Confessions of an X hairstylist: Air, #1

By E. O.

Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you told your hairstylist too much? The burden of servicing the public can be a gift and a curse. To a hairstylist, that burden is sometimes never ending as clients see you in only one light. A dumping ground of information. For McKee Quinn, a new stylist in Houston, Texas, clients never stop to think they are oversharing details of their personal lives. Details McKee can use against them if she chose. Details that could ruin their lives.

 

If the truth can set you free, McKee's knowledge of her clientele could buy her freedom if and when necessary. Her salon chair serves as a therapist couch to so many that are willing to spill their deepest desires, and darkest secrets, that the weight of carrying the heavy load becomes detrimental to her safety. 

 

McKee attempts to escape a threat after her listening ear creates an environment of blackmail, deceit, and romances. Unfortunately for her, failed affairs from the past and toxic partnerships prove difficult to leave behind, once you've engaged amongst the wrong type of people. The claws of those in the beauty industry, and the drama its members crave, target McKee's growth when she pursues a different way of life, hoping to reach mogul status and leave the treachery of those that never supported her success. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.O.
• Release date: Jun 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201236472

Book preview

Knuckles Knuckles 96 745 2020-01-15T01:46:00Z 2021-07-21T19:52:00Z 76 25358 144546 1204 339 169565 14.0

Confessions of an X Hairsylist

Vol. 1: Air

by E.O.

Copyright © 2021 by E.O.

All Rights Reserved

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Knuckles Knuckles 96 745 2020-01-15T01:46:00Z 2021-07-21T19:52:00Z 76 25358 144546 1204 339 169565 14.0

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Like Breathing

Chapter 2: What You Don’t Know Will Hurt You

Chapter 3: Keep It in the Family

Chapter 4: The Plot

Chapter 5: Managers Have Secrets Too

Chapter 6: Reflection Day

Chapter 7: Sacrifices

Knuckles Knuckles 96 745 2020-01-15T01:46:00Z 2021-07-21T19:52:00Z 76 25358 144546 1204 339 169565 14.0

Chapter 1

Like Breathing

Being a hairstylist was what brought me here to tell all my clients’ secrets. I was pulling out from under all those salon mats, the ghastly bundles of threats that kept so many salon owners up at night. After years of feeling that I was sworn to secrecy, I couldn’t hold back all the nasty stories and cover-ups that my clients laid at my feet.

I was one of the people truly born to be a hairstylist—noticing that Barbie needed a new look came so easy. The creativity flowed effortlessly even at the early age of five years old. I used the twist ties from a loaf of bread to curl Barbie’s hair for her next tea party. I’d been born with a God-given talent. I could instantly see what would complement people’s face and intuitively aware of those needing to get something off their chest.

During the long hours of standing and the cramps in my wrists, I sometimes couldn’t believe the things I heard from women. Or even that they made me vow to keep their secrets and would pay for me doing so. I didn’t understand that there was real wealth to be built in the beauty industry. I had my share of picky clients and things to keep quiet about before I even left middle school.

Once I was out of high school and on my own, I started off working from home when I wasn’t at my day job as a cashier. I always dealt with people with every job I had: daycares, grocery stores, and fast food chains. I was a magnet for people who wanted someone else to take on their worries and organize them. Professionally, I’d never attended any sort of college course that led people to believe I was a therapist.

I was just a girl; I was just a hairstylist.

Even though doing hair always made me late for every real job I ever had, I still didn’t suspect that I was an asset as a hairstylist. I was often told that I would never be taken seriously if I didn’t formally attend a trade school and receive a license. I had to give cosmetology school a real try if I planned on having a career.

Seeing as I allowed my family and numerous relationships to be a distraction, I chose to move to another city to get my license once and for all. I figured that living alone in another city would allow me to focus and start over.

Boy, was I wrong.

With that move came endless amounts of mysteries and seas of lies and betrayal that ran so deep that I had to confess.

* * *

My journey started in Houston, Texas. I picked a tiny apartment near the cosmetology school. I worked full time at a large department store and attended school full time. I was truly exhausted.

But today was the last day of sitting at this desk. I felt like my eyes had stayed glued to this Milady Cosmetology book. The days of falling asleep in class and waking up with my textbook lying in my lap was finally coming to an end.

I lifted my eyelids to my teacher, Ms. Bird, staring at my rapidly tapping fingers on the desk. I’d done that thousands of times before this moment. Taking a deep breath, I placed my cheek on my fist, biting my lip. My gaze rolled over the clock. I couldn’t wait until I finally got that paper in my hand. The instructors painted the picture that a cosmetology license was filled with magic. Once I received it, I would wave it in the air like a magic wand, point it, and then clients’ money would fall from the sky.

Of course, that never happened. I realized later after working in a few salons that a cosmetology license was actually like a magic cloak. Once clients came to sit in my chair, I’d cover them with it, they’d reveal all their desires and deepest darkest secrets. After I’d removed it, they would reemerge, appearing as a new person.

I was dubbed a magician, and I was cursed with this ability. Even though I’d done it for years without any problems and no license, this time was different, and the stakes were higher.

I was living in a totally new city alone. No family, and just a few friends. I was so naïve at first about the merit that these secrets would hold. I was working toward becoming a full time hairstylist, which meant no more being paid by the hour. No more taking clients whenever convenient for my work schedule. The days of scanning items at the checkout counter were about to be long gone. I was no longer going to be paid for the hours I worked. Instead, I would be paid for how well I curled, counseled, and concealed during the SERVICE.

I was half asleep while Ms. Bird helped me prepare for the exam. She drilled me along the way, putting together combs, cotton balls, nail polish, and nail files inside what seemed like one thousand zip lock bags.

Was all this really necessary? I asked myself. Why is she acting like we haven’t been over this millions of times already this week? I’d already passed the written exam.

Yes, Ms. Bird, I got it, it’s here, I said impatiently, gazing over the wrinkles on her hands as she marked off the checklist. I looked into her light brown eyes. Her toffee skin was flawless. She always kept her makeup simple: plum-colored lipstick, no blush, and two layers of liquid foundation. Her eyebrows were naturally arched, and her lash extensions were perfection. She wore a dark purple instructor’s jacket with five gold necklaces that dangled as she bent over the table to look over the testing material procedure with me yet again.

Frustrated, I turned to her, Yes, that’s a ninety-degree haircut, is that all? At this point, I was well over being in cosmetology school. Every last mentor who was assigned to me always had the very same advice after seeing my portfolio.

Just don’t quit, no matter what. I never understood why they all told me that. That was, until I was standing at this very moment. What had I been doing was wasting my skills on all these dead-end jobs?

Got to go. You know how traffic can be, Ms. B. I don’t want to be late, I said.

Never saying a word, Ms. Bird watched me leave campus like a teenager leaving for her first day of college. As I drove to the testing site with my fellow classmate, Miesha, my nerves started to settle in with every mile I drove.

Miesha looked over at me from the passenger seat. You scared? she said.

Exiting the interstate, I didn’t even want to respond. Traveling down the feeder road, I bounced to the music playing from my car stereo. I pulled into the parking lot and stared at the huge white-and-blue-lettered sign reading Testing Site.

I turned to Miesha, tilting my head to the right. Come on. Let’s get this over with, I said.

Thank goodness for her questioning me, that was exactly the push I needed to get out of the car and over my fear of failing. This was the finish line, yet I was still so nervous.

On the elevator ride up, I thought about all the things I had against me. My spelling was offensive, I had no patience, and I was a horrible test-taker. But now, arriving on the tenth floor and walking out onto the clinic floor, I thought about all the possible important information that I may have forgotten. I thought about all the people who told me that the testing process was easy.

I need to use my right hand for the massage and do circular motions, I chanted.

I looked around the testing room. The floors were spotless. Eight beauty stations were lined up in twos. The state board practical exam was basic training for the beauty industry. These instructors were serious