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Really Bad Hair Day (Book 3 of The Hair Mavens Trilogy)

By Terri L. Gillespie

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Really Bad Hair Day (Book 3 of The Hair Mavens Trilogy)

Chapter 1—Say “Yes” to the Dress?

Shira Goldstein

Maybe Jesse and I should elope.

Shira’s sigh fogged the sliding door’s glass.

No.

She wanted the ceremony, the chuppah, the bridesmaids, and—

The wedding dress.

She turned from the wintery backyard scene and climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Cluttered with the growing magnitude of details necessary to plan her dream wedding, she swore the counter moaned.

Maybe the moan came from her.

On top of the venue, catering, limo, various brides’ magazines, and the best bride planning notebook ever, was the printed page from the Kleinfeld’s website. Shining pure in white and gold was “The One.”

The perfect dress certain to transform her into the virginal bride she had longed to be—she was certain Jesse wished she were—all for a mere five thousand dollars, plus veil, shoes, and anything else the salespeople would inevitably talk her into.

And if for some unfathomable reason it was not the one, she had at least a dozen more options, all clearly marked with neon-pink, heart-shaped sticky notes on the pages of several magazines.

She flipped to the schedule tab in her planner and scrutinized the “Where You Should Be by This Time” calendar. She covered the page with her hands.

Stop reminding of how behind I am!

Katya, Beulah, and she were taking the train in a few hours to New York where she hoped to say, “Yes!” to her wedding dress.

Two days after Jesse had proposed she had contacted the legendary Kleinfeld Bridal Shop in Manhattan. Where every designers’ dresses were available for the discerning, fabulously fashionable woman to try on and feel like a princess.

Unfortunately, the earliest appointment available had been two months later. She took a sip of her lukewarm coffee.

At last, the day had arrived.

Her pen hovered over the little box next to FOUND THE DRESS!

She longed to enter an elegant hot-pink ink checkmark.

Soon. Hopefully today.

Missing from her entourage were Harriet, Miss Linda, and—

She folded her fingers then rested her chin and exhaled.

Cari.

Harriet and Bob were on another of their many road adventures. Since their marriage two months ago, they traveled every other weekend—Bob had arranged these outings back in November. This weekend the newlyweds were in Lancaster at a quaint bed and breakfast—according to the photos Harriet had texted to all the mavens.

The thought of their adventurers made her smile—even though she was disappointed Harriet wouldn’t be there.

With a June 19th date, Shira had less than four months to pull this affair together. The ever-organized Miss Linda had been a welcomed asset, however, since January her priority was the new Edna’s School of Beauty on the second floor of the salon. Business always seemed to be Miss Linda’s main concern. Shira should be thankful, but sometimes she worried her salon manager had taken on too much.

While Shira understood why Harriet and Linda couldn’t be there, it irked her that Cari, as her matron of honor—of all people—wouldn’t be there.

Since her best friend had announced her pregnancy four weeks ago, Cari had developed a monster case of twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week morning sickness. So, Shira hadn’t seen much of Cari and they barely spoke. She and Jesse missed their double dates with Cari and Aaron.

She slipped the dress photo into the plastic page protector of her planning book and began packing everything into her spacious Michael Kors satchel.

Truth be told, Shira was a little put out by Cari’s absence in the overall wedding plans. She shrugged as she slipped the magazines into the pouch. Women had babies every day, what was the big deal?

Where were you for Cari’s wedding?

Shira’s face heated. Yes, Lord. Where had she been for her best friend? Anywhere but where Shira needed to be to support Cari.

Forgive me, Lord.

The last thing she wanted was to turn into a bridezilla.

What did the woman who led their Bible Study say? “Stay in the moment. Be grateful.”

Shira closed her eyes, took a deep breath then exhaled. A smile formed. She had so much to be grateful for.

The salon was more successful than she could ever have imagined. The Edna School of Beauty had opened to full enrollment—six eager women—and the mavens enjoyed teaching their own classes.

Linda was the best manager and school director she could have hired. Even young Daye had become an efficient addition to The Hair Mavens Salon.

And, best of all, she was getting married to the man of her dreams—the man God had saved for her! The warmth in her cheeks any time she thought of Jesse, always tickled her. Such a virtuous response from someone like her.

She shook the self-reprisal from her thoughts and continued loading her purse.
Today was the day she would find the dress to knock her future husband out of his argyles!

Noises came from the basement. She rolled her eyes as she buckled her satchel. Her dad had been puttering down there for days. He had banned her from even opening the door.

At this point she didn’t care what distracted him from his strange funk since Harriet’s wedding.

The bottom line was he had a thing for Beulah, but her friend was oblivious, and her father had wimped out—again—and not told her of his feelings.

Instead, he watched as Beulah day by day grew in her affections for the handsome police chief, Shaun O’Shea.

She scoffed. These people were close to fifty! At what point did adults outgrow all this stuff?

She sipped her coffee and thought of the attraction and love she felt for Jesse. She chuckled. Hopefully, she and Jesse would never outgrow their affections.

Never.

Her cell rang. Katya’s photo appeared on the screen. “Hey, girlfriend, did you decide what you’re going to do?”

“Nyet. No, not yet.” Katya sighed. “I do not want to hurt Tom’s feelings. And Beulah might get angry with me.”

“It’s just lunch. Yuri has a girlfriend, he’s clearly moved on, right?”

“I suppose …”

“What’s going on?” Was Katya’s caginess because she still had feelings for the handsome Russian she had left behind in New York?

She didn’t want to resume their relationship? Shira bit her lip. Surely not.
Besides, Katya would never leave The Hair Mavens, much less break up with such an amazing man like Beulah’s son, Tom Montgomery.

A crash came from downstairs.

“Yes!” Her father clomped up the stairs and appeared in the kitchen holding a large, dented pink box. His thick salt-and-peppered hair stuck up like he hadn’t slept in days. Cobwebs and basement grunge covered his face and hands. “I found it, Shira!”

What on earth?

“Katya, let me call you back.” She disconnected the call and hopped off the stool. “Are you okay?”

He beamed like a little kid. “I found it!” He said again.

“What? What did you find?”

He set the dusty box on the counter, covering her Michael Kors and then lifted the lid with a flourish. She leaned over. The musty smell hit her first.

Yellowed, wrinkled tissue paper still covered his prize.

He wiggled his bushy brows. “Open it.”

The moment her fingers touched the tissue, her stomach curdled. She didn’t have to look to know what was waiting underneath. She peeled back the wrapping.

“Your mom’s wedding dress!” Dad extended his arms like a ringmaster.

Her stomach sunk to her cranberry-red painted toes. Yes, it was her mother’s ball gown—giant puffy sleeves and lace—wedding dress. “Wow.”

Her father placed an arm across her shoulders. “I know, it’s beautiful, right? I have been looking for days. Ever since I heard you were going all the way to Manhattan to look for a dress.”

Gently, she lifted the dress by the huge puffy sleeves—large enough to hide a toddler. The bodice was of imported lace and delicate beading, obviously hand stitched. No question the craftsmanship was exceptional, but it was the epitome of over-the-top 1980’s fashion and would never work for her. She flashed to her wedding day, wearing the dress with her hair teased out to kingdom come.

She shivered. Won’t happen. Ever.

Her dad wiped his hand on his pant leg. “I can still see your mom walking toward me in this dress,” he gently caressed the sleeve, then whispered, “She looked so beautiful. Like an angel.”

Shira gazed into her dad’s dark brown eyes. The hope and love painfully evident. Two tiny puddles of moisture ready to escape his vulnerable orbs and roll down his cheeks.

“Your mom always wanted you to wear her dress. Now you don’t need to go to New York, Button.”

Shira swallowed. Oy.

###

Katya Stavropolsky

Katya thumbed off her cell and set it on her bed, now covered with a half-dozen outfits of different colors and styles.

Even though she wanted to discuss fashion choices with Shira, she was somewhat relieved their call was cut short. Her friend had no trouble probing the motives she had ignored for weeks. Motives she should think about.

Instead, she refocused her attention on her clothing options. She had narrowed it down to these six. What she wore had to be perfect . . . for Shira and this trip to Kleinfeld and . . .

“Stop it, Katya.” She rubbed the back of her neck, then folded her arms against her churning stomach.

Was this not about looking for Shira’s wedding dress? Katya had felt honored to have been invited.

No. She had to be honest. This was about Yuri Malikov. The man who had been the love of her life. The man she had abandoned.

Yuri had called her nearly every day since she had told him about the trip to Kleinfeld’s with Shira. Their communication had intensified with the possibility of seeing one another.

He had asked her again last night. Why she left him. Did she still love him?

Do I?

No.

She chewed her lower lip.

If she met Yuri for dinner, would he think she wanted to get back together?

She paced around her bedroom then moved into the living room, her fists tightening until her fingernails cut into her palm.

Did she want to get back together?

Sometimes he spoke about his girlfriend, Natasha who lived with him. She plopped onto the couch and rubbed her temples. It was difficult to not feel jealous someone had replaced her and was now living grandly in his Manhattan penthouse.
Did this woman use the thick Egyptian cotton towels Katya had picked out? The china?

She inventoried her humble surroundings and huffed.

When Yuri asked about Tom, she felt uncomfortable sharing that Tom was only a police officer. She had so little to show for her life away from him. A tiny apartment. A small salon.

Around her was simplicity—simple furniture, simple furnishings, simple, simple, simple. Her gaze landed on the collage of picture frames on the wall. She moved toward them.

Her eyes were drawn to the photo of Edna and her. It had been taken a few weeks before her death. Katya’s unruly curly hair nearly covered her face. She had worn the outrageous black horn-rimmed glasses and a faint grin. How frightened she was back then.

Edna held Katya in a sweet embrace, with a smile illuminating her face. Anyone could read the love and genuine compassion residing in her heart. Katya owed her life to this remarkable woman.

Next to the picture were recent photos taken by Daye. Nearly all of them were of her and the mavens. Each shot caught a moment of laughter and joy. At Harriet and Bob’s wedding. At the opening of the Edna’s School of Beauty. The newspaper clipping of Beulah, Harriet, Linda, Daye, and she after Beulah had talked their way out of a hostage situation.

She took a step toward the framed photo of Officer Tom Montgomery in his uniform receiving a medal for saving a young woman’s life. Another, of the two of them dancing at Harriet and Bob’s reception.

How handsome he looked in his tux. The way he gazed at her and not the camera.
She touched the smile dimple on his cheek.

Why did she feel embarrassed about her life? Or about Tom? He was a hero. A gentleman.

Her life was filled with people who loved her.

But she had a persistent longing for more. She remembered the other life—with Yuri.

Tom would never be able to give her wealth and status.

She bit her lip. Was she a bad person?

Had she only loved Yuri for his wealth? She turned away and returned to her bedroom.

Would Beulah or Shira hate her if she revealed how these feelings had troubled her sleep for weeks? Months?

Part of her wanted to talk it out with Shira. Part of her wanted to make a permanent break of the growing relationship between she and Yuri.

Then, there was this other, nagging part—the part where she wanted to throw herself into Yuri’s arms and beg him to take her back.

Her phone buzzed with a text.

Yuri. Her heart burned as she read.

DID YOU DECIDE?
ARE YOU MEETING ME FOR DINNER?

Katya exhaled. She glanced toward the photos, then toward the ceiling. Her heart pounded in her chest. It wanted to escape. From what?

It was just dinner. She scoffed.

Gripping her cell tighter, she typed her response.

YES.

 

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