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.