Читать книгу Saving Max - Antoinette Heugten van - Страница 17

Danielle sits in a battered vinyl chair, jacked up with a hydraulic thing so the flashy hairdresser with the flaming red lipstick can get a good look at her. Country music blares as the woman pops her gum and delivers her verdict.

“Cut.” She wheels Danielle around. “Perm.”

Danielle sees her eyes in the mirror, as large and wild as a religious zealot who shows up on your doorstep to pray for your soul. Oh, well, she thinks. Drastic times require drastic measures. She nods her assent.

After Georgia left, Danielle worked like a madwoman, making client calls; following up on court and deposition dates; catching up on her billing records. Georgia’s visit struck terror into her heart. She has to make partner. If she doesn’t, there will be no way to fund Maitland’s expenses, much less the special schools and future treatment Max may need.

She is bleary-eyed by the time Marianne shows up at her door and asks if she would like to escape for a while. Danielle grabs her bag and hops into Marianne’s car. They laugh and chat their way across town to a small beauty shop with the name Pearl’s above the door in faded red letters. Danielle so thoroughly enjoys herself that when the pedicures are over, she lets Marianne whirl her in front of a mirror and convince her that it is definitely time to take a serious stab at personal grooming. Besides, Danielle wants to look her best when she has dinner with Tony tonight. She has a brief consultation with Pearl, drops into a chair and surrenders herself to the process.

The scissors are sweet as they slice through her hair. So true, so simple. The acrid solution on her head is shockingly cold. Under the dryer, she falls into a trance. Pregnant with Max, she sees him through the translucent onionskin that is her stomach. He is a tiny fetus, perfectly formed, eyes closed. Red and blue veins interlineate his little body. He curls around them, waiting to come out. Wine-colored blood and magenta amniotic fluid flow seamlessly from mother to son in primal grace. She rubs her stomach under the warm air.

Relaxed, she lets her mind wander to Tony and their dinner tonight. Will they make love again? A warm blush suffuses her body as she considers the possibility. She lets herself fantasize about a holiday with Tony—on a sandy beach somewhere in the Caribbean, the glistering azure of the waves lapping before them as they lie with their arms entwined like teenagers exploring a first love. After that, Tony will make regular trips to New York, where they will see plays, cook extravagant dinners and eat them in bed while watching old movies on television. Max will adore him, and Tony will happily be the father he has never had. She can almost see the glittering diamond on her finger and the look on Tony’s face as he lifts her veil to kiss her …

“Done!” The redhead raps on her plastic helmet, takes her to the sink and rinses her hair. Plastic rollers plop into the bowl like hard rocks that clack against one another at the base of a waterfall. After a fierce blow-drying, she twirls Danielle around. “Terrific. You’ll love it.”

Danielle looks at the woman in the mirror. Her mouth forms a horrified O. She ignores the fact that her face is the color of powdered sugar and that exhaustion has worn deep ruts under her eyes. She squints at the new, close-cropped curls that have turned her head into a battleground. After a long moment, she decides they look like the crazy cockscomb of an electrocuted rooster.

“Don’t you worry none, sugar,” says Pearl. “Everybody thinks they’re a little different-lookin’ after a perm.” She pulls an odd tool from her cart. It is some type of flat, metal comb with long spikes. She stabs and picks at the tight curls, her gum snapping nonstop until she reaches the desired effect. She hands the comb to Danielle. “A girl’s best friend! Almost—if you know what I mean, honey!”