Soured.
That’s the only way that Eleanor could describe it to herself. Her feelings had soured.
They had been sweet once, but not as much anymore.
Still, they weren’t spoiled. They weren’t even bittersweet, she thought. Could feelings be sweet-and-sour? Because she still liked Jessica. But still, there was the tang of disappointment, disillusionment and even a thoroughly unreasonable but still unshakable feeling of minor betrayal.
It was petty on so many levels; she understood that. But she’d worked so hard, and it came so easily to Jessica. Eleanor was pretty sure she knew why—generally speaking, at least—but she hadn’t known how to broach the subject until now.
Well, truth be told, she still didn’t know how to properly bring it up; she only knew that it was beginning to drive her nuts, and she was going to have to do it soon. Today perhaps, or maybe tonight when the salon was closing up. Before the weekend, certainly.
Because it just wasn’t fair. I’m only human, and she isn’t, not precisely—how can I compete?
* * *
Ending up with a station right next to Jessica had seemed a dream at first. The woman was witty, personable and whip-smart. Too many times in too many other salons—both mid-level and high-end—Eleanor had tired quickly of inane gossip and empty chatter from co-workers. Jessica offered nothing so airy and pointless as that.
Jessica was also one of the top draws in the salon. She had the second-biggest clientele and the third-highest income.
Well, the third-highest income if you didn’t notice how much she got in terms of tips.
Eleanor noticed that quickly enough, and kept noticing it.
So much green passed into Jessica’s fingers, and it made Eleanor green with envy. She was already a little jealous of Jessica’s styling skills, but as good as they were, Eleanor knew she could reach the same level with more experience and observation of others in the salon.
But there was no way she could match those tips, not with any amount of styling talent or charm.
Because what woman in any salon, no matter how high-end, routinely got cash tips that were never less than 25 percent and usually at least half as much as the actual tab for the cut and style? Every fifth person, give or take, would tip the same amount as the actual bill, and sometimes more.
In a salon where the basic level of care ran in the low three figures already, that was serious cash.
As she finished prepping her current client’s hair for some highlight coloring, Eleanor couldn’t help but notice the look of sheer pleasure on the face of the woman in Jessica’s chair right now. She could hear the tiny hitches of breathing as if the shears trimming her hair were providing light foreplay. The woman’s cheeks were just slightly flushed, and her fingers beneath the silken drape were lightly stroking the arms of the styling chair.
Through it all, Jessica chatted and charmed, and Eleanor knew in her heart this client would be one of those who handed over a tip of at least a hundred dollars, and would still have a smile on her face well after she left the salon.
More of a smile than any wash and style could hope to earn, no matter how impressive it was.
Tonight. No later. This is too much. This is unfair.
* * *
“You’ve been awfully quiet, today, Ellie,” Jessica said as the salon neared closing time. “Something on your mind?”
Eleanor wasn’t surprised. Besides being less chatty with Jessica lately, the other woman probably had noticed the constant glances toward her station—probably had sensed the mounting waves of tension from the direction of Eleanor’s station.
“Honestly, yeah, Jess,” Eleanor said. “I…it’s something that probably shouldn’t bother me, but it’s…there’s just something I need to talk about.”
“Sure,” Jessica said. “Want to join me outside to talk about it? You seem…tense. I’m just going to grab a cigarette or two. It’s nice outside. Warm. You can relax. We can talk out what’s bothering you.”
The notion sounded nice to Eleanor, but then she thought about it and shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t like cigarette smoke, Jess. You go ahead and take a break. Maybe we can catch some coffee afterward.”
Jessica nodded as she grabbed her purse. “Maybe. But it seems like maybe you need someplace more quiet to chat. If you can just give me 10 or 15 minutes, that would be sweet. It would give you a chance to clean up the station anyway,” Jessica said, touching Eleanor’s shoulder lightly, smiling, and then heading out of the salon.
Eleanor straightened things up, and it was almost ten minutes later that she realized she’d not only cleaned up her area but a little bit of Jessica’s, too, and then stopped herself, both embarrassed and confused to be puttering around her salon-mate’s booth.
God, I really am frazzled over this, aren’t? she chided herself, and sat down in the chair in her station to await Jessica’s return.
* * *
“Hey, Ellie!” Jessica greeted her, putting her purse down. “I told Marge that I’d lock up tonight; so we’ve got the place all to ourselves to chat. You just sit right there while I get a couple teas for us. Berry for you, right?”
Eleanor nodded dumbly, and waited. She wasn’t sure how she felt having this face-off—or whatever it was going to be—in the salon, but at least they would have privacy. She doubted Jessica wanted any of this aired in front of anyone else, anyway—co-workers or total strangers.
A few minutes later, with two cups of hot water and a teabag floating in each, Jessica returned, and sat down in her station’s chair, slowly swiveling it to face Eleanor. She held the cup in both hands, looking over the rim of her cup expectantly, hazel eyes framed by wisps of steam. “What’s up, Elle?”
“Look, I like you, Jess…I really do…but…” Eleanor began, tripping over her words. “It’s just…just…I’m frustrated and I just see you…you…are you a transhuman? You are, aren’t you?”
“Wow,” Jessica responded, though without much intonation or emotion in her voice. “You like me…BUT…and you want to know if I’m a transhuman. Does that mean you won’t like me anymore if I am?” She sipped at her tea some more, giving Eleanor a look that indicated the ball was in her court now.
“No, it’s not that, Jess. I’m not doing this well. I work so hard, and I see you getting so much. Your clients are so good to you, and I can’t compete, and there’s no way I can explain how well you do except that you’re…”
“How about I’m really good at what I do? Skilled. Talented. Creative,” Jessica offered, sipping again at her tea. “God, you’re tense, Ellie. Relax. What’s so odd about how my clients treat me?”
“You are good at what you do, Jess—even great—but not that kind of good,” Eleanor said with a soft sigh. “I’ve noticed how much you get tipped. That’s not natural. I can’t compete with that.”
“You’ve noticed, have you? Jealousy. Is that it?”
“Not exactly. It shouldn’t come so easy to someone. You’re raking in a mint, and I’m busting my ass to build my clientele, and they come to you like you’re some Pied Piper. It isn’t fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Ellie. You know, I like it here. It’s a good place for me to be. You start telling people I’m a transhuman, I could start catching some bad attitudes. I might have to leave. That would be inconvenient.” Jessica stood up, and slowly started over to Eleanor’s station. The other woman tensed, and Jessica waved a hand almost dismissively. “Relax, Ellie. You’re about to jump out of your skin. I’ve never seen someone more in need of chilling out than you today.”
Jessica leaned on Eleanor’s workstation table, and made a half-grimace with her mouth.
“Are you?” Eleanor asked, calming down again. “Are you a transhuman?”
“Yeah,” Jessica said, “but I can’t have you telling people, Ellie. That would complicate my life.”
Although there was no threat in Jessica’s voice, Eleanor suddenly realized she was confronting a transhuman of unknown capabilities alone in a locked-up salon. Suddenly, the woman at her station was no longer a co-worker, but a potential threat—she was amazed that the notion didn’t bother her more.
“Oh, God, you’re not going to hurt me, are you?” Eleanor blurted out. “Is this like your secret identity and now I’m a dead woman?”
Jessica blurted out laughing and then touched Eleanor’s knee lightly, softly saying, “Relax, already, girl. Is that what you think? I’m a big, bad supervillainess and this is my mild-mannered secret identity as a stylist where I plot how to take over the world?”
“Or maybe just knock over the local banks and jewelry stores downtown here?” Eleanor offered, half-jesting, and trying to smile casually, feeling her breathing settle back into a normal rhythm.
“Please…relax, Ellie,” Jessica said soothingly. “I work for a living. I do hair and eyebrows and stuff. I occasionally do makeup and nails. Robbing banks and stuff is a bit outside my comfort zone, much less world domination. Killing co-workers to keep my secret kinda lies outside my area, too.”
Eleanor shook her head, as Jessica came around to the back of her chair and lightly began to rub her shoulders. “I don’t want to put you in a bad position,” Eleanor said as she accepted the light massage, unsure why Jessica was even being nice to her right now, “but I feel like you’re cheating over there at your station. Like you’re stealing. And I don’t have that option. What do you do? Create illusions so they think they’re giving you smaller bills?”
“Why is it so important to you,?” Jessica asked as she worked at a knot in Eleanor’s left shoulder, earning a grunt and then a soft, quick sigh from Ellie. “Why do you want to wreck a good working friendship over this? Money is a bitch, but why fixate on it?”
“It’s important enough to you to use powers to get it,” Eleanor pointed out, wincing as Jessica worked the knot a bit more, but also moaning a little at the pleasurable relief it brought breaking it up.
“Do you know how many women I’ve seen in unisex salons flirt to get bigger tips from guys—and sometimes women?” Jessica answered. “Or just using their charm or propping the client up with exaggerated flattery? We use what tricks we have. Relax, Ellie. Man you’re tight in there! You need to settle down and go with the flow, or those knots are going to tie you up and give you lots of grief.”
“Really, how do you do it?” Eleanor asked. “Maybe if I knew it wouldn’t bother me so much. Pheromones to make them like you more? Something else? Knowing you can bring in that kind of cash is like having a magic fairy next to me wishing up riches while I drudge around mopping floors.”
“Good Lord, what is going on in your life that has you so maudlin and doing the Cinderella bit?” Jessica prompted.
“Boyfriend. Bills. Family. The usual,” she answered, relaxing as Jessica worked out the knot some more. Her shoulder felt looser and softer now, and the nagging headache that hadn’t helped her mood was easing now into something more like a tingle. “How do you do it?”
“I do what any good stylist does, you included, Ellie. I make them feel good. About themselves and about me. How are you feeling, by the way?”
“Better. Thanks for the neck rub. Not sure why you’re being nice to me when I’m confronting you,” Eleanor said, a warm buzzing in her neck and head now instead of sharp pains.
“It’s not like you want to out me as a transhuman, right?” Jessica said. “You’ve said you like me, and you don’t want to hurt me, do you?”
“No, of course not. I just…don’t want to be left out.”
“Am I leaving you out right now?” Jessica asked. “I’m letting you in closer, and helping you.”
Eleanor moaned and felt warmth flowing through her, slowly working from her shoulder into her neck, massaging her throat and the front of her collarbone with sensual little ripples.
“And you’re letting me inside you,” Jessica whispered. “That’s nice, isn’t it? We don’t have to be in conflict.”
As the tingling and then throbbing warmth suffused more of her body while Jessica worked at the knot in her shoulder—a knot that Eleanor couldn’t even feel anymore—she realized she was in trouble. Nothing about these feelings was natural. She didn’t have any sexual feelings toward women and these sensations were like nothing she had ever felt from any touch by any person of any gender. She considered vaguely that she should probably be worried for her safety now, but she felt too good to move.
“What are you doing to me?” Eleanor asked in a throaty whisper. “Why? What?” There was a hint of fear in her words, but curiosity and interest outweighed it.
“I’m making you feel good, Ellie. I make most of my clients feel good, and that’s what inspires them to reward me. I don’t trick them. I woo them and they do what they can do to make my life better. I can do a lot with just my voice, but touch is better—I mean, it took a lot to just get you to calm down enough with my voice to even make physical contact with you and not scare you into running. Isn’t that nice? Don’t you feel like you could just melt into the chair? Doesn’t it seem so cruel now to be telling people about my little secret? You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “Noooo. I juuuust. Oh. God. This is what your clients feel when you’re doing their hair or…or…whatever?”
“No, Ellie, it isn’t,” Jessica said, lips almost but not quite brushing the other woman’s ear as she whispered the words warmly and softly. Then she pulled away, still speaking quietly, but no longer in whisper, as she said, “Imagine that my power to reach into your nervous system and activate your pleasure centers and all those feel-good neurochemicals and nerves is like a sound system, with a volume knob going from one to ten.”
“Yeah? OK,” Eleanor said dreamily.
“Well, Elle, I normally turn it to one for a client. Sometimes, if I’m in a really generous mood, I turn it up to two. For really special occasions, or if the client is someone I know is really secure financially and I have a lot of bills due, I’ll make it three. But at three, it starts to get noticeable to other people that my client seems a bit too happy, so I can’t do it often. Beyond that, and the clients themselves would know I was doing something to them that was…unnatural.”
“I’m at…threeee…then?”
“No, Ellie. I have you at somewhere between five and six,” Jessica said, “to make sure you stay put and don’t even consider bolting, while we work this situation out.”
“Oh. I seeeee,” Eleanor said. “Whyyyy…oh, why do you bother to work here? You could make a person give you anything to feel this…this is like a druuug. It’s like bliss bottled uuuup. Why? You could be rich. Just fiiind a guy with…”
“Because I have a work ethic,” Jessica said, in an almost admonishing tone. “Do you ever see me slacking in my job? My parents didn’t raise me like that. Besides, I like doing hair. I’m good at it. It’s my way of showing my creative side, and I like interacting with people. I like you, Ellie. Don’t you like me?”
“I told you I did. This was ne…never about not liking you.”
“Well, then, let’s start over, Ellie. Truth be told, I don’t want to start over somewhere else. I like this salon; I like New Judah. And I don’t want to have to deal with having a new person next to me. I wanted a corner station by the window precisely so not many people would see how much cash goes into my hands each day.”
“Sorry…I didn’t…I didn’t mean to see…Oh! Unnnhh,” Ellie said, her breath beginning to come in rapid little pants and hitches.
“That would be somewhere around seven, maybe pushing eight, on the volume level,” Jessica said. “Can we agree that our mutual interests are best aligned by keeping the status quo? I’d be more than happy to take you out to lunch regularly. I can be generous to a friend. And friends can forgive lapses in judgment, like getting jealous over something like money.”
“Thank…you…yes. I can certainly…agree…that…seems only right.”
“Great!” Jessica said. “But I want to make sure we seal the deal right, without any confusion about where things stand. So, let’s just go all ‘This Is Spinal Tap’ with this and set the volume to eleven.”
“But…”
Suddenly, the world went white—or blank. It was hard to tell. Eleanor’s eyes were wide open, but she couldn’t see anything. It was as if lights were exploding behind her eyes except there was no color—no blinding glare. Just a warm, all-encompassing glow. It spread through every part of her body, pleasure like a blanket over her and like an intoxicant running through her veins and like a symphony across her nerves. It wasn’t an orgasm—that would be an insult to the experience she was enjoying right now, and nothing was concentrated in her sex. No, this was a fullness, an explosion of pleasure that filled her entire body and overflowed and then flowed back into her. She wondered for a moment if this was what heroin felt like, and then she couldn’t even put thoughts together as she was carried away on a wave of pure bliss. She wasn’t even sure if she was breathing anymore—if she remembered how—and she couldn’t even feel Jessica’s hands on her anymore, or the seat in which she rested. She couldn’t see, couldn’t smell, couldn’t hear—only feel.
Slowly, in between throbbing little pulses of heat and tingling, Eleanor’s awareness returned. She had no idea how long she had been “gone,” but when she could see without blurriness and could penetrate the thick cotton-candy cloud that was gumming up her intellect, she noticed that Jessica was almost done with her tea.
“Welcome back,” Jessica said. “Keep my secrets, and help me keep them from anyone else, and stick by me as a friend, and I’ll see to it that you get two of Jessie’s patented neck rubs or scalp massages a week.”
“Uh…yeah…of course,” Eleanor said, her voice thick. “Thanks. I don’t…”
Jessica waved off her words. “Friends. New start. You scratch my back; I massage your central nervous system. I’ll throw in a third session each week if you come to my apartment twice a week and clean it up.”
“Sure. I…yeah. Anything…”
“Don’t promise me ‘anything’ or I might start getting ideas and tell my conscience to take a break,” Jessica said seriously. “Let’s just keep it simple.”
“Yeah, I can help you with your cleaning,” Eleanor said, her words steadier now. “But I thought you liked…”
“Doing my own work? Yeah, my job, Ellie. I can’t stand dusting, vacuuming and all that. Monday and Thursdays, OK? I’ll give you a key.”
“Sure,” Eleanor said, distractedly.
“Let’s get some food, Ellie,” Jessica said. “Someplace with margaritas, to properly toast the rebooting of our friendship and the start of our future as a professional team.” She helped Eleanor out of the chair, and the woman felt a little rush of warmth from those fingertips tingle up and down her arm, and tickle at the base of her skull.
“A little reminder never hurts, right?” Jessica said with a wink. “A little incentive?”
Eleanor thought back to the feeling she had started with: Sour. And now something sweeter than sugar and more tempting than the gingerbread home that beckoned Hansel and Gretel—something that would make her follow Jessica wherever she led, even if a hungry witch one day lay at the end of the journey.