LITMIR.BIZ

      Miss Celia’s Salon was not quite what Shelly was expecting when she arrived for her appointment later that morning. From the polished Web site and the high-tech online appointment system, Shelly was expecting the building to possess a degree of sophistication.

      Unfortunately, Miss Celia’s Salon had seen better days. Paint-chipped walls and torn leather chairs underscored the salon’s need for a face-lift. Still, Shelly remained optimistic. It didn’t matter what the shop looked like as long as Miss Celia could do some hair.

      “Can I help you?” an older woman asked.

      “I’m Shelly London. I’m here for my ten o’clock appointment.”

      “I’m Miss Celia,” the older woman said, clasping Shelly’s hand between both of hers. The older woman had warm dark eyes and short salt-and-pepper curls. “I know this is your first time here, but we hope it won’t be your last.”

      Miss Celia’s pleasant demeanor put Shelly at ease. The woman slipped behind the reception desk and started typing on her computer. “It looks like Tonya will be doing your hair today. Please help yourself to some coffee, and she’ll be right with you.”

      The prospect of finally having her hair done properly put Shelly in a good mood. “I really loved your Web site. It’s what convinced me to give your shop a try.”

      Miss Celia’s face lit up. “Thank you. My grandson Troy designed it for me. He’s a computer science major at the University of Houston. He swore to me it would bring in new business. Now I can sure enough tell him he was right.”

      After Shelly finished her coffee, Tonya escorted her back to the shampoo bowl. A young stylist, Tonya seemed nice enough as she made small talk with Shelly. And she gave her a fantastic scalp massage.

      “I’m just going to put in your conditioner,” Tonya said. “Then you can sit up for about ten minutes before I wash it out.”

      Just as Tonya started working the conditioner through Shelly’s scalp, Miss Celia, who was shampooing a client two bowls over, said, “Hey, is that my Silky Tresses moisturizing conditioner?”

      Shelly’s eyes snapped open at Miss Celia’s tone. Tonya looked at the bottle in her hand. “Yeah. I borrowed yours because mine ran out.”

      “What did I tell you about borrowing my supplies?” Miss Celia scolded. “Each stylist is responsible for buying her own products.”

      Tonya’s neck swiveled as she spoke, her anger rising. “I didn’t have time to buy my own supplies, because you’ve been overbooking my clients.”

      Now Miss Celia, who had seemed so sweet just moments ago, had her hands on her hips as she shouted back at Tonya. “If you can’t handle the work, you know what to do.”

      Before Shelly could take that in, a bottle of conditioner whizzed past her face.

      “Here! Take your funky conditioner. Too bad your mamma never taught you to share,” screeched Tonya.

      Shelly lifted her soaking-wet head out of the bowl in time to see Miss Celia duck the flying bottle. “Oh, it’s on now!” shouted the older woman.

      Shelly sat up, openmouthed, as the two women lunged at each other. Tonya had Miss Celia by the waist and was pushing her backward into the wall. Miss Celia reached down, grabbed a chunk of Tonya’s hair and pulled.

      Two more stylists rushed around the corner, and Shelly clutched her chest in relief. Finally, someone was going to break this up.

      Instead, the two women stopped a safe distance away, and one said to the other, “Aw shucks, there they go again.”

      Shelly had seen enough. Without looking back, she stood up and headed straight for the door. Without bothering to remove her cape, she ran across the parking lot to her car, with her wet hair dripping down her back.