Unexpected - Part 1/2

— Debby, sweetheart, — Carlos's voice barely stood out amidst the intense noise of hairdryers and the chatter that filled the busy beauty salon on a Friday afternoon. Deborah left her spot where she was organizing nail polishes by color on the manicurist's shelf and went over to the hairstylist who was calling her with worried eyes. 

— Yes, Carlos? — Deborah put on her best smile for her boss, who held a comb and scissors ready in his hands, sensing the curious gaze of the client in front of her chair fixated on the two of them through the illuminated mirror.

 — Mi amor, — Carlos approached to speak closer to the assistant's ear, though he still had to speak a bit loudly to be understood. 

— Mrs. Saito, — Deborah discreetly glanced over his shoulder at the client in question, a familiar face always getting some service done at the salon. 

— Yes, what about her? — she encouraged him to continue as he turned his attention back to the client in his chair for a moment.

 — She's very indecisive about the haircut. I've suggested a few options, but she didn't seem confident with any of them. Can you talk to her a bit to try to help her decide?

 — Oh, of course! — Deborah straightened up immediately and headed towards the client without waiting for any more words from Carlos. She circled around one of the white leather chairs in the room, sitting down right in front of Mrs. Saito, who was flipping through one of the thick fashion magazines on the glass table in the waiting area. 

— Good afternoon, Mrs. Saito, — Deborah greeted, immediately earning a surprised look from the older woman. She felt the dark, curious eyes wander over her freckled face and collar and then over her long red hair before opening an uncertain smile.

 — My name is Deborah, I'm Carlos's assistant and— 

— Oh, I know who you are, dear! — the woman, probably in her forties but looking much younger with a broad open smile, placed her hand on Deborah's knee.

 — It's not like you can go unnoticed anywhere, — she commented playfully, raising an eyebrow. 

   Indeed, at the age of twenty-one, Deborah was far from being someone invisible. Not a single day passed without someone complimenting her well-maintained short hair, her perfect face, expressive eyes, or her sculpted body. The problem was that the girl didn't see herself that way. She was the first among her high school friends to develop a body and start catching the attention of older boys - and even much older men too. The embarrassment weighed on her like a sack of rocks on her shoulders. For a certain period, she tried to hide in loose and unattractive clothes, seeking to escape from those looks of desire and judgment in any way possible. But she quickly noticed that it only made her feel worse.

   Deborah felt desires and urges within herself that she didn't have the courage to share with anyone. Not with her childhood best friend, nor with her mother, a nurse who was hardly ever home due to her constant shifts, bringing so many babies into the world every day that she seemed to overlook her own growing daughter.

   With so much time alone at home, she found some solace in her mother's large and complicated books, despite the somewhat challenging language - which sometimes forced her to reach for a dictionary - and the occasionally disturbing images that she eventually grew accustomed to. That's where she began to understand a little better what was happening to her body and what the sensations she felt when she touched herself meant.

   She spent her entire high school years trying to figure out who she was, in the company of various people and behaviors, stringing together empty relationships in which she felt no real connection. While she had some ease in understanding others, it was an entirely different story when it came to understanding herself.

   By the end of high school, a painful time even though many around her considered her a popular and happy girl, Deborah could only see herself as a big failure: she hadn't gotten into a university and didn't even know what field she enjoyed studying. With her mother's meager salary, she didn't have many options other than finding a job quickly to help with household expenses.

   With her good looks and friendliness, she easily landed a job as an assistant at a beauty and aesthetics salon in the neighboring district - a place where families were much wealthier than in her own neighborhood.

— So, — Deborah cleared her throat, shifting her knees to delicately try to remove Mrs. Saito's hand from her knee, without success.

— Carlos told me that you're unsure about the haircut?

 — Oh, yes, — finally, the woman withdrew her hand, causing the redhead to release a relieved breath.

— I'm not sure whether to keep the length or go for something more radical, you know?

— she held her dark hair up slightly, simulating a cut above her shoulder.

— I think that would look great. Have you had long hair for a long time? Have you ever had short hair?

— Please, call me Mei, that way I don't feel old! — She laughed. 

— And yes, indeed! You see, I love a good pair of scissors. Mrs. Saito glanced away towards the chairs where the hairstylists, including Carlos, were working, but Deborah could have sworn she caught a wink from one of her eyes punctuating her sentence.

— My husband doesn't like very short hair, — she shrugged.

— I'm somewhat tempted to challenge him. What do you think?

— She asked, turning back to the younger woman.

— Could things use a bit of spicing up? — Deborah gave a half-smile.

— He doesn't see me, — Mei whispered, lowering her face.

— Not like before. The air around them seemed to grow heavy, the playful tone that dominated the conversation disappearing in an instant. For a moment, the voices in the salon became too loud again, the smell of nail polish and strong hair products in their noses. Mrs. Saito's sparkle had completely vanished, and her vacant, distracted gaze showed that her mind was far away. Deborah adjusted herself in her chair, scooting closer to speak nearer to Mei, and touched her shoulder to bring her back to the conversation.

— Would you like to talk about this?