Spinning Forward - Terri DuLong Cedar Key

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grinning at the name of the shop—Curl Up and Dye. I hoped that Polly Tyburn showed the same creativity with styling hair as she did with words.

      Opening the door, I noticed that the buzz of chatter ceased as I stepped inside.

      Polly was putting the finishing touches on an older woman’s hair. The silver bouffant style was similar to what my mother had worn in the fifties, and I wondered if perhaps I’d made a mistake booking with Polly.

      “Come on in, sweetie,” she told me. “I’ll just be a sec. Hey, everyone, this is Sydney. Alison’s friend from Boston.”

      Murmurs of hello accompanied smiles as everyone looked me up and down.

      Feeling like I was on display, I nodded and slipped into a chair. Glancing around, I saw that even the shampoo bowl and dryers had a vintage look. God, I’ll probably walk out of here looking like Little Orphan Annie.

      A few minutes later I was enjoying the most relaxing and invigorating shampoo I could remember. I recalled the high-priced salon I had frequented before Stephen died and thought that shampoo girl could take a lesson from Polly.

      Following twenty minutes with conditioners on my hair, I sat in front of the mirror as Polly stood with her head cocked this way and that. Finger to chin, she pursed her lips and then nodded her head. “Yup, I think I know what will look great on you.”

      Deciding to leave the fate of my hair in Polly’s hands—literally—I sat back and took a deep breath.

      One hour later I peered into the mirror with a huge smile on my face. “My God, Polly. I look fabulous.”

      “Told ya you needed a change.”

      Turning my head from side to side, I couldn’t believe I was the same woman who had walked into the salon earlier. Gone was the limp ponytail and in its place was a chic cut—chin length, it was swept behind my ears with long bangs covering my forehead. I swear Polly had removed ten years.

      Feeling embarrassed for my prior anxiety, I said, “Polly, I can’t thank you enough. I just love it.”

      “Thought ya would. Next time you might want to consider some foil. You know, a few highlights here and there to brighten it up a bit more.”

      This woman walked on water as far as I was concerned. “I think you’re right. We’ll do it.”

      Walking from the salon to the post office, I couldn’t resist catching my image in each shop window I passed. Amazing what a new hairdo can do for a woman.

      “Hey, Miss Sydney,” the postmaster greeted me. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Very nice.”

      “Thanks, Sam. I kinda like it myself.”

      “Have a big package for you in the back. Hold on a second and I’ll get it.”

      I looked around the small post office. All of my life mail had been delivered to my front door, but I loved coming here to pick up mail from the numbered box. It had a small-town feel to it which was beginning to grow on me.

      “Have ya got the golf cart with you? It’s pretty hefty to walk with,” Sam said, putting a good size carton on the counter.

      Glancing at the postmark, I saw the return address of Lucille Graystone in Connecticut. “Hmm, I think you’re right. I’ll have to go back to the B and B to get the cart. This is the dog fur.”

      “Dog fur?” Sam questioned, scratching his head in bewilderment.

      “Yeah, dog fur. I’ll be back in a little while.” I chuckled, leaving Sam to ponder the contents.

      Walking out of the post office, I figured it wouldn’t be long before Sam would add me to the list of quirky island residents.

      The following Monday I was doing my shift at Cook’s when I heard a male voice behind me say, “Well, I guess you changed your mind.”

      I turned around to see Noah Hale sitting at one of the outside tables. “Excuse me?” I questioned.

      “Since you’re now working here, I guess you changed your mind about renting the space across the street.”

      Damn, but this guy was good looking. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt with And Your Point Is? across the front, he had a youthful appearance. Which made me wonder how old he was. Late fifties?

      “Don’t be too sure of that,” I shot back. “What can I get you?”

      “Hmm, a woman of few words.” He chuckled and then said, “I’ll have the meatloaf special.”

      As I was scribbling the words on my pad, I could feel him staring up at me. “Anything to drink?”

      “Sweet tea, please. Hey, I know why you look different today. Did something with your hair. Looks nice. I like it.”

      My hand trembled and I could feel heat creeping up my neck. Damn. Another hot flash at a most inopportune moment. In thirty years of marriage to Stephen, I couldn’t recall one single time he’d commented on my hair. Good, bad, or indifferent.

      “Thanks,” I mumbled, feeling like a flustered high school girl. “I’ll get your order in.”

      I laid the slip of paper on the shelf for the cook, and then peeked through the window. Noah had opened up a newspaper. Putting on a pair of small glasses, he began to read. I wasn’t sure if I was more disturbed over the fact that he’d scrutinized me close enough to notice a change in hairstyle or that it felt oddly reminiscent of flirting.

      I managed to busy myself with other customers until Noah’s meal was ready. Setting it in front of him, I started to walk away.

      “Hey,” he called. “Come on, you can tell me if you’re still interested in that space. I won’t say anything.”

      “Are you still interested in it?” I asked.

      He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I think it would be perfect for a studio with all the windows for lighting. But I was up in St. Augustine recently and found a great shop for lease there too.”

      “Oh, so you’ll be leaving the island?” Why did this matter to me? I wondered.

      “Well, that’s just it. I love this place. I left years ago for college and then came back. Then I left again in my late twenties. That time I was gone about thirty years—to Paris.”

      He paused, waiting for my reaction, I guess. I recalled that Ali had mentioned that to me and I remained silent.

      Stirring his tea, he said, “So, I don’t know. I think at sixty-two, my roots are now firmly planted here.”

      Sixty-two? He didn’t look his age. “Then it seems you’re the one that will be taking the lease on that space.”

      “If you were to open a shop there, what type of business are you considering?”

      I smiled. “A tattoo parlor,” I said and walked away laughing. For the first time in a long time, it felt good to laugh.

      Rummaging through the fridge in Ali’s kitchen, I found the bottle of chardonnay I’d purchased a few days earlier. Pouring myself a glass, I went to sit in the garden with my feet up. Another seven-hour shift behind me and on Friday, I’d be receiving my first paycheck in years. My tips were adequate, but all of it was a far cry from the financial freedom I was used to.

      Taking a sip of wine, I thought about my meeting with Dorothy at the bank. She’d told me that just a knitting shop probably wasn’t a great venture for a small town. But since I was going to specialize in spinning dog and cat fur, she thought it had a lot of potential. She advised me to get a computer, set up a Web site, and begin doing mail orders via the Internet. She felt that like most businesses on the island, my weekends would bring in tourists and also day-trippers from Gainesville and nearby towns. Dorothy also explained that I could apply for an American Express Small Business Card and that would enable me to order

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