28

Lexi
The next week, I sit at a hotel conference table across from members of the interview panel.
“Have you ever taught anyone else how to cut or color hair?” the interview panelist asks me, tapping his pen against his teeth.
I expected this question and prepared a dance around it. “I consider myself a mentor to all the other stylists at the salon where I cut. They are always calling me over for a consult, and I’m the one who they trust to cut and color their own hair.”
One of the panelists smiles at me. “Who cuts and colors your hair?”
“I do,” I admit.
“You don’t trust anyone else?”
“Well, not really. Not to do it the way I want it.”
The woman smiles and jots something down, but I have a feeling I just scored a point.
“All right, Lexi, now we’re going to put your slides up on the big screen, and I’d like you to stand up and explain how you achieved each of these looks and why you chose this design for the client.”
I draw in a shaky breath and stand. The photo of Gina appears on the large screen at the front of the room. I walk over. “I chose this look for Gina because of her high cheekbones. I wanted something to highlight, rather than hide them. The jaw-length layers frame her face, and the bold color gives it a bit of spunk, which fits Gina’s personality.”
I turn to look at the panelists, who appear attentive, if not encouraging. “To achieve this look, I cut the baseline into a diagonal forward and tapered the nape with some graduation. Then I cut some textured, round layers in and over-directed the front to the back layers. For color, I colored the nape area darker and paneled some light and dark color pieces in the front to accentuate the diagonal forward haircut.”
I continue through the rest of the slides, gaining confidence as the panelists asked questions I can answer.
“Thank you, Lexi, that will be all for today. If you make it to the next round of interviews, we will ask you to pick one of these looks and teach a sample class to hair stylists. You should hear from us by the end of the week, either way.”
“Thank you.” I shake hands with each of the panelists before I exit.
When I reach the sidewalk outside, I pull out my phone. The number I call up first belongs to Bobby.
When did he and Gina trade importance in my life?
I shake my head. If I don’t watch out, I’ll get in too deep with him. He said he’d do anything for me. It seems I share the sentiment. I’d do anything to please him. Things I never dreamed I would let a man do to me. Or want a man to do to me.
But I do want it. Every pain he inflicts, every act of dominance only heightens my desire for him.
He picks up after two rings. “How’d it go?” he asks without saying hello.
My heart skips a beat. He remembered. Gina would have needed reminding.
“Great! At least I think it went great. It’s hard to tell because they just sit and stare at you and make notes on their notepads. But I did as well as I could have. I felt good. I felt confident.”
“Congratulations! Are you headed home? Why don’t I pick you up there in an hour, and we’ll go out to dinner to celebrate?”
My heart tumbles around in my chest. “Sounds great, thanks!”
I take the subway train home and open the door.
I stop short when I see someone inside. It’s cleaning day, but they should have been gone by now.
“Oh, great, you’re home!”
I stare in shock as Stacy, Bobby’s ex-girlfriend, walks toward me with a smile, carrying a half-full glass of wine. She’s wearing a tight leather mini-skirt and even smaller top, her breasts practically spilling out of her push-up bra.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
“Bobby asked me to come. He didn’t tell you?”
My stomach tightens. I hate everything about thisespecially after what happened last time I talked to her. “Uh, no.” I pull my phone out to double-check for a text.
Stacy lowers her lashes and gives me a seductive look. “Yeah, he said he wanted to try a threesome with the two of us. Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise.”
I continue to stare blankly at my cell phone as if it would somehow decode the situation. Was that why he arranged to meet me here so early? Not to take me to dinner but for a threesome?
I feel nauseous. I have no interest in a threesome. Especially not with Stacy, whose cheap floozy look and pushy personality turn me off. Maybe if Bobby were here, I would feel differently. He’s pushed me sexually in other ways, and I enjoyed it. But God, he should’ve talked to me about it first! And to say we’re celebrating my interview and then pull this surprise instead none of it sits well with me.
“Mind if I put on some music?” Stacy asks.
“Um… sure. Go ahead.”
“I opened a bottle of wine,” she calls over her shoulder. “Bobby said we should get the party started before he gets here. Did he say what time he’s coming?”
I swallow, trying to push down the growing sense of violation I feel. “He should be here soon,” I mutter.
Stacy puts on some dance music and cranks the volume. She dances back, pulling off her top to reveal her breasts stuffed in a bra at least two sizes too small.
“Go get some wine!” Stacy calls out over the music.
I walk to the kitchen, annoyed when I see the state of it. Stacy obviously struggled with the cork, which lays in pieces all over the counter. She spilled wine while pouring it and didn’t bother to wipe it up. Pieces of cork float on the top of the wine, so when I pour myself a glass, I have to fish them out.
I take a sip and head back into the living room, knowing I don’t want wine or her in my home. Certainly not my bed. But I don’t make the rules.
Stacy dances over to me, insinuating her body against mine in a gyration to the beat. “Come on! Bobby said we should get started without him! Imagine how hot it will be for him to find us making out when he gets here!” She puts her hands on the two sides of my face and comes in close for a kiss.
I pull away. I have no interest in this threesome, especially not without Bobby here.
The door opens as Stacy pulls her lips away and Bobby comes in, his brows drawing together.
He frowns and looks confused. “What the fuck?”
Realizing I’ve been hadagainI take a step back from Stacy.
“I came for that threesome we always talked about,” she trills.
“She said you arranged it,” I tell Bobby, letting him hear the annoyance in my voice.
He closes his eyes like he’s trying to draw the patience necessary for handling this. He walks over to the stereo and turns off the music. “Get out.” He looks at Stacy and jerks his head toward the door.
“Bob-bee!” Stacy protests. “She’s into it. We were having a great time. Come and join in!”
I shoot him a look and shake my head.
Bobby takes a menacing step toward Stacy. “Lexi and I have plans tonight, and they don’t include you. Go on, get out.”
Stacy drops her act, anger flashing across her overly-made-up face.
“How did you get in, anyway?” I demand, my eyes narrowed. I definitely don’t want a repeat of this situation. “Do you still have a key?”
Stacy grins triumphantly. “Cleaning day. The maids still remember me.”
Bobby swears softly in Italian. “Stacy.” He sounds like he’s working to keep his voice level. “It’s over. I will never pick things up with you again. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.” He reaches for her elbow, but she twists out of his grip and darts around behind the sofa with a squeal of delight. “Ooh, I’m misbehaving!” she calls out. “You’d better spank me!”
“Fanculo,” Bobby mutters. He glowers at her. “Stacy.” His voice is deadly. “You don’t want to cross me.”
She must get the message because she falters, the smile dropping away replaced by anger again. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do? Shoot me? Beat me?” She sends me a wild look. “He likes to hurt women, you know. He abused me.”
“Out.” Bobby uses icy authority. “I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to hear you spoke to Lexi again. You don’t come here, and you’d better not show your face at Swank. If you do, I’m going to send my boys over to take back every gift I ever gave you, plus interest, understand?”
She pales. Apparently Bobby’s found the best leverage on her: greed.
She looks over at me again. “He’ll get tired of you. Just like he got tired of me. Don’t get too comfortable in this fancy apartment because it won’t last!”
I feel sick, but I lift my chin. “Don’t compare yourself to me,” I say evenly. “We’re nothing alike.”
“That’s the truth,” Bobby says.
Stacy throws her wine glass at me. I dodge it, and it smashes into the wall next to me. One of the shards of glass embeds in my upper arm.
“Fuck you both,” Stacy spits, flipping me off.
I wince and pull the triangle of glass out of my arm, which produces a surprising amount of blood.
Bobby turns pale, staring at the blood, and then he snatches Stacy by the throat, pressing her against the wall. “You hurt her,” he growls.
“Bobby!” I cry out, remembering his story about the bloody nose and the gun. He’s not himself. I rush to his side and grab his arm. “Bobby, stop!”
He looks at me, and I don’t recognize the man. His eyes are dark and dead, his face is made of stone.
“Bobby, let her go.”
He looks back at Stacy then at me.
“Bobby. I’m okay.”
He blinks, then suddenly he transforms back to the man I know. He releases her abruptly and steps back. “Fuck.”
Stacy lurches away, snatches up her top then runs in her platform heels to grab her purse from the kitchen, leaving without another word or backward glance.
When Bobby turns his gaze back to me, his expression is wracked with horror.