The Pearl Inside of Anything

Monday, 10 a.m., Mirabella

I have it all timed to the minute. Everything is going to be fine. I figure we chat with Tommy—get the game plan.  If I protest nothing and nod, we can be out by 10:30. I can still make it to the beach to meet Ben at 11. Sure I can. Everything is still possible.

"Holy Dinah!" says Mum taking off her sunglasses. "This is some place." She turns slowly around, taking in the koi pond, the gilded mirrors and chandeliers.

"Mum!" I whisper and tug her arm. "Be cool! Don't gawk."

"It's just I've never..." she trails off. But I know what she's thinking. That she's never had her hair cut anywhere but a trailer kitchen. "Oh! Fish!" she says and waggles her fingers at them. But then I see her studying her reflection in the water. She sighs and her face turns down. "Maybe I should've put a little lipstick on," she says in a small voice.

I hear the click of heels coming towards us from the back of the salon. Yvonne's wearing a white terry-cloth jumpsuit, gold hoop hearings and a gold leather braid wrapped around her forehead and a whole lot of Anais Anais. Her makeup is all summery, laser pink lipstick and a shimmery eyeshadow duo that is purple meets green.

Mum seems to fade before my eyes.

"Vendee! 'Ow are you sveetie!" crows Yvonne. She mimes a kiss on both of my cheeks —except she's like a foot away from me when she does it. "So nice to see you! Ah, Mrs. Erman, 'ow are you today? So nice you could bring Vendee. So exciting this is!"

"Hey, good morning, ladies!" Tommy hops over the counter.

"Yes...well...I'll just settle myself right here," says Mum, stepping backwards to the sofa. "Don't mind me..."

"Oh no," says Tommy briskly. "We can't have that. You're mother of the model! It's all about you this morning. Come in, come in!" He waves Mum forward and all of a sudden she's in his chair and he's purple-caped her.

"Me? No, I don't...." Mum starts. Tommy doesn't let her finish.

"I want to thank you for sending Wendy with me. This is compliments of Mirabella!" he says, momentarily frowning when he spots the blue rubber elastic from the broccoli that Mum has used to hold her hair back.

Meanwhile, Yvonne is wheeling a trolley full of makeup towards Mum's chair.

I'm the only one with nothing to do. Except stare at the clock. Within seconds, Tommy and Mum are on a first name basis. Yvonne putters around, stirring creams and opening little pots and jars.

"So tell me about yourself," Tommy says to Mum, deftly snipping the broccoli elastic to free her hair. "Tell me all about Lorna." He gives her shoulders a little squeeze. "How would you describe your lifestyle? What are your hobbies? Aerobics? Jazzercise? A little line-dancing on the side? What do you do to relax? Do you like to travel? What's fun for Lorna?"

Please do not say clipping coupons. Please do not say stretching in the grocery aisle for the almost-unreachable bargains. Please do not say camping in an army tent.

"Fun?" asks Mum, locking her brows together like it's a word she's never heard before.

"You know, what do you do to unwind?"

Mum just looks at him like he's speaking a foreign language. I think she is just about to say "sleep" when Tommy tries another tack. "How do you like to wear your hair? What shall we do you up for today?"

Please do not tell him about your hairnet. Please just say just a bang trim, no wash, just a little off the front, and yes it can air-dry, because we need to be out by 10:45...

Mum says no such things. She swallows and looks at Tommy. "Uh, well, I...I'm... open to anything. Whatever you think is best."

Oh no! Not whatever he thinks is best! Not that! Mum! What Tommy thinks best takes three days and five cans of spray!

I need to switch plans. Maybe I can sneak out since they've all forgotten about me, when Tommy says, "You know who you remind me of?"

Mum shakes her head and looks a little worried.

"Victoria Principal!"

"Oh! From Dallas. Right. I like Dallas," says Mum, perking up a bit.

"I'm thinking we take it up to your shoulders, add some layers, bangs. And we're going to smooth this all out. I see sleek and wavy. Your natural colour is great, we won't touch that, but it's not going to be a problem if we take off a few inches, right?" he asks Mum, but he's looking at me sternly. Okay, so all is not quite forgotten.

"No, I think that would be uh, wonderful..."

"Well ,you're easy to please!" Tommy gives me another look but he is smiling. "Let's get going with a deep conditioning. Wendy, can you grab some magazines from the front? We're going to be awhile."

10:45 a.m.

Tommy's finally starting to cut. So far he has not mentioned a thing about Dallas—apart from how Mum is already looking like she's part of the cast.

11:05 a.m.

Five minutes is nothing, right? I could be at the beach in 10, except that Mum, whose face is covered in a blue clay mask courtesy of Yvonne, has now opted for hot rollers. And Tommy's not even started blowing anything out yet.

11:20 a.m.

When do people stop waiting? No, not people, Ben.

20 minutes, sure he'd wait that long. It goes from being 15 minutes late to him thinking okay, maybe something held her up. Maybe something happened to Wendy. So I better hang out here a while longer. Just to be sure. Do a bit of hurdle training over these logs...keep loose...lean in...

That is how Ben would think. I think.

11:35 a.m.

"Oops, silly me! Should've plugged the curling iron in," says Tommy. "I just want to lift this hair at the crown a bit more. Gimme a few more minutes. Hey! Anyone want another coffee, while we wait? Oh, Wen, sorry, forgot all about you. Listen, normally I would not let you out of the salon with roots like that, let alone the city. Debbie Harry can pull them off, but hers are no accident."

Tommy keeps working on Mum, he doesn't even look at me while he rattles on. "Anyway, no big whoop, we'll deal with your roots in Texas. I have a plan. And I've got our itinerary, too. Jam-packed. Buzz me from the lobby of the Intercontinental when you check in. That's about it."

Tommy takes a breath, tests the heat on the curling iron with his finger. "Gosh, I guess I could've told you that on the phone!"

No kidding.

11:45 a.m.

45 minutes late is when giving up happens for good. A person would start thinking they're just a doofus, sprinting over logs or standing in a parking lot waiting for someone they're not very sure about. But Ben? Ben wouldn't confuse himself with a doofus. So... maybe he thinks I got the hour wrong! Maybe he thinks I think he said 12! Sure, that's possible. And then from 12 he would wait, what 45 minutes? Maybe not, but 30, or even 35... he might.