rough the salon, past the hair
stylists all in white, past the apprentices at the sinks, and
over to her, too far away for me to hear their conversation.
Platinum Blonde greets him with obvious affection, kissing
both his cheeks, her hands resting on his upper arms, and
they talk animatedly together.
“Miss Steele?”
Greta the receptionist is trying to get my attention.
“Hang on a moment, please.” I watch Christian,
fascinated.
Platinum Blonde turns and looks at me, and gives me
the same dazzling smile, as if she knows me. I smile
politely back.
Christian looks upset about something. He’s reasoning
with her, and she’s acquiescing, holding her hands up and
smiling at him. He’s smiling at her—clearly they know each
other well. Perhaps they’ve worked together for a long
time? Maybe she runs the place; after all, she has a certain
look of authority.
Then it hits me like a wrecking ball, and I know, deep
down in my gut on a visceral level, I know who it is. It’s
down in my gut on a visceral level, I know who it is. It’s
her. Stunning, older, beautiful.
It’s Mrs. Robinson.
Emily Dickinson, “ I’m Nobody! Who are you?” first stanza.
“Greta, who is Mr. Grey talking to?” My scalp is trying to
lea一ve the building. It’s prickling with apprehension, and my
subconscious is screaming at me to follow it. But I sound
nonchalant enough.
“Oh, that’s Mrs. Lincoln. She owns the place with Mr.
Grey.” Greta seems more than happy to share.
“Mrs. Lincoln?” I thought Mrs. Robinson was
divorced. Perhaps she’s remarried to some poor sap.
“Yes. She’s not usually here, but one of our technicians
is sick today so she’s filling in.”
is sick today so she’s filling in.”
“Do you know Mrs. Lincoln’s first name?”
Greta looks up at me, frowning, and purses her bright
pink lips, questioning my curiosity. Shit, perhaps this is a
step too far.
“Elena,” she says, almost reluctantly.
I’m swamped by a strange sense of relief that my
spidey sense has not let me down.
Spidey sense? My subconscious snorts, Paedo s
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