by Leanne Davis
What she didn’t need now, however, was he.
Joelle had enough problems without worrying about what he was up to, which was what she was doing. She worried why he helped her. She worried about his motives, becoming wary that if he didn’t expect anything, like sex or whatever, then why would he have helped her out? Joelle didn’t, not even for one second, believe that Nick’s help came with no strings attached. He could see in her eyes that Joelle wasn’t used to such kindness, and consequently, she didn’t trust him. How could he explain to her that the amount of money her car repairs cost wasn’t even as much as his monthly wine bill?
Joelle had always been a surprisingly quiet girl, and talked only when asked questions. She allowed Trina to be the loud one, the leader of their small pack. Joelle was the shy, intense, thoughtful one. She blended in by trying not to draw any attention to herself. She always got tongue-tied when she had to talk in front of a group. Or even just to Nick. Seventeen-year-old Joelle, could not meet his gaze or speak directly to him whenever he would talk to her when she came to see Trina at his family home. Although he’d never thought much about her back then, she was impossible not to like. She was so reserved, painfully timid, and sweet. Even now, behind all the makeup, the hair, the piercings and tattoos, he found her impossible not to like.
She blushed and stammered with him as before, and talked so quickly, so nervously, he had to nearly lean in to hear what she was saying, since she kept her volume whisper low. It seemed as if she thought no one really wanted to hear anything she had to say.
How much of that, Nick wondered, stemmed from her rock star, ne’er-do-well husband? What must he be like? And why did Joelle seem so ready to spring up and run off at all times? It was almost as if her nerves couldn’t allow her to sit, talk, or relax. It was like she was always poised to get out of everyone’s way.
Joelle’s sadness also got to him. He found himself more than sympathetic toward her than to anyone else in recent years. After having to listen to his short-sighted, very self-centered sister, go on and on about what a freak Joelle had become really set him on edge. He refrained from arguing with Trina, but he was very disappointed that his sister chose to be so mean to her. She certainly didn’t do or say anything to provoke anyone. She might dress differently, but she still tried to hide in the crowd and keep people from noticing her, talking to her, or causing any conflict. She didn’t deserve the catty dressing-down from his smug sister when Joelle’s only intent was to apologize and reconnect with her. And judging by Joelle’s demeanor, she could use a friend right then, much more than his money.
Still, she came here. To him. She came to see him when a phone call would have sufficed. He didn’t know what to make of it. Or why he felt so protective of a girl he hardly knew, and who was married.
But her car? It was a damn joke. To send it anywhere but the scrap yard was really a stretch. How could any man let his wife drive around dark streets at night in that jalopy? He lied to Joelle. The total cost to make her car barely more reliable was far more then she was told. Nick suspected she’d somehow be right on top of it, since she was so insistent about paying him back. He saw her pride, and her fierce need to prove herself. It wasn’t her fault no one else seemed to notice it.
So he asked the mechanic to lie about the cost, and he covered the rest. It was done all with the reassurance that he only wanted to appease his conscience, just so he would know she could at least rely on her pitiful car.
He was only doing for Joelle what he hoped someone would do for his sisters: Sophie, Carrie, Rebecca or Trina, if he weren’t around to look out for them. He was not interested in pursuing the total train wreck that he saw in Joelle Williams.
****
Nick walked down the street, but it was far different from the little enclave in Seattle where he usually spent his time. The street had an assortment of tattoo parlors, taverns, thrift shops, a homeless center and several odds-and-ends kind of shops; an antique shop, a bookstore, a knick-knack boutique, and a hair salon.
He saw the hole in the wall’s brick front. The Color N’ Works sign was illuminated in red, although the N was burned out. The street was fairly empty, as it was only ten in the morning. This part of the city probably livened up the later the day progressed. He opened the smudged front door of the salon, and a little bell overhead chimed to announce his arrival. Before him was the minuscule waiting room, that contained a total of three chairs, and a small coffee table that was covered in dusty, dog-eared fashion magazines. Beyond that was the hair salon, with six barber chairs: three on each side that were parallel to each other. Each was decorated in different colored pixie lights and pictures.
Not exactly the spa-like retreat where he usually went for a hair trim. There, he was served a hot latte while he looked through current copies of Newsweek.
“May I help you?” a woman said from where she stood. She was cutting someone’s hair, and her expression looked bored, as if she were annoyed he came in and interrupted her. She had purple-tipped spikes in her hair.
“I’m looking for Joelle Williams.”
“Joelle? Yes. She’s in the back, washing a load of towels. I’ll get her.”
He nodded, waiting by the window and watching the street outside.
“Nick?”
He spun around at her voice, but her dismay was clear.
“Last I checked. Why do you look so annoyed?”
“What are you doing here?”
He glanced at the door, pretending to read it. “This is a hair salon, isn’t it? Haircuts? Even for uptight, corporate types such as myself? Or am I not hip enough for this place?”
Her lips relaxed, but only an inch. “No one actually says hip like that.”
“I guess I need some help with my style.”
She looked at him, her expression wary, and replied, “You know without my saying so that you don’t.”
“I do, however, need a haircut. You have the time? Seems only fair after you dropped in at my work, so why not I at yours?”
“That’s almost insulting now that I know what dropping by your work is like.” She relaxed her arms and waved at him to follow her. He sat in the chair she indicated and she got out the long drape, which she wrapped around him before snapping it behind his neck. Then she spun him around in the chair so that he was staring at himself in the mirror, and they were nearly eye to eye.
She wore a headband that pulled her hair and her bangs back, and the rest of her hair was braided in a long tail behind her. The braid terminated at her lower back, and was as thick as his fist. He wondered what she’d look like with all that hair flowing free. She had a hoop in her eyebrow, and before she spoke, the tip of her tongue touched the stud in her lip.
She eyed him. “You really want me to cut your hair?”
“Is there some reason you can’t? Is my particular style too intricate?”
She smiled. His hairstyle was anything but intricate. Short. A smidgeon longer on top, shorter around the sides and bottom.
“You trust me with cutting your hair?”
“Why? Shouldn’t I? Do you plan on dying it orange or something?”
“No. Of course not. It’s just, why did you come all the way down here?”
He quit smiling. She wanted the truth. “You were right, my haircuts cost me a small fortune. So I thought, why not have you cut my hair and we’ll just deduct it from your tab. I figured it would make you feel better.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re serious?”
“Sure. Was it a bad idea?”
“No. It’s a good idea. And… I appreciate it.”
He got up as she requested and followed her to the sink where he reclined his neck on the sink support. He felt her small hands brushing through his hair and nearly sighed at the pleasure the sensation evoked. It was equally as nice as a massage. Her hands were tiny, child-like and soft. He had to restrain a groan of pleasure at how good it felt. She worked quickly, soaping and rinsing. Was she trying t
o hurry him out?
Back at her workstation, she pulled out her scissors and began clipping. He studied her face in the mirror as she worked.
“So how much is a small fortune?” she asked, after long moment of silence.
He told her.
She paused, and her eyebrows, still their natural, light brown coloring, arched. “For a man’s haircut? Are you nuts? No one should have to pay that.”
“Well, I do. And why shouldn’t you get as much for the same job? I have to say I can’t tell the difference from yours to my usual results.”
She snorted. “Probably because you’d have to be an idiot to mess up this haircut! I’m not taking that much money for it.”
“Do you have a better idea?” he asked, after studying her for a moment.
She flushed, and her face fell. “No, of course not. If it’s okay with you, then I guess we’ll deduct it from the bill for my car.”
“Plus your tip.”
“Oh Nick, that doesn’t include the tip? Whoever you’ve been going to is seriously screwing you.”
He laughed at the mock horror on her face.
Finally, she relaxed, and chatted with him. It was banal, polite conversation, and she seemed to finally find a way to be casual with him. Then, as she was drying his hair, she stopped and tensed.
“Hey there, baby.”
Nick watched from his chair in the mirror as a man came up behind Joelle and kissed her neck.
“Rob, you’re early. I’ll meet you out front once I’m finished in here.”
Rob. The husband. Nick already gathered as much by his lazy “baby” and kiss. Nick studied the man in the mirror, whose black hair, as dark and harsh as Joelle’s, was gelled into a bad case of morning hair. Her husband had something that darkened his eyes, eye shadow or dark liner, and endless tattoos. They wrapped and circled around both of his arms like artificial skin. It was hard to figure out where one tattoo stopped and the next one started. Nick spotted an identical one to Joelle’s, on his left wrist. Joelle’s style was comparatively boring next to the man she was married to. Nick never expected the man to be quite so ostentatious, especially at ten fifteen in the morning.
“I thought maybe you’d be free. Fine. Fine. I’ll go talk to Carmilla,” Rob said, as he turned and strode off to the lady who first checked Nick in. His stride, lazy and insolent, almost turned into a swagger.
Joelle turned her attention back to Nick, and their eyes met in the mirror. They stared at each other for moment before she blushed and angled her face away from him so he couldn’t see whatever was in her eyes. What was that? Did they share a moment between them? Why did Rob seem like something was going on between Nick and her? Technically, of course, there was nothing whatever between them, and there was no “them.”
“Sorry about that,” she mumbled, as she turned back to him.
“That would be your husband?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t elaborate, nor did she talk after that. The quiet seemed to make her nervous, and her movements became shaky where they hadn’t been before. What was her problem? Did she worry he’d go over and broadcast her Al-Anon meetings to Rob? Or complain that Joelle owed him money? Nick rose after she took the drape off and shook it. She began to sweep up the hair around the chair. He held back, waiting for her to finish and acknowledge him.
“Look, I had something I wanted to ask you. Can you spare a moment?”
“Sure. What is it?”
Nick glanced off towards her husband who was now engaged in animated conversation. He decided there was no use beating around the bush.
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
She went perfectly still, and leaned on the broom handle, frowning at him. “I have a job. Three actually.”
“Perhaps mine might be able to replace all three. I just thought maybe you’d like to consider it.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Why? Why would you offer me a job?”
“Because I think you could use a better one.”
She stiffened. “There’s nothing wrong with what I do.”
“You can’t pay all of your bills. Despite three jobs. There’s an opening in our accounting department. You’d get pretty decent pay, with full benefits.”
“Why would you do that?”
“It’s not a hard job; anyone can do it, so why not you?”
“I’m not exactly office material. Or haven’t you noticed that?”
“I’ve noticed. But it’s my office; I get to decide who works there.”
She smiled. “Right, the boss. So you can order all your people to accept me?”
“No. There’s no guarantee it’s going to work out. It’s just a job offer. Take it or leave it. It’s not the highest paid or highest skilled job out there, but it’s a start. Look, just think about it. Talk it over with your husband. Then call me, if you’re interested.”
He turned to leave, as he was not intending to beg her to take his offer. And he was not about to explain to her the unexplainable, or why he felt the urge to come to her about this job After overhearing Bev talk it over, Nick thought, why the hell couldn’t Joelle do that? It was his company, after all. Why couldn’t he offer it to a friend of sorts, at least, of his?
“Nick?”
He stopped at the sound of her voice and waited until she stepped closer.
“Yes. I could use a better job. I don’t know why you’re doing this. Or why you’re helping me out, but I really need it right now. What will I do?”
He was surprised she answered so quickly. Now, he had to figure out what to do with her.
“Eight o’clock, my office on Monday.”
“I’ll be there. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Now, he hoped he wouldn’t live to regret his decision that made little sense, but which he’d gone to considerable effort to make happen. The question he didn’t answer himself, was why he felt so compelled to offer the job to Joelle.
Chapter Eight
Nick started work at six a.m. sharp every day, and stayed until well past seven most evenings. He was well aware that he was a workaholic, and saw no reason to change that. He took time out for his family; his sisters’ numerous odd demands and grievances, and his mother, who relied on him still for everything. He had an active social life with a girlfriend, and plenty of friends, both male and female. He had no issues with how his life had turned out. He made more money than he ever dreamed about. He was far more successful than even he intended to be. He was no longer awed by the kind of money he now had access too, or the kind of lifestyle he quickly became accustomed to.
Still, he rarely did anything spontaneous, like asking a girl he hardly knew to work for him; let alone, going out of his way to ask her. What the hell kind of game was he playing? What was he going to do with her here? She didn’t fit into the office he created, which was very upscale and professional. Men still wore suits and women wore skirts. No one dressed in business casual; they dressed professionally.
But… Joelle needed help. He knew it in his gut, and he felt compelled to make her problems, somehow, his problems. Where he was headed, though, in his pursuit of her, began to concern him.
Bev announced Joelle’s arrival on Monday morning, and Nick glanced at the clock to see it was three minutes until eight. She was punctual. Good. Nick came out and stopped short in his doorway.
Joelle’s hair wasn’t blue anymore. It was still unnaturally dark and harsh, but the bright streaks of color were gone. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, thick knot, very slick and neat. Not the wild strays or casual tweaks of hair that her elaborate updos usually featured. He wondered what her story was with that knot. Why did she always have her hair so tightly drawn from her face?
She left out all of her visible body piercings. Her makeup was softer, subtler and allowed her face to shine through more. She wore a long-sleeved, dark sweater that covered up her tattoos, and a long black skirt, with almost feminine black boots that
went up to her knees. They were far nicer than the usual combat-like boots she wore.
Joelle was pretty. There was never any denying that. She had a small, heart-shaped face, dark black eyes, and an endearing, unsure, almost nervous smile; all of which she kept carefully hidden under heavy metal and strange, unnatural colors.
“Come in,” Nick said abruptly, feeling Bev’s stare on him as he gawked, nearly open- mouthed, at Joelle. Bev was probably suspicious about his reasons for having anything to do with such a lowly hire in the billing department.
Once she entered his office, they just stared each other; their relationship had suddenly changed from acquaintances to employer/employee. She nervously twisted her fingers together.
He tilted his head in appraisal of her. “How come you look so different today?”
“Shouldn’t I? I mean, I can’t work here with blue hair. I realized that before I accepted the offer.”
“I didn’t make any stipulations like that.”
“I’d have to be an idiot to think I looked appropriate if I wanted to work here.”
“And you were willing to change?”
“Obviously. I need money more than I need to be–”
He waited for her to explain what she needed to be, and why having blue and pink hair, spoke so much to her. Even with her changes, however, she was very different from most of Next Generation Consulting employees.
“I appreciate you giving me the job and just wanted you to know I was serious about not blowing my chance.”
She was desperate. He knew that. He knew it the first time he recognized her in the church parking lot. Why she was so shocked that he recognized her as Trina’s old friend, he couldn’t figure out. He simply looked across the sidewalk that evening and saw Joelle. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Trina’s old friend. So she had on grungy jeans, and heavy, almost ridiculously manly, black combat boots, with a man’s coat that she drowned in. She had hoops in her lip, in her eyebrow, and several small dots in her nose. Her tongue constantly played with the stud in her lip. He didn’t think she was aware of it, as it seemed to be a nervous habit. It was impossible not to watch. Her little pink tongue darted out, the tip licking, playing, and turning around the silver ball. It must have been uncomfortable as hell. Still, he watched her do it repeatedly and found it almost unconscious on her part, and oddly sexual.