"Is this really necessary?" I asked as she steered me toward the front door.
'She' is a loose term, since I'm pretty sure that the devil doesn't have a gender. Lyndi Crawshaw is one of the most feared women in the world, and I have the fortune of being one of her clients, which is good for selling my books, but terrible for my self esteem and over all general wellbeing.
"Absolutely!" she snapped, whipping out her cell phone and dialing a number. "Todd! Have the car here at four o'clock sharp, and make sure that all the bags are packed and loaded… No, I don't care whose go on what side of the trunk… Just have it done!" she flipped the phone shut.
A small bell jingled as she flung open the door. I followed her inside and exhaled deeply. If Tony ever found out I was here…
"Hi there, what can I do for you?" a cheerful voice rang out from behind the counter.
"Yeah; appointment for Gemcity, but make it quick; we've got a plane to catch," Lyndi commanded.
"Right away Miss Crawshaw," the small blonde looked a little afraid; it was obvious that she had dealt with Lyndi before.
She went to the back of the salon, presumably to fetch whoever was going to be working on me, leaving me standing with Lyndi in the waiting room. I wanted nothing more than to make a break for it, but Lyndi grasped my upper arm tightly. "Why are you so distraught over this, Tim? It's just a little grooming."
"Lyndi, I'm a guy. I'm fine with the haircut, but color and a manicure?" I thought maybe if I pled a good enough case she'd let me off the hook.
Not a chance. "Tim, the color is so that you look a little less agent and a little more author. The manicure is necessary because you're going to be signing a lot of books," she observed the look on my face and rolled her eyes, "Oh for God's sake Tim, it's going to be clear coat polish. I want you to look like a well put together straight man, not a drag queen on his day off."
See what I mean about the self esteem?
I ignored her until the receptionist came back with another employee. "Mr. Gemcity, we're ready for you," said the second girl.
She led me into the main room of the salon and told me to take a seat in one of the chairs. There were very few other people, well, customers, in the salon. Lyndi sat in a chair across from me, typing on her palm pilot and barking orders at the stylists that were standing around. "You, go get us some water. You, go find the manicurist. You, get out of here; we don't need any gawkers!"
There were a pair of old ladies under hairdryers against the back wall that kept throwing curious glances at me, trying to figure out who I was and why I was accompanied by such a bossy woman. The only other customer, from what I could see, was someone at the shampoo station. I could not tell if it was a man or a woman, because whoever it was had their head tilted back into the sink and their body was covered by a long black smock.
The hairdresser spun me around in my chair, draping me in my own smock. I closed my eyes, not willing to watch as these women destroyed my image and built a new one that was "more appropriate for a writer." Lyndi's words, not mine.
I was being tugged at in every direction. I think they did the color first. At least, I hope they did, because if not then I don't want to know what got squirted on my head. After the color came the cut.
I felt like I was losing a part of myself; I had worked hard to grow my hair out so that I didn't look like a drowned rat.
While the stylist was cutting my hair, another woman came to work on my manicure. They worked around each other, neither disrupting the other, until both were finally finished.
Lyndi led me back out to the waiting room. As we rounded a corner, I heard hushed voices coming from the front desk. "He's an author, apparently. I've read his book, it was pretty good. But the woman with him, that's Lyndi Crawshaw, she's a real…"
She broke off as we came into view. "Hello again Miss Crawshaw. Are you all set?"
The woman standing in front of the counter turned to look at us. "Tim?"
"Ziva?" she must not have seen my face, otherwise she wouldn't have been asking who I was.
She snickered. "You are getting ready for your book tour, yes?"
"Uh, yeah. Listen, can you do me a favor and not tell Tony I was here? I'd rather not have to explain all of this to him," I begged.
"Sure Tim," she smiled.
"Thanks," I said as Lyndi dragged me out the front door to the waiting car.
…
"You know him?" the girl at the desk asked me.
"Yes, we work together," I said, smiling at her.
The girl look amazed. I think she made the connection from Ziva to Lisa, and Tony to Tommy. "Are you going to tell this Tony guy that he was here?"
"No," I smirked, "but he didn't ask me not to tell Abby."