Bimbo Salon - Girl's Day Out

But Claude was touching Courtney and somehow--at this time, in this place as he had said--it felt weirdly intimate. Somehow okay. Bordering on feeling... nice.

"My daughter..." She began before trailing off. Wanting to protest that Violet was the reason she was here. Not her. Not destiny or fate. But the words died on her lips when the ostentatiously attired fashionista released his grip.

Her hands were suddenly, terribly empty.

"Ah yes, the girl. Here, let me take a look at you, child." He said, refocusing his scrutinizing glare onto the younger woman who straightened up under his attention. "Hmm, I see unseasoned wood. Too green and too soft. Another basic valley girl; heavy on the eyeliner, lipstick and foundation. Common clay that lacks the sediment of life and struggle to grant it the strength to endure the hardening fires of my kiln without cracking or shattering completely."

Violet wilted under the harsh assessment, her head and shoulders sagging as her dirty blonde bangs fell like a twin curtains to shield her downcast face.

"I--I'm sorry, Monsieur." She gasped, a painful hitch of disappointment evident in her small voice. "I thought I was a true believer..."

Courtney was ready to rebel on her precious daughter's behalf and tell the judgemental jackass where he could shove his shitty clay--no matter how nice and comforting his touch felt--when Claude softened his tone and rested his pudgy hands on Violet's slim shoulder's.

He had to reach upwards to do so, as his browline was level with her perky young cleavage.

"You are, child, I am certain that you are." He consoled, rubbing her upper arms. "You were simply meant for another, less stringent artist's hands. Someone like... ADAM!"

Claude shrilled the name with a violent toss of his backcombed head that disturbed his coppery coiffure not at all.

"Master Claude?"

A tall, well built young man stepped out through the curtained back doorway. He was sharply dressed in a black button up tucked into matching slacks and black leather oxfords. Dark hair fell to his broad shoulders, held back by a simple headband, and a brown suede half-apron tied about his waist gave him the appearance of a handsome, high class cafe barista.

"Come forward, my boy." Claude waved him over until they were standing side by side in a visual display of opposites before addressing Violet. "Allow me to introduce Adam; my protégé. He has dedicated himself to the study of my style and techniques as a faithful disciple should.

"Adam is good, he's very very good, and I do not doubt that one day he will achieve greatness if he continues to devote himself wholeheartedly to the process." He continued, patting the taller man companionably on the hip and looking up at him. "Adam, this is Violet and she will be your canvas today for her... makeover."

Courtney almost missed the downturning of the peacock's lips this time. Almost.

Glancing over at her daughter, she was unsurprised to see the bashful smile and warmth dusting her cheeks. Adam was handsome in a well put together way and Violet was, well... Violet. An energetic young lady with liberal views on relationships, if not an actual heartbreaker.

"Hi--Hi there Adam." Violet batted her lashes at him.

"Yes, yes. I don't want to waste too much time on this." Claude huffed, waving perfunctorily. "Give her the full treatment. Begin with the wash, cut, style and color. Blonde, I should think. Not dirty but a proper golden blonde, no?"

He looked to Violet for confirmation who just nodded enthusiastically, clearly tongue tied as her fashion idol gathered creative steam.

"Then skin care, cosmetic applications and wardrobe selection. I will trust your singular tastes in this, Adam but must insist that any notable changes are run past me first. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Claude."

"Good. I will need time to meditate upon my own subject. You may begin by cleaning that ridiculous clown makeup off the poor girl's face."

Courtney opened her mouth to protest the backhanded remark but only ended up coughing as she caught a throatful of the potently fragrant air.

________________

"Lay back and relax, Madame." Celine purred as she expertly twirled a large hair cape over Courtney's front and secured it under her chin. It was pink. Because it just had to be pink. "This is a beauty salon, not an interrogation room. We pride ourselves on providing the most pleasurable experience possible."

Both mother and daughter were reclined in the old-school styling chairs as the two assistants removed the neck rests and wheeled portable wash basins into place behind their heads.

Courtney tried to loosen her bunched muscles but the backwards angle of her body and the way the vinyl-padded chair positioned her with her throat exposed felt a lot like a visit to the dentist. Something she had never been very fond of growing up.

It was childish, she knew.

"Just chill and let the professionals work, Courts." Violet chortled from under her own tablecloth-sized cape. Hers was a pale aureolin yellow. "It's our girls' day out together, remember? Oh my... Adam, what big hands you have. That kind of tickles."

"Thank you, Miss." The dark-haired young man replied formally as he freed her shoulder length golden hair from the habitual ponytail and gathered it into the ergonomically shaped wash bowl. "Please let me know if the water temperature is not to your liking."

"No fear there, I like it hot."

Courtney rolled her eyes and slumped back into the squeaky cushioning as Celine let down her own caramel locks. The background music had progressed from solo violin to Peruvian pan pipes. Soft and soothing.

That was nice. The cloying hairspray scent in the air seemed less pervasive now too.

Monsieur Claude had retreated to the back office to ruminate or pray or some such nonsense, leaving them in the hands of his two underlings. Courtney didn't much care for the man himself but had to admit his assistant's had a deft touch.

"Mmmmm, that's nice." She conceded as the modelesque Frenchwoman began to comb her lacquered nails through Courtney's tangled tresses and massage her tingling scalp. "How long have you worked for Mister Bimbeau?"

"I sought out Monsieur Claude after a fashion show in Barcelona eleven years ago." Celine hummed in her lyrically accented english. "I was blinded by the brilliance of his genius and he accepted me as a kindred spirit, sharing his vision of what beauty could be... rather than what it was at that time."

"Eleven years?" Courtney moaned, as a warm stream of water was poured over her brow, down into her hairline from a stainless steel decanter. "You can't have been more than a teenager that long ago."

"I was twenty seven years of age. An underpaid cosmetologist. One amongst many. Monsieur Claude plucked me from obscurity and gave my empty life a new purpose."

Courtney tried to do the math in her mind. That would mean the raven-haired stylist was almost forty, wouldn't it? That couldn't be true. She barely looked a day over twenty.

...But it was hard to be sure of her numbers with those incredibly skilled fingers working pure magic on her scalp and rubbing her tired temples. She let her heavy eyelids drift shut with bliss.

"Let us speak about you, Madame." Celine said, her voice gentle as her firm touch worked out a knot of tension Courtney hadn't realized she was carrying at the base of her skull. "What does your husband do for work?"

"Not married." Courtney groaned in relief. Ignoring the fact that the first question about herself was related to someone else entirely. A masculine figure who didn't exist in her life. "Never married. Single."

"A single mother, how terrible. I am sorry." The French miracle worker commiserated. "Maybe things will be different for you after today. I have often seen Monsieur Claude work life-changing wonders."

It would normally have been Courtney's knee-jerk reaction to snort at the presumption. Or Snap off a witty retort about women's independence from the traditional... what was it called again?

Another cascade of luxuriously warm water down across her relaxed skull seemed to wash the objection away like the waves a receding tide.

"Mmmhmmm... life-changing is right." Violet let out a throaty moan that bordered on sounding inappropriate in a public setting. "Oh, Adam, that feels amazing. Don't ever stop."

"Thank you, Miss." His reply was deep and rumbly for one so young. It also lacked the continental accent of his co-worker.

"Not a man of many words, huh? That's fine, just let those strong hands do all the talking."

Courtney cracked an eye open in irritation at her daughter's brazen flirtation, only to find Celine's stunning countenance filling her vision with an expression of genuine concern.

"Certainly you desire a man. A husband, yes?" She asked, quiet but earnest. "Someone for you to love and care for. A protective figure to shelter you from hardship and provide for your family."

What had begun as a question ended as a statement. A given. A fact.

Rolling the words around in her quibbling mind, Courtney couldn't find anything wrong with them on a personal level. It would be nice to share the load for once, but to say she needed a man went against some long-held principles...

"We shall now proceed to shampoo and treat your hair." Celine announced, interrupting her chain of thought with a meaningful nod to Adam. "Blend number fifteen will do nicely, I think."

________________

Violet felt like she was melting into the rubbery cushions of the hairdressing chair.

It was disappointing that Monsieur Claude wasn't there, giving her his personal attention. She had even taken a free "french for beginners" class online last night in preparation of impressing him, though that turned out to be a total bust.

She should have known better. Parisians, was she right?

But she had found him! Taking the one in a million chance to discover if the rumors were true and track down the world famous--if mildly controversial--fashionista in her jerkwater home town.

That was unkind, she knew. Frederick was a perfectly fine place to grow up, but it was also as dead as the local rags obituary column. Violet wanted some pizzazz in her life. Some razzle dazzle. More than just a quiet place to live that geriatric upstate tourists visited to view the leaves changing color in the fall.

So finding Monsieur Claude here of all places, only to be greeted with barely restrained derision had been a mixed bag of emotions.

He was infamous for his changeable temperament. Viper-tongued and prone to fits of passion, as his peers would repeatedly report throughout interviews and news articles, but none regarding him as anything less than a visionary despite his personality flaws.

Though Violet hadn't lied to her mom--to Courts--when she described Claude's acidic words and toxic attitude as part of the theater. The true-to-life experience.

"How does that feel, Miss? Please let me know if you are in any discomfort."

Then there was Adam. What a complete contrast to her hero in the flesh!

The few photos of Monsieur Claude had been carefully situated as to never reveal his smaller stature, always posed alone in front of blank, neutral toned backgrounds with no props or other people to lend perspective to his diminutive height.

Adam was tall, dark and handsome taken to a new extreme. Broad shouldered, softly spoken, and polite to a fault. Perhaps a tad too formal--he hadn't responded to any of her suggestive wordplay--but awfully attentive with an adroit touch that was reducing her young body to pliable putty.

Smelled good too. Musky, salty and manly. His natural aroma pierced through the salon's pungent chemical funk without a hint of the offensive Axe body spray her undiscerning male classmates seemed to purchase in bulk.

"Feels... It feels good. A little hot around the roots though."

Violet's dirty blonde locks were mounded in a wet lathered mess in the U-shaped wash basin surrounding her tipped-back skull. Out of the corner of her eye it appeared like far more than her shoulder length cut should account for but Adam just kept running his soapy fingers through her hair and.. tugging at base as though trying to yank something loose.

It hurt a little, but it also felt good. Like, really good. The jerking movements of her skull translated to a more heated reaction down below.

"A perfectly normal reaction, Miss--"

"Call me Vi. Oh gawd, Adam, please call me Vi." She gasped as he wrenched her head back with a particularly rough pull which had her squeezing her thighs together.

"It's a perfectly normal reaction, Miss Vi." He said again, piling another looping handful of sudsy golden strands into the shiny chrome wash bowl before reaching for her head again. "Simply let me know if you wish me to stop."

"Don't stop... Mmmnff~! Never stop..."

________________

Courtney couldn't remember the last time she felt so relaxed.

Pampered. That was the phrase. That was what salons were for. A sanctuary where women could leave their worldly woes at the door and partake in a little sisterhood while getting a pedicure...

Celine was very good. lathering the floral scented shampoo into her caramel hair and working it down to the roots. The smell was of lavender with a hint of honeysuckle. Terribly relaxing when paired with the gentle spa music and the warm wrapping of the large cutting cape. Courtney almost felt swaddled in the blanket of pink fabric. Soft as dander against the exposed skin of her arms and neck.

Her eyelids were heavy as ship's anchors as she let all her stress and trouble evaporate like rain puddles after a summer sun shower.

Violet was making some odd, mewling noises not far away but Courtney couldn't muster the strength or concern to turn her attention in that direction. They didn't sound like unhappy noises and her daughter made similar satisfied moans sometimes when eating chocolate cake.

"It must be hard, working to support the two of you all by yourself." Celine hummed, rubbing small circles into her brow. "Forgive my forwardness, but you are such a fetching woman, Madame. Despite your age, it would take you little effort to turn a suitable man's head."

Despite her age? Turn a man's head?

There was a lot to unpack there for one innocuous comment.

Courtney was certainly aware of her advancing years but tried her best to take care of herself. She could probably find more time to hit the second-hand treadmill tucked into the corner of her cluttered home office and treat breakfast as more than a glorified coffee break... but why was the onus on her to catch a man's eye?

Besides, most of the age-appropriate males she met in her line of work were already married men searching for a new family home, or cashed up undesirables like that pig Jack Shefield. An overinflated ego who owned the biggest car dealership on the Magic Mile and kept calling her "Babe" while shopping for one of the gaudy McMansions in the new developments on Frederick's affluent north side.

She wanted to gag at the very notion but Celine's massaging fingertips were turning her knotted neck muscles to quivering jelly. Courtney shuddered instead, and it wasn't in revulsion.

"Don't... need... man." She managed to slur through languorous lips. Simply uttering those three little words felt like a monumental achievement.

"Of course not, Madame. Pardonne-moi, I misspoke my meaning." The raven-haired stylist demurred quietly. "It was my intention to convey that a lady as fierce and independent as your lovely self would have no compunctions against taking the initiative in matters of the heart."

That was nice. Celine was nice. Courtney was a fierce and independent woman just like she said. Matters of the heart, those words resonated with the single mother though. At what point had she set aside her love life--and all the emotional baggage attached--only to forget to pick it back up again?

Being self-employed, maintaining the image of professional success, and being a good mother. Those things had consumed her best years like a grinding millstone of societal expectation.

To what end?

Certainly not for the glitz and glamor of the property market. Never mind selling exclusive, high-end locales like New York or Los Angeles, Courtney was struggling like hell to sell Frederick, fucking Maryland.

Violet though... her beloved daughter was the priceless pearl in the muddy mollusk that Courtney's life had become. A shiny jewel grown from a kernel of grit and determination to be proud of.

Proud of the faint yips and muted moans coming from the head-strong girl's chair beside her as an undeniably handsome young man was doing god-knew-what with Violet's wet tangle of hair.

A loud retort of two hands clapped hard together shocked Courtney out of her half-dozing state.

"Enough!" Monsieur Claude had reemerged from his back room and met her reflected gaze in the wall-length mirror. "Rinse and move them to the blower station. I shall put the finishing touches on my earlier two canvases before moving on to begin my newest masterpiece."

Eyelids still fluttering with drowsy bliss, Courtney rolled her head to a side to view the previously unmoving figures lodged beneath the polished hood of the hair dryers.

The nameless pair were squirming now, unseen limbs shifting fitfully beneath their pastel-coloured drapes. Painted lips gasping as their legs opened and closed like butterfly wings, bunching the shin length cloth between their rocking knees.

Somehow Courtney had forgotten they were even there...

________________

Violet luxuriated in the sensation of the metallic cone thrumming around her ditzy skull. There was just something about the sound... the term je ne sais quoi came to mind. Whatever that meant. Probably just a clinging remnant of her hastily crammed french from the night before.

It wasn't important...

In fact, a lot of silly subjects and ideas were quickly sinking down her checklist of priorities under the dragging weight of their previous import while others were buoyed up in a cloud of happy iridescent bubbles.

French was down, that hadn't gotten her anywhere anyway, and along with it was book learning, boring college classes, and worrying about her future career prospects.

Those weren't any fun and bummed her out. Too much yucky anxiety.

On the other hand; feeling fine, having a good time and looking great were on the rise. Boys too. Boys especially were on the up and up. Boys like Adam with his deep voice, hard muscles and rough manly touch that made her skin tingle were jet-setting to the tippy top in no uncertain manner.

He had all but carried her from the stylist chair in his big, strong arms and piled her damp mess of thick platinum tresses atop her head before lowering the buzzing dome down over Violet's half-lidded eyes with a conspiratorial wink. The first thrilling crack in his overly polite yet hunky shell.

She was getting to him after all.

There had been sooo~ much of her hair too. Violet had generally kept hers cut for functionality and ease of maintenance. Anything longer took ages to dry after showering and she could wrangle a lot out of comparatively little.

Ponytails for day to day, maybe with a playful runaway strand or face-framing bangs for added effect. Loosely tousled, sexy-messy for the lingering looks that turned the boy's cheeks scarlet at the community swimming pool and left them stuck in at least waist deep water for the sake of public decency.

Especially when she wore that stringy little two-piece number her mom didn't know she had purchased last summer and stretched her budding young body out just so on one of the sun lounges.