Whispers In Time

Emily raised the salon mirror, allowing her client to inspect the back of her newly styled hair. The client appeared uncertain about the style, tilting her head from left to right while examining it critically. The room fell into complete silence, as if a pin dropping could be heard. Fifteen apprentices held their breath, anticipating harsh criticism for their work.

"Well... turn it to the left and let's see... okay... raise it a little higher... let it come down a bit... okay, I think it's fine," the client finally said, offering a smile as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Sighs of relief filled the room as Emily lowered the mirror and carefully removed the towel from the client's shoulders. "Well, this hairstyle doesn't look bad at all," the client admitted, glancing at her image once more. She seemed pleased with the style, picked up her handbag, and pulled out a white envelope. After opening it, she placed a crisp one hundred cedi note on the trolley.

"That's for your lunch," she said, nodding at Emily. Emily gratefully picked up the money and muttered her appreciation for the generous tip. The client then retrieved another crisp one hundred cedi note to pay for the service. "Keep the change," she added when Emily tried to hand over the difference.

Just then, another lady entered the salon. "Oh, Lovelace, you're here," the client greeted the newcomer warmly. "Emily has done a good job for me, as usual. By the way, can she come over to my house to do my hair and pedicure on weekends? Driving here through the congested traffic is becoming too stressful for me. Besides, even when I come here, she can't give me her full attention because other clients keep walking in and distracting her."

"Of course, Emily will be delighted to provide home services, I'm sure, Mrs. Adams," Lovelace replied readily. The other girls in the salon winced with apprehension. Despite Lovelace having chosen Emily for the job, they understood the nightmarish experience that awaited her at Mrs. Adams' home. Emily, however, smiled politely when Lovelace turned to her for confirmation.

"Yes, Madam, I'll be glad to do so," Emily assured the client. As Mrs. Adams and Lovelace discussed the details of the upcoming home service, the other salon workers retreated to the back room to chat. "Poor Emily," one of the girls whispered. "I don't envy her at all."

"She's the only person who can take that kind of treatment from Mrs. Adams," another girl added. "She's the most difficult client we've ever had in this salon. Have you noticed that even Madam Lovelace avoids styling her hair when she comes in?"

The girls chuckled, recalling the first day Mrs. Gloria Adams arrived in a sleek Toyota Corolla. She exuded wealth, adorned with jewels, and moved gracefully, as if dancing to a tune only she could hear. Emily instinctively opened the door for her, and all the girls stood as she entered.

"Good afternoon, ladies. Can I have my hair styled?" Mrs. Adams inquired, scanning the salon.

"Yes, Madam," the girls chorused. "I don't need a wash, just a styling. Can you do it in thirty minutes?" Lovelace checked the salon clock; it was fifteen minutes to one. "Yes, we can style your hair within thirty minutes," Lovelace assured her as she prepared a chair.

Mrs. Adams settled in the chair, and Lovelace, the salon owner, offered to attend to her personally. The salon workers held back, clearly intimidated by her sophistication.

In her haste to please the client and save time, Lovelace grabbed her trolley, stocked with lotions, rollers, and various hair products, and immediately began working on Mrs. Adams' hair. An apprentice draped a towel around the client's shoulders, and Lovelace picked a lotion, skillfully spraying it onto Mrs. Adams' hair.

Suddenly, a furious voice shattered the salon's silence. "What was that?" Mrs. Adams screeched. "Why? It's styling lotion," Lovelace replied, checking the plastic bottle in her hand to ensure she hadn't made a mistake.

"Hold it!" Mrs. Adams ordered, raising her hand. "Don't you think it's courteous to ask me first if I want to use your salon hair products?" Lovelace appeared flustered, and the other girls exchanged horrified looks. Despite Lovelace's reputation as a skilled beautician, the unexpected outburst had clearly taken her off guard. "I'm so, so sorry, Madam," Lovelace stammered, returning the offending lotion to the trolley. As she did, she noticed the salon towel around Mrs. Adams' shoulders. "Would you like me to use our salon towel?" Lovelace asked, while one of the girls tried to discreetly remove the towel.

"Remove that thing!" Mrs. Adams exclaimed, as if the towel had suddenly become repulsive.

Amid this commotion, a burly man entered the salon, pushing a white plastic trolley. The girls gaped in amazement at the four-tiered white plastic trolley, loaded with an electric kettle, a large water bottle, sparkling white towels, hair lotions, creams, mirrors, combs, brushes, pins, and hair rollers. Lovelace and her girls watched in silence as Mrs. Adams selected the items she needed and placed them on a rack attached to the trolley.

Lovelace pursed her lips, feeling overwhelmed as she gazed at her new client. "Would you please get to work? Remember we don't have all day to stand around and stare!" Mrs. Adams reminded her, pushing her to begin.

Lovelace struggled to regain control of her emotions, moving forward to drape the new sparkling white towel around Mrs. Adams' shoulders. She worked as briskly as possible, with the customer wearing a smug expression as she waited for the results of Lovelace's efforts.

Throughout the session, Mrs. Adams continued to voice her concerns. "That's too tight; can you loosen it up a bit? Remove the pin! It's pricking my scalp!" Her complaints persisted until Lovelace thought she had executed a perfect hairstyle. However, Mrs. Adams abruptly seized the comb and began combing out every strand of her hair, her face twisted with anger as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

"Maybe I should have done this myself," she fumed. "I was deceived that yours is the best salon in this community. If this is the best service I can get from the so-called best salon, I wonder what service the others will offer!"

Lovelace felt mortified and was about to respond angrily when Emily stepped in to prevent a confrontation. "Madam, may I help you?" She offered, taking the comb gently but firmly from Mrs. Adams and expertly combing her long, silky hair. Mrs. Adams was momentarily stunned as Emily worked confidently. Silence fell over the salon as Emily completed the task and held out the mirror for Mrs. Adams.

To everyone's surprise, Mrs. Adams slowly turned from left to right and back, her stern face revealing the faintest hint of a smile. "You certainly have what it takes," Mrs. Adams acknowledged. "Are you her employee?"

"Yes, Madam," Emily replied as she began to step away.

"What's your name?" Mrs. Adams inquired. "Emily, Madam," she replied.

Mrs. Adams stood up, placed a crisp two hundred cedi note on the table, and then walked out without requesting her bill, paying more than four times the usual fee. As soon as she exited the salon, the burly man entered and wheeled the trolley out. Lovelace watched with a scowl, and the girls quickly disappeared into the inner room. Later, they learned that their demanding client was Gloria Adams, the Deputy Minister for Tourism, whose husband was the Minister for Roads and Highways. This information only further intimidated them, making them nervous whenever she called.

Mrs. Adams' second visit was no less unsettling, and Lovelace initially kept her distance. However, over time, Lovelace began to warm up to her when she realized that Mrs. Adams had elevated the salon's profile in the community by choosing Premier Beauty Salon. Week after week, Mrs. Adams scolded, lectured, and guided Emily through every service, from hair styling to nail care and facials. Emily remained calm under the harshest criticism, maintaining her poise and responding with a constant, professional smile.

As weeks turned into months, Mrs. Adams gradually reduced her sharp critiques and began to accept Emily's work. Emily, in turn, remained professional and accommodating. Eventually, Mrs. Adams decided to opt for home services, citing interruptions at the salon. "Emily keeps shuttling between me and other customers, and that cannot be," she insisted. "I'll expect her at my residence at eight in the morning. The driver, Donald, will pick her up in front of the salon."

After Mrs. Adams left, the girls looked at Emily with sympathetic glances. "Poor Emily!" was their silent message.

"I'll pray for you," Diana, one of the girls, whispered. "When I go to church, I'll ask Pastor Smith to pray for you."

"Emily should bring her own floor to walk on when she goes for home service, as I doubt she'll be allowed to step on Mrs. Adams' carpet," another girl joked.

With Saturday just days away, Emily felt anxious about the upcoming home service but put on a brave face. At home, however, she prayed fervently, asking God to grant her favor with Mrs. Adams. She prayed repeatedly until a sense of peace finally settled over her, replacing her initial apprehension.

"You will keep in perfect peace, he whose mind is stayed on thee," she recited scripture to encourage herself.

"She'll make it," Lovelace told herself, thinking about the new arrangement with Mrs. Adams. The client had offered more than ten times the expected fee, and she was sending her most experienced worker for the job.

"Emily will make it," Lovelace reassured herself repeatedly, considering the financial gain and the challenge awaiting the affable but reserved Emily.