Side Parting

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Blocked Curls“So, this woman is just walking around my house in the most ridiculous shoes. Apparently, she’s the new cleaner.”

“Wow.” Piper pushed her bottom against the sofa and sipped her coffee. “Is she expensive? I could use a cleaner for a few months. I don’t know how I ever held down a job at the same time as running a home. It’s all a big lie. Women can’t have both, can they?”

Kit inhaled through her nose, the hiss making her eyes water. “The boys don’t know why she’s doing it.” Her gaze shifted to the rest of the WWC committee still chatting in the open-plan kitchen. She leaned closer to Piper. “They think she’s doing it for free.”

“A free cleaner?” Piper’s eyes rounded, and she blinked. “Where did they find one of those?”

Kit gave a huff of disgust and sipped her coffee. Pam had added enough granules to blow her head off and keep her awake until midnight. “Her mother attends their church and is enamoured with the boys. She’s pimping her daughter on a free cleaning gig in the hope one of them will fall in love with her.”

“Oh, no!” Piper’s ringlets swished against her neck as she shook her head. “That’s terrible. It’s exploitation.”

“It’s p**********n!” Kit snarled. “I looked it up in the dictionary. It’s the unworthy or corrupt use of one’s talents for personal or financial gain. Prostitution.”

Piper kept her head down and fixed her gaze on the flecks of coffee circling the rim of her mug in a gentle dance. “So, a bit like what you’re doing with this Expo then?”

Kit gasped. She turned to Piper with her lips parted, indignation stampeding across her expression. Then she closed her mouth with a snap. “Yes. Don’t tell anyone.”

Piper smiled in her peripheral vision. “I guess if you use it to get some customers, we could class it as marketing. You could claim your travel expenses back from the tax man.”

Kit’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “That’s right,” she mused. “You did the accounts at the car dealership. Please will you help me set up a hairdressing side hustle in exchange for free haircuts?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Piper kept her head down and sipped her drink. Both women tensed as the conversation in the kitchen ceased.

“Right, girls!” Debbie waddled across the room and dumped herself into a recliner opposite Kit. It groaned and tipped back on its rocker. “Let’s start the September meeting of the Women with Curls, Hamilton Chapter.” She bounded forward with enough vigour to catapult her out of the chair, but gripped the arms with white-knuckled fingers to stay seated. “Piper is taking the minutes.”

“I am?” Piper slopped coffee over her thigh and onto the sofa cushion. “I didn’t know.”

Debbie closed her eyes as though concrete blocks dangled from her lashes. Kit squirmed at the sight of her eyeballs moving around beneath the purple eyeshadow. “Didn’t you get the email?” Debbie’s eyes popped open, and Piper squeaked in alarm.

“No.” Her head shook like a wet dog’s. “No.”

“I’ll do them.” Pam slumped onto the sofa next to Kit and settled an lined notepad across her knees. She offered Kit a genuine smile. “Is it nice having your weekends free again?” she asked, her tone soft. She pushed a blonde curl away from her left eye and the pen in her hand drew a blue line across her cheek.

Kit shot a wary glance at Debbie and pursed her lips. Pam outranked Debbie as WWC chairperson, but Debbie trumped her on the scary scale. “Yes, thanks,” she whispered in an effort not to appear rude. She watched Pam’s husband through the lounge window. He carried black dustbin bags along the side of the house towards the gate. Greying curls covered his shoulders like a cloak. He’d removed the customary band holding his ponytail. The glow from the streetlights refracted off the bald spot over his crown to give him an eerie halo.

Pam followed her gaze and lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “He just got a promotion.” She jerked her head towards her husband as he retraced his steps, carrying a recycling crate in his arms. “He’s worked so hard for it. Long hours and lots of meetings.”

“Have we finished over there in the cheap seats?” Debbie snarled.

Pam gave an indignant grunt and stroked the cushion between her and Kit. Her attempt to exude sympathy for her insulted sofa resulted in another blue line across the cream fabric. “Just get on with it,” she urged. She used the same tone with which she wrangled five-year-olds into obedience during her day job. She leaned closer to Kit. “Her husband applied but didn’t get the job.”

“I want to plan the Expo,” Debbie began, her tone acerbic as she glared at Pam. “But first, I’d like to show you the wonderful new conditioner from the Professionals Range.” She leaned sideways, and the chair tipped onto one rocker with a groan of complaint. After a set of primal grunts and what sounded like a greasy fart, Debbie retrieved a cloth bag filled with bottles and containers. She set the bulging bag in her lap and beamed around at the gathered Curlies. Her face transformed with the inner glow of a televangelist blessing donations. Kit tensed, waiting for the hard sell and not disappointed when it arrived with a price tag and persuasion. “I’m offering discounts to the committee,” she stated. Her plump fingers extracted a white bottle and hoisted it high enough for everyone to see.

Piper spoke through the side of her mouth. “That means she’s got a garage full and can’t get rid of it.”

Kit turned her snort to a cough and covered her mouth. Debbie’s beady eyes locked on her face. “What about Mr Rashid? I could give him five percent off another order if he buys over twenty this time.”

Kit shook her head from side to side and hoped she infused her denial with the right amount of determination. “No thanks. He blamed me for the exploding lube. I don’t want to get involved again.”

Debbie’s lips curled back in a snarl. “It kinda was your fault,” she concluded.

Pam cleared her throat. She waved the pen in dismissal. “But what a happy accident,” she enthused in her best school teacher’s voice. “If you hadn’t sold all that lube from your garage, you never would have gone into the supply market and been able to quit your job.”

Debbie frowned. Pam had stymied her guilt trip and as it formed her only plan for selling the many bottles of product, it left her speechless for long enough for Sharon to wade in with a rebuke.

“Stop hawking your dodgy products here,” she growled. She narrowed her eyes at Debbie. “You can’t use our group to make a fast buck. It’s against the rules.” In the scary-stakes, Sharon represented the unknown quantity. She outweighed Debbie by a few kilogrammes and got herself voted onto the committee as vice chairperson in the previous election. The little she said emerged from her lips with enough of a bite to kill all unwanted conversation. Her skill at policing conflict was the only reason Pam agreed to continue as the leader after a mini crisis of confidence a few months earlier.

Maintaining her familiar good cop routine, Pam used the diversion to move the meeting to its planned agenda. “The Expo is in two weeks and we need to organise our stall. I’ve created a roster from those who volunteered at the last WWC meeting and added in the committee members to fill the gaps. We’ll need spot prizes to encourage people to give names and email addresses. What about a survey to see what the women need from our group? The aim is to increase membership and therefore revenue. So, ladies, what do we think?”

“I could sell my products.” Debbie’s eyes glinted.

A fire sparked behind her irises as Sharon shook her head. “No. We want to provide teaching and encouragement, not just dump more crap on them.”

Debbie raised a gnarled finger and jabbed it towards Kit. “But she’s doing free haircuts all day. That’s advertising. I can if she’s allowed.”

Kit exhaled in a rush. “No, I’m not!” Her voice rose. “I said I’d do a shift, not a complete day!”

Debbie shrugged and dropped her bag onto the carpet at her feet. “I suppose you’re not really qualified enough to do an entire day, anyway,” she muttered under her breath.

“I am qualified!” Kit’s cheeks flushed with a rosy hue as she regretted taking the bait. She flipped open her handbag and extracted the protective case containing her prized scissors. “The Queen of Curl presented me with a certificate that says I am.” She jabbed an index finger into her chest, before peeling open the case to reveal the dull matte blades. A sense of unworthiness shrouded her despite the accolade. “I won the matte black precision scissors for the student with the most flare!” Kit brandished the case. She resisted touching the expensive matte blades. A shiver of anticipation ran along her spine. The first snip promised the most amazing moment of her entire life. She fastened the case to stop anyone else from getting any ideas about handling them.

Piper’s fingers slid across the sofa between them to land on Kit’s thigh. She gave a gentle squeeze of warning, but it arrived too late.

“Prove it!” Debbie snapped. She eased forward, her hands dangling between her thighs like a woman about to give birth. “If you’re so b****y marvellous, you won’t mind doing the entire day!”