Page 28

TWENTY-SEVEN

BOB MILLER

Walking through downtown Manassas at night reminds me just how little the town has to offer, especially compared to DC. But what DC has in nightlife, restaurants, entertainment, and everything else you would expect from the seventh-largest metro area in the country, Manassas makes up for in other areas. It’s quiet, peaceful, safe (for some), and one can easily find solitude. The sound of my own footsteps echoes off the brick facades, and I can even hear the buzz of the few streetlamps illuminating the closed shops. The ring of my phone startles me. I fumble with my pocket to finally retrieve it. Brad Watson is splayed across the screen.

“Hey, Brad,” I answer as I dip into a nearby alley and lean against the side of a building.

“How ya hangin’ in there, Bob?”

“How do you think I’m doing? My wife is divorcing me and trying to take my daughter, and the woman I had an affair with has vanished into thin air.” I flail my free hand, even though he can’t see it.

“Look, I know this isn’t easy but you just gotta stay cool. Losing your shit isn’t going to help you get custody of Summer. I need your mind sharp, okay?”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“True, but you also know I’m right.”

“Fine. I need answers though, so I need to find Stacy.”

“What do you mean? Even if she randomly reappears, you don’t want to be seen anywhere near her until your divorce is finalized.”

“I get that would be messy, especially if I’m seen with her...”

“Messy? Bob, it would be a disaster. You’re trying to claim that this was a onetime screwup and that, at your core, you are still the loving husband and father you’ve always been. How is that going to play out if you’re seen getting cozy with the woman who’s the other half of this sordid affair? I can tell you how it’ll play out: Sarah will eat you alive, and we might as well just throw in the towel on all your demands.” Brad’s voice is steadily climbing to a near yell.

“But Stacy’s the only one who can tell me the truth about what Sarah did.”

“What Sarah did? What are you talking about?” His anger has changed to confusion.

“Sarah hired Stacy.”

“Yeah, we already know that, or at least someone on her staff hired her to work a gala. That’s old news.”

“No, not the gala. Sarah hired this woman to sleep with me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You think your wife hired a prostitute to sleep with you?” Brad begins to laugh, his guffaws cracking through the speaker. “Come on, man!”

“I’m serious! I think she hired Stacy to seduce me. She set the whole thing up just to take me down. Probably gave her money to disappear too.”

“Why would Sarah do any of that?”

“To get full custody of Summer, obviously.”

“No, I mean, why do any of this at all? What’s the catalyst for her setting you up to cheat?”

I sigh heavily. “I’m not sure. I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“I’m sorry, Bob, but what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. The whole reason Sarah filed for divorce is because you had an affair. If you didn’t cheat, no divorce. So, why would she set up a scenario to have you cheat? Do you see how clunky that all sounds?”

“You don’t get it. Sarah is always scheming. She’s two steps ahead in every situation.” I nearly spit because I’m so angry.

“No, I do get it. You’re making your wife sound like some evil mastermind out to get you, and you don’t even have an explanation as to why. I love you, man, and it pains me to say this, but it sounds like you just don’t want to take responsibility for your own fuckup. That’s all it was though, a screwup. And so what? You cheated. You aren’t the first guy to do it, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

“Brad, listen to me. You have no idea what Sarah’s capable of.”

“Right now, I think she’s capable of getting full custody of Summer and more than half of all your shit if you don’t get your head screwed on straight.”

I pound my fist against the brick wall and grimace.

Brad just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the full scope of what’s really going on. He doesn’t know what Sarah’s done or what she’s willing to do to protect herself. I check my watch and realize I’m late for my hair appointment.

“I’ve gotta let you go,” I say.

“Fine, but where are you at with compiling all your...?” Brad starts to ask, but I pull the phone from my ear, his voice faintly coming through the speaker as I end the call.

I arrive at the salon six minutes late, which isn’t like me. I’m always punctual, and I pride myself on that. It’s a small building with a glass facade. White calligraphy sprawling across the window reads, Cuts by Carissa , accompanied with a graphic of a large pair of scissors that looks like it’s about to cut the words in half. I pull on the door handle only to find it’s locked.

The lights are on inside though. I peer through the glass, looking for signs of movement, but there aren’t any. I wonder if she closed already. It is after hours. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I’m about to call her when movement in my peripheral view catches my eye. Carissa emerges from the back room, moving at a half jog with an apologetic expression on her face. She looks more like the lead singer of a punk rock band than a hairstylist, sporting a half dozen piercings in each ear and long bright-pink hair. She clicks the dead bolt out of its slot and pushes the door open.

“Sorry! I forgot I locked it up after my last client. Please, come in.” Carissa motions with her hand.

“Don’t apologize. You’re the one who’s keeping the salon open past hours for me.” I remove my suit jacket, hang it on the coatrack, and undo the top button of my Oxford shirt.

“You’re my most regular client. It’s the least I can do.” Carissa smiles and closes the door, relocking it.

I have a seat, and she takes her position behind the chair, peering at me through the large mirror hung on the wall.

Carissa tosses a cape over me and secures the Velcro around my neck. “So, what’ll it be today? Liberty spikes? Mohawk? Maybe add some funky colors?” She smiles as she runs her fingers through my hair, checking its length.

“Dealer’s choice.” I smile back.

“Green liberty spikes it is then.” She grabs a clipper with no blade guard and starts cleaning up my hairline. “So, how are Sarah and Summer doing?”

I debate as to how to respond to that question but decide to stick with the cookie-cutter answer. The expected answer. I can’t and won’t dump all the shit that’s going on in my life on her. Plus, this is a place for me to relax and escape for an hour, not wallow about my divorce.

“They’re good,” I say. “Sarah’s busy with the foundation, as usual, and Summer’s doing well in school and focusing on swimming right now. She actually just won her last swim meet.”

“Good for her,” Carissa says without pausing her work.

“She definitely doesn’t get it from me.” I force a laugh. “How about yourself?” I ask to get the spotlight off me. “What’s new?”

“Same old, same old. Just here, working. When I’m not cutting hair, I’m cleaning or ordering inventory or balancing the books, paying bills, running payroll.” She turns the clippers off and quickly glances at the locked door to her right. “I could really use a vacation one of these days.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Ever since I made named partner at my firm, it’s just work, work, work.”

“Mmhmm,” Carissa replies, slightly nodding her head. “Let’s get you over to the washing station, and I’ll give that big brain of yours a nice scalp massage.”

I chuckle as I get to my feet and follow her. “I know I’ve already kept you late, so you can skip the hair wash if you’d like, even though the scalp massage sounds great right about now.”

“Nonsense.” She flicks a hand. “I’ve got nowhere important to be anyway.”

It’s nice talking to a woman who isn’t jumping down my throat every chance she gets. Sarah could really learn a thing or two from Carissa. As we walk through the salon, I notice she scans the back door, past the restroom and her office. She checks her watch and does a once-over on the front entrance again.

“Are you sure you’ve got nowhere to be? I don’t want to hold you up.”

Her mouth opens but it takes a moment for words to come out. “Yeah, I’m sure. Go ahead and take a seat.”

She seems nervous or maybe anxious, but I decide not to press any further.

“Let me know if this is too hot,” Carissa says, turning on the sink.

Warm water gushes over my hair, completely saturating it.

“It’s perfect,” I say, letting my eyes close and my mind go blank.

I must have dozed off because all of a sudden, there’s a tap on my shoulder, and Carissa leans down, whispering, “All done. I’ll meet you back at the chair.”

I blink several times and slowly rise, watching her as she walks to her station. She’s still double-checking the office, the back door, the entrance. I follow and take a seat in the chair.

She strokes the hair on my neck with her thumb. “Would you like a shave with the straight razor tonight?”

“Sure, why not.”

Carissa pulls out a razor and looks over the blade, feeling the edge of it. She places a hot, moist towel over my throat and says, “Just lean back and relax,” before beginning the process, applying preshave oil and taking slow passes up my neck. I can hear the scrape of the blade as the hairs give way, leaving nothing but smooth skin behind. If this goes on long enough, I could fall asleep again. The smell of the shaving oil mixed with the soothing— Then a sharp pain bites at my throat just under my chin.

“Shit!” Carissa blurts out before covering her mouth. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

I reach my hand up to the spot where the pain is, touching it before bringing it to my line of sight to find blood clinging to my fingers. More of it trickles down my neck, underneath the cape, no doubt staining my shirt. Some blood dribbles over the cape and drips to the ground. I don’t think she nicked me that bad, but when the skin is warmed, it softens, and the neck already has a ton of blood flowing through it.

“Get me a towel and something cold!” I yell in a panic. “Now!”

“I’m sorry!” She races into her office, appearing no more than a moment later with a large dry towel and a can of sparkling water. “Here,” Carissa says, pressing the towel against my neck and extending the can to me.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s the only cold thing I have.”

I alternate between applying the towel and the cold can against my skin while Carissa stands over me, watching and anxiously biting her nails.

She closes her eyes for a second, taking several deep breaths, in through the nose and then out through the mouth. “I’m really, really sorry, Bob.”

“It’s fine,” I huff. “Accidents happen, but do you have a first aid kit?”

Carissa gives me an odd look before nodding and scurrying off.

I hear a ruckus, things being dropped and moved around, and then she returns with a small kit. It takes two Band-Aids to fully cover the wound.

“If you wanna skip the haircut, I understand,” Carissa says, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m already here, so there’s no point in not getting my hair cut. Just keep the scissors away from my neck,” I joke, attempting to put her at ease.

She laughs nervously. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but it’s on the house.”

I can’t accept that because I know she only makes enough to stay afloat. Plus, she’s had her fair share of problems and unfair circumstances. “How about this?” I look at her in the mirror. “I’ll pay for the haircut, and you’ll pay for my dry cleaning.”

Her eyes dance around my reflection until she finally says, “Deal.”

I stare back at Carissa, wondering why she hesitated or even had to consider my generous offer to begin with.