Split Ends (31 page)

“I need more time. You don't have to give it back to him yet. He doesn't even need to know you have it. Let me stall a little, that's all.” Kate makes herself right at home in Yoshi's, opening cabinets and even the door to Yoshi's office.

“May I help you?” I hear him bellow.

“Sorry, thought this was the bathroom.” She smiles and closes the door behind him. “That him?”

“That's him.”

“How did he know I wasn't a client?”

“You don't have Barbie skin.”

“Yeah, what's up with that? Why does everyone look like that? Are pores illegal here?”

“It's the chemical peels and Retin-A in massive doses slopped onto their skin. They run down to Mexico if their doctors won't give them enough of it. The skin cancer rate here has got to be phenomenal. They say it's the sun, but it's totally that they peel off their top layer of skin.”

“Well, the salon is gorgeous. I've gotta run. I'm going to Newport Beach today, and I want to make sure I have the whole day.”

Kate is like a stranger to me right now. She's never done anything on her own, and now it seems as though she's allergic to anyone who tries to get near her. “You know, getting cold feet about the wedding is perfectly normal. But you don't have to escape
me
, do you?”

“Sarah, you know how everyone in Sable knows exactly how everyone is going to react to something. If your mother is in jail, for example. Al bails her out, he puts her in the holding tank until she's sober, and then the next day starts again. The sheriff usually lets it slide, acts like she hasn't been in there a million times, like she's not driving a bullet with someone's name on it.”

“Is there a point about you in this?”

“I don't want to be the kind of person who just fits into life, the kind of person who is going to wear the blue sweater on Tuesday. The person who will bring the potato salad to the church picnic—not the snickerdoodles, not the pecan pie, but always the potato salad.”

“You make good potato salad.”

“I do make good potato salad, but I don't want to have to make potato salad.”

“So this is about salad? Make a noodle salad.”

“Yeah, that will change my life. A noodle salad. Why didn't I think of that and save myself some hassle?”

“People are ridiculous.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Kate's arms cross in rebellion.

“It means if we don't have real problems, we have to make some up. That's not a real problem, Kate.”

“You're trying to tell me the need for organic shampoo is real? The need for Yoshi in there to have a spotless garbage can—that's real?”

“Shh. He'll hear you.” I look to Jenna to see if she's heard, and I notice Dane talking to her. “What's Dane doing here?”

“Dane!” Kate exclaims loudly enough for him to hear. His head turns in our direction. “Dang, girl!”

“I know. Can you blame me?”

“Ingrid Bergman wouldn't blame you.”

We look at each other and giggle like we're in fifth grade as Dane approaches us. I pull them both into a shampoo room before Yoshi comes out and accuses me of having a social gathering on his time. “What are you doing here?”

He holds up a paper bag. “You forgot your lunch. I thought you might get hungry.”

“Oh my gosh, that is so cute,” Kate says. “He brought you your little lunch. Is it peanut butter and jelly?”

“Shut up, Kate. Dane, this is my best friend, Kate Halligan.”

“From Wyoming?” Dane asks.

She nods and they shake hands. “It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much about you and your hat.” She clears her throat as I slap her gently. “Don't hit me, Sarah Claire. It's rude.”

Dane laughs.

“You have to ignore her.”

“So how did you two cuties meet?” Kate asks, knowing full well how we met.

“I'm living temporarily with Scott,” Dane says, his lips curving.

“Because you're unemployed?”

“I am gainfully employed, but I'm getting my house renovated. I graduated summa cum laude from Missouri State in classical studies with a major in antiquities. I have a clean credit report. I'm up to date on all my vaccinations, and I plan to take Sarah Claire to church with me at Mosaic in downtown Los Angeles. I don't have a dog because I travel too much, but I have excellent dental hygiene and I floss daily. Anything else I can clear up for you, Kate?”

She shakes her head. It's the most hilarious stunned silence I've ever witnessed.

“Thank you for bringing my lunch.” I take the bag from him and he pauses for a moment before kissing me on the cheek.

“See you later. Bye, Kate, it was a pleasure.”

“No one flosses daily,” Kate says as Dane walks out. “He kissed you. That was not the look of a man playing around.”

“You sound disappointed. Did you think he would
be?”

“Just be careful.” Kate's eyes thin as she watches him exit the door. “You haven't known him very long, and he looks at you like he knows who you are inside. I don't like it. It's too much, too fast. No one knows you that well except me.”

“You better get on the road to Newport Beach. I have to locate my mother this morning, and there are toilet seats to be managed.” I start to line up the shampoo shelves then realize what's made me angry about Kate coming here and noticing what she perceives as a character flaw in Dane. “You know, Kate, you're not the only one who doesn't want to be pigeonholed. Maybe Dane sees who I really am, not Jane Winowski's daughter.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “I gotta go. See you tonight after work . . . maybe.”

She brushes out as casually as she walked in here while I stand there with teeth clenched. But then it occurs to me: Kate Halligan is jealous of me. As ridiculous as it seems, I'd know that emotion anywhere. I've lived with it my entire life.

chapter
23

Almost every girl falls in love with the
wrong man, I suppose it's part of growing up.
~ Natalie Wood

T
he screening is a pre-premiere, without most of the glitz and glamour. The purpose being to quietly screen the film for investors and pray they're happy with the outcome. It's about starting film buzz, and it's when Hollywood tends to get religious (because there are a lot of prayers said before a screening). I say this as though I'm thoroughly unimpressed with the event. Blasé even. But I've never witnessed such a sparkling event where the people all seem beautiful and confident. They walk like everyone is watching them, and the fact is everyone can't be watching everyone, so it's interesting to see who they do watch. I'm watching Flora. Her hairstyle will be the talk of the town tomorrow, and what they say will have a distinct effect on my career. No pressure or anything.

“Oh, my gosh. Rob Thomas!” I squeal.

“He wrote the soundtrack. Sarah, you have to maintain,” Scott says calmly.

“I love Rob Thomas!” I scream this a little too loud because he turns around and waves. “That.” I point to Rob. “That right there was the highlight of my life.”

“Which is beyond sad.”

“And yet so realistic,” I say. “This would have been so much more fun with Kate.” I harrumph. “She would have stargazed with me and acted appropriately. You act like they don't love it. They're here, aren't they? They're posing for the cameras. Look at Rob Thomas's wife—you're going to tell me he's not proud as heck to have her on his arm? They look like a wedding-cake couple.”

“You're here for Flora's hair; would you pay attention to her? Isn't it bad enough you had to bring your date along?”

“Yes, yes it is,” I say, looking at Nick Harper handing out business cards.
At least he's wearing a shirt.

“Where did you find that loser?”

“He sort of found me, crying on Cary Grant's star.”

“I don't even want to know.”

“No, you don't, but if you hadn't said Dane was off-limits, I'd have a decent date for tonight, and he's really very nice.”

“Dane is off-limits for your own good. I can't imagine why you don't trust me on things.”

“Because your room is a torture chamber of undergarments, perhaps?”

“I know you both well. Don't you think if I thought you'd be right for each other, I would have said something. I'd like you to break the family curse, Sarah. I think you're the perfect candidate to do so, but not with Dane.”

“I'm just appalled that you think your opinion matters that much, that's all.”

“You both can do better.”

I smirk at Scott and turn my attention back to the stars milling for attention. Man, it's like a high school prom gone awry. There are familiar faces and some unfamiliar, walking up a red carpet, all dressed to the nines, and they pause, in obviously well-practiced poses, when they reach the white tack paper with sponsors' names written on them.

A collective gasp is heard through the crowd, and I see Flora approach. As I look around the crowd, I see she has everyone's attention, but I'm still unsure if it's good attention or if the hair is a complete flop. I hear the words
blonde
and
brunette
shouted with surprise, and I wait to hear their assessment as I stand behind the press.
Please let them love it. Please let them love it.

“Flora! Flora!” A blonde nestled snugly into a creamy mermaid-shaped gown waddles toward Flora. “Sydney Carlson,
Hollywood Tonight
. The hair! We love the hair!”

Flora runs her fingers through her short crop, and all I can think is
Please, color, stay on. Please, what's left, stay there.
Isn't that how we are? One prayer is answered and we immediately go to the next.

“Isn't it great?” She throws a hand like she's talking to her best girlfriend. “I'm telling you, Sarah Winston at Yoshi's is, like, a total genius.” She points to the camera. “And don't you all be calling at once. She's so mine. Get in line!” She runs her hands through her hair again.

I could kiss her.

Immediately, there is press by my side, and I turn and see why. Scott is pointing at me. “Yes, yes, this is her. The creator of the new look.”

Whatever happens in my lifetime from here on out, Flora Fawn made me a success today. (Well, her and Rob Thomas.) I will always be able to say my hair was recognized on
Hollywood Tonight
. It's the Oscars for me right now, and I'm ready to thank everyone who made it possible, but then I look over and see my date unbuttoning his shirt and flexing his pecs and all joy drains from my face. He's not doing that! He's not. He seemed so normal.

Flora walks toward me and the reporters get their pens ready. “You did more for me than my hair, Sarah. You gave me my confidence back. This is your moment, and I will not shrink from saying your name at every possible opportunity tonight.” She winks at me and heads into the awards ceremony. I turn away from my date, who is preening in front of the one journalist who will listen. Probably community television.

“Miss Winston,” all the reporters say in unison. I feel the tears falling down my cheeks, and I try to take a hint from Flora and pull it together and field their questions like I'm Mike McCurry.

“We understand from Flora's stylist, Scott Baker, that this is the creator of Flora's hair. How many people will be heading into their salons tomorrow for this cut, Scott?” Sydney thrusts a microphone in front of me.

“I—uh—” I panic. It's my moment in the sun and I blow it.

Once again Scott rescues me. “As Hollywood's leading stylist, I should warn the women of America not everyone has the confidence to pull this style off. Flora is confidence personified. She's like Rambo in an evening gown.” He laughs and Sydney joins him.

Sydney pulls me closer toward her, and I see the red light on the camera. It feels like all the blood in my body has drained away, and I know Sydney is talking to me. Again. She's giving me another chance to make an idiot out of myself. She's asking me something, but my heartbeat drowns out any sound.

Scott nods. “She is a genius with shears. Yoshi brought her to Beverly Hills because he knows how to find talent.”

“Well, Sarah, a pleasure to meet you, and I'll have to get your number when my hairstylist isn't listening,” she jokes.

I said nothing.

I did nothing.

I dreamed of that moment for a lifetime, and when it came, I did nothing.

I am a Winowski forever.

At this point I'm thrust in front of the paparazzi and my picture is snapped about a bajillion times. At least there are no microphones. As a deer in the headlights, this works for me. It's all surreal, so it feels like a dream when I suddenly see Nick, my date on the red carpet, coming toward me. His shirt is buttoned, thank heavens. Isn't it my luck to have a date who makes me want to flee? I want to run, but there's nowhere to go; Spielberg is coming, and as the throng of photographers rapidly loses interest in us, we're pushed toward the back. A screening is supposed to be a quiet affair. I think this is what buzz looks like. My hairstyle is going to be seen everywhere!

Nick comes up beside me and puts his arm around me while the photographers take pictures. I could die.
Go
away. What is Dane going to say tomorrow?

This can't be happening. But somehow it is. At least it can't get any worse.

I look over and see Alexa. She's standing at the edge of the crowd with a hot young model-type on her arm.
It's
worse.
“Scott.”

“Just a minute, Sarah.”

“Scott, I think you should look at something.”

“Busy, Sarah,” he says through his clenched smile.

“Alexa's here.” Somehow she managed to finagle an invitation tonight.