritz. You’ve got nice hair, even
if you don’t believe it. You just have to give it a little
attention. No more rub, rub,” he put his fingers on his own short
hair and mimed a bored hair washing in the shower, “rinse, rinse,
off to work. From now on you’re going to give yourself ten extra
minutes to look gorgeous. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He put his hand on his hip and cast a wary
look at her. “Promise me, Miss Harper. You’re too damn pretty not
to know it, and too damn sexy not to show it.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He gave her a wry, devilish grin. Then he
set his hand beside his lips and leaned forward. “It’s true, I do,
but this time I mean it. You’re a stunner, my little music teacher.
I want you to give those boys in class something to jerk off
to.”

“Are you done poisoning my friend?” asked
Rachel as she came to stand on the other side of the chair.

“I’m nothing if not the cure.” Julian
dropped his scissors into a tall glass cylinder filled with blue
liquid. “Where are you two sluts off to next?”

“I’m going to force her to let me do her
makeup,” said Rachel. “And then off to buy shoes.”

“Well, aren’t you just the sweet sugar
mama?” Julian walked with them to the front counter. “Wake up,
Rocko. It’s time to earn your eight dollars an hour.” He pointed at
the register and made several jabs at it with his index fingers.
“Clickety clack, Rocko.”

Rocko didn’t look amused as he set his
magazine down and started to punch in the numbers. Julian led Alma
over to a section on the wall that was lined with bottles of hair
care products. Alma didn’t recognize any of the labels.

“We’re going to get you this, and this, oh,
and this one.” He handed her three bottles.

Alma looked for a price tag, but didn’t see
one. “How much are these?”

He shook his head and waved off her
question. “On the house, sweetie.”

“Really?”

He wavered his head and then pointed at
Rachel. “Well, as long as we call her the ‘House.’”

“I can’t,” said Alma. “She’s already spent
too much on me. This is ridiculous.”

Julian stopped her before Alma could put any
of the bottles back on the shelf. “You’ll have to take it up with
her, darling. It’s already paid for. Besides, don’t let her fool
you, Rachel gets the celebrity discount, what with her being a
reporter and all.”

“Got your stuff?” asked Rachel as she
finished with Rocko and met them at the shelves.

Alma grimaced and looked down bashfully at
her armful of products. “Rachel, this is too much. I feel like
you’re spending way too much on me.”

“Oh stop it,” said Rachel. “Learn how to let
yourself be pampered. It’s my pleasure. Julian, did you know that
Alma is going to be on the news soon because she’s such a good
teacher?”

“Oh yeah?” asked Julian.

Rachel quickly replied. “Yep. She’d never
tell anyone, because she’s too modest, but her school put together
a big deal for her; paid to get a new music room and everything,
just because they like her so much.”

“Well, well,” said Julian. “I would’ve given
anything for just one good teacher growing up. Keep up the good
fight, Miss Harper. The world needs a lot of things, but good
teachers are at the tippy-top of the list.”

“Thanks,” she said bashfully.

He reached into his shirt pocket and took
out a business card that he then slipped into Alma’s back pocket.
“And when you want to get freshened up again, give me a ring so I
can be sure to give you the celebrity discount.”

* * *

“I can’t believe all this shit,” said Paul
as he inspected an EMF meter that had been stored in one of several
steel boxes in Stephen’s storage locker.

“I know. It’s like Christmas.” Stephen
climbed over a stack of boxes similar to the one that Paul had
opened. The storage room was located in the alley of Stephen’s
building, and had been converted from the building’s garage to
accommodate four similar areas. “Check this out.” He hauled up a
monitor and another small black box that had a series of red
switches on the front of it. “This is for the motion sensors. You
can set it up to watch up to fifteen feeds, and the monitor will
automatically switch to any that detect something. You can set it
to search for heat or movement.”

“Nice,” said Paul.

Stephen was smiling so wide that it would’ve
been hard for him to stop. “Damn straight it’s nice.”

“So, you must be pretty big into this ghost
stuff,” said Paul. “How did that happen? Have you always been into
it?”

“Yes and no,” said Stephen. “When I was a
kid I believed in all of it, but then I turned into a cynical
adult, like most of us do. Then, when I was in college, I went for
a trip with some friends out to a cabin in Michigan. That night I
saw something that totally changed my mind. Ever since then I’ve
been a believer.”

Paul set the EMF detector back in its case.
“All right then, what did you see? You can’t leave me hanging.”

Stephen avoided the question for a second,
and Paul wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds. “It was a little
boy playing with a toy train in the kitchen.” Stephen didn’t look
at Paul as he recounted the story. “It was in the middle of the
night and I was high, and drunk, so at first I thought I was seeing
things. I got out of bed and walked through the living room, over a
bunch of my friends that were sleeping on the floor, and went in
the fridge to get a left-over burrito. I closed the door of the
fridge and there he was, this little kid in a pair of pajamas, on
the kitchen floor playing with a train.” Stephen glanced at Paul,
but then looked down as he acted out the ghost’s movements. “Just
sitting there, not paying any attention to me; just playing with
that train. Then, he dematerialized in front of me.”