Chapter 7
"What," demanded the outraged Danny, "have you done to yourself?"
Susanne blinked at the purple hair. She wanted to say she had probably saved the salon a damage suit, considerable money and a devastating amount of bad publicity.
"It will wash out," she told him.
"I fear not," Henri spoke suavely. "This is dye, not tint. In time it will turn green."
"She," an hysterical note sounded as the patron responsible appeared, "would have done this to me! She planned I should use it months ago. Oh, that woman!"
No word for Susanne, no gratitude expressed. Miss Morgan owned the salon. She had merely done her duty, as this woman saw it.
Bettine eased in under the shoulders of those at the booth entrance, a wig in her hands, consternation on her face. She had thought Miss Susanne was being made beautiful for her "intended," whom Jensen had reported waiting outside, afraid to enter, an hour ago.
"Perhaps now you will have confidence in Henri's judgment," he said softly in her ear. And louder, "At present the wig. As soon as I have the free time, a heavy bleach. Not good for the hair, but what will you have?"
Susanne called for a telephone, talked to Maggie, then sent the distraught Danny on to the apartment. She would follow soon.
Then she turned to the girl in the mirror. The purple hair rapidly disappeared under a glossy red mane that fell to her shoulders; the only wig in the place at the time.
Well, her month at the Hair-After was certainly revealing her to herself in a variety of guises.
Maggie, after hearing Danny's horrified version of the purple hair incident, settled him down with the evening newspaper, a pot of strong coffee and some especially crisp and sugary crullers. Then she hurried to the kitchen telephone.
Bert Leehoff, recovering from the initial shock, listened to Maggie and nodded his head. The story, spread city-wide, could make or mar the Hair-After and Miss Susanne. If he called his close friend, a columnist on the morning newspaper, it could be turned into an asset.
His friend made a delightful story of the purple guinea pig, Miss Mary's niece, Miss Susanne Morgan, who subjected herself to an unknown tint rather than have a patron risk disfigurement.
He had caught Susanne before she left the salon, and she had been laughing. "Now," she told him, "I can try out every shade of hair, by wig, without criticism. Think of the fun I'll have being a blonde, a brunette and a redhead all in one day."
She added that having proven the Hair-After used only carefully tested and proven materials, it would not be necessary to go to such an extreme again.
Meanwhile, Susanne, adjusting the wig, heard Henri say smoothly, "With that tone above, the complexion needs a small alteration." And he proceeded to use powder of a different color, a suggestion of rouge with tangerine predominating, and the barest touch of lipstick to match.
Then, naturally, the brows and lashes needed darkening.
Susanne, in a hurry to reach Danny, paid very little attention. As Henri had pointed out, she had to trust him from now on. And flaming red hair did require skin of a different tone.
"You do look-" began Bettine.
"Stunning!" supplied Jacques.
Evidently. In the four blocks she had to traverse to reach her car in a paid parking area, hardly a man passed who did not look once, then turn and look again.
Fine, thought Susanne. Now to explain things to Danny.
He stood up as she entered, nodded gravely, and was about to reseat himself when he recognized her.
"Susanne! I don't believe it. Why, this is worse than the purple cow effect."
"All for a good cause," she assured him blithely. "Oh, Maggie, Maggie, the mouth!"
Maggie closed the mouth, she supposed. Actually, she wheeled and headed for the kitchen before something not meant for Danny Harper's ears came forth.
"Well?" Susanne held her face up.
Danny backed off. "I can't kiss that," he groaned. "I mean-well, darn it all, Susanne, it would be like kissing a stranger. Go look at yourself, or have you?"
She had. So had others; quickly, of course.
"I was told I look beautiful," she stated.
"You do. But Susanne wasn't-"
"Beautiful?" she asked.
"She looked all right."
He shouldn't have said that, but he didn't know. After all, it was no more than he'd been telling her for four years. And why did he keep talking to her as though she were somebody else?
Susanne's eyes were neither grey or blue. They were silver scimitars at that moment, and very visible. Henri hadn't added false lashes; he'd merely made the long ones she'd always worn ray up and out until her eyes seemed twice their normal size.
This, they were saying accusingly, is the man I thought I loved, the man I believed I was going to marry. And he doesn't see me clearly enough to penetrate a thin layer of powder and a touch of lip paste.
"I was afraid of this," he said heavily and, as though his thoughts were unbearably burdensome, sank into his chair. "Turn a girl loose in a beauty parlor, and she goes whole hog."
Maggie came back to the doorway. "You young folks having dinner in or out?" she asked.
Susanne waited. Danny always preferred to dine out.
Now he was shaking his head. "Don't you see," he asked, "every man within a mile would be staring at you?"
Suddenly Susanne laughed, gay, carefree, happy. At long last she understood Danny and his "You look all right."
"Here, Maggie," she said. "Sit down, Danny; let's see what I can do about the stranger in our midst."
She could wash and cream and remove the wig. She could then bind the purple atrocity in a pale cream turban and, that finished, slip into a familiar dress.
"Aw, honey," Danny was up, his arms out, the moment she appeared, "now you look natural."
"Familiar," she corrected and added, "You're reactionary, forever afraid of anything new."
Maggie slipped from the role of the perfect maid only once. She'd looked at Danny, recognized him as a steak-and-potatoes man and whisked meat from the freezer. An apple pie topped with ice cream had completed his idea of a perfect dinner.
Following them to the living room with coffee, she stood back a moment to ask thoughtfully, "Did Henri know Mr. Harper was around?"
Quickly Susanne caught the import of that. "Not when he tried out the powder on my hair."
Danny looked from her to Maggie. "I pulled in about an hour before I saw Miss Morgan. Asked a fellow-janitor, I guess-if he'd tell her where I was parked. He came after me in about an hour's time."
Again Susanne laughed. "I guess Henri merely improved that shining hour," she offered. "He naturally wanted me to look my Hair-After best when Danny saw me."
"That's one way of looking at it," agreed Maggie.
It wasn't the evening Susanne might have dreamed about had she had time; a homecoming evening for Danny.
They both tried. Danny talked of the weather in different parts of the country, and Susanne talked of the salon and its problems. But they didn't talk of themselves and their mutual future.
Each caught the other studying him or her with a wary glance. Danny was watching Susanne as though at any moment she might change right before his eyes. And Susanne was watching Danny, thinking she had never really seen him before.
Finally Danny gave up. He'd had a long haul. He'd driven all night to have this extra time with her. Maybe they could get together someplace in town for breakfast. Okay?
"If you're not afraid," she teased.
"Just speak first," he teased back. "I'd hate to be caught making up to the wrong girl at that hour of the morning."
Bettine, with romance and a doubt of Henri in her heart, had spent a busy evening. She had seen the shock on Danny's face at the sight of the purple hair. She knew the Danny type. She doubted the red wig would reestablish loving relations. And he was so handsome and Miss Susanne normally so lovely.
Even as Maggie was washing the sleep from her system with early coffee, Bettine called, carrying a medium blonde wig, short and smoothly waved. sleepy Susanne's head. "Now," she said, "You look like yourself."
Susanne looked at the girl in the mirror. So that was herself? The wig wasn't doing a thing for that self. No sparkle, thought Susanne, and remembered, surprised, there had been a sparkle under the purple dye.
She drove Bettine to the salon, heard the young woman say, "My, you do look smart," then drove on to her rendezvous with Danny.
She had cost enough to look smart, Susanne reasoned. To offset-or was it to compensate for?-the drab-colored wig, she had donned a Julienne suit of black and a hat that covered only half of her head, the right half. She had to remember to keep Danny on the left.
An apprehensive Danny was wearing ridges in the cement when she drove into the cafe parking lot. At least he recognized her car and came loping toward it, his handsome face a wreath of smiles.
They faded a little as she stepped out; then he looked at the left side of her head and was reassured. That, at least, seemed back to normal, though she did seem taller. She came above his shoulder. Odd.
There were no booths in the busy cafe, and he was quite puzzled. Now why should every masculine head in the place be swinging their way? Must be that sparkly thing Susanne wore on the lapel of her jacket.
"Junk jewelry," he commented.
"When the sun goes down, we happily turn on electric lights, don't we?" she asked.
He was through his ham and eggs, hashed brown potatoes and two pieces of toast before he grasped the idea.
"Oh, I get it. Sun's the authentic source of light. But electric power-"
"Doesn't pretend to be the sun. Neither do these pretend to be jewels. But why restrict ourselves to darkness? Oh, Danny, put a little sparkle in your life."
Swiftly he changed the subject. He'd talked to the home office that morning. He was picking up a load in Seattle for Idaho. When he returned, they'd settle down to a real talk and get things squared around; right?
Dubiously Susanne nodded. "And try to stay blonde," he urged. She shook her head. "I'll be turning green about then. That is, unless Henri has time to bleach me to platinum."
"Heaven forbid," moaned Danny. "I liked you as you were. You always-"
"I know. I looked all right."
She saw him out to his truck and stood watching as the mammoth affair plus trailer eased off and melted into the freeway traffic. He handled it like a go-cart. How handsome, how capable was Danny. And how lucky she was.
Maybe men on the highways like that wanted to be sure they would return to the familiar. It gave them a feeling of security. She simply must be more understanding.
She was-right up to the moment she paused at the entrance to the Hair-After to take a rather guilty look at the display window.
All right! What was wrong with looking beautiful? Wouldn't you think a man like Danny would feel a bit puffed up at having won a girl who could look like that?
Henri hovered over her as she removed her gloves, then, reassured by the lack of a diamond on her left hand, relaxed. That lack and the expression on Susanne's face told him he had not manipulated in vain. Not that he would have deliberately turned that beautiful hair purple. That had merely been Fate's way of lending a hand to the deserving.
It was to be expected that Ranalee Graton, after a leisurely reading of the social news and a glance at the Tidbit column, should reach for the telephone.
She must have an appointment immediately at the Hair-After. She must, simply must see that Morgan girl at her purple worst. If she were wearing a wig, she, Ranalee, would somehow connive to have it removed in public.
She found quite a few patrons had had similar ideas, though perhaps from different motives, and even possible cancellations were taken by those eager to accept any time at all.
"I," stated Ranalee, "shall give an impromptu dinner."
It meant canceling one with a dear friend, but what were friends for if not to be pushed aside for more important business?
Her second call went to Maggie. Sweetly she talked. Miss Susanne was always so busy; could Maggie assure her she would be free that evening? She would like to run in with some friends who could do a great deal for the salon.
"Might as well," said Maggie aloud, and silently added, "get it over with."
"A rallying to the standard," murmured Ranalee. "Buffet, don't you think? I'll call a caterer."
Maggie shrugged. Why not let the fool girl pay for her folly?
"And, Maggie," Ranalee caroled, "this will be a surprise. Won't that be fun for Miss Susanne? I know how lonely she's been in a strange city." She then added, "Hasn't she?"
Maggie didn't reply, "Take the hook off your line; I don't tote up the times Mr. Leehoff calls in person or by telephone." Instead she asked briskly, "What time will you be coming? Seven? Goodbye."
Susanne was having a wonderful time. For the first time in the six weeks she had been at the Hair-After, she felt needed.
Women thronged in. Told there were no appointments available, they said they would remain "just in case." And they did. They settled on settees and chairs, and some of the bolder appropriated the operators' stools.
It was a veritable open house, a reception, a gathering for a good cause. Susanne was in her element.
She sent Jensen in one direction, Jennet in another. Extra coffee makers were brought in, trays of cookies. Susanne and Jennet served.
Susanne sent the operators for a few moments' rest and took over customers, escorting them to dryers, adjusting the metal hoods, bringing them coffee.
She also allowed one and all to admire her wig and took orders for seven wigs and the promise of twice seven more. Jennet sold practically everything they had in their display cases: creams and lotions, hair sprays and scented soaps.
Through it all Henri looked on hopelessly. How could anyone compete with a girl like Susanne? There was only one way he could win. His round face grew long at the thought.
Then, manfully and with a deep sigh, he made his contribution to the cause.
The salon didn't close until seven-thirty that evening; the operators were happy to pick up overtime with holidays so near at hand.
Susanne, completely exhausted but happy, drove home, considering many things. Basically, where was she failing to meet her Aunt Mary's standards?
"So many of those women today need more than hair styling and facials. How can I tell them?"
She unlocked the door to her apartment, stepped into a dark cubicle, then jumped as a glad, "Surprise," rang out.
Someone reached for her hat. She could have sworn it was more than her hat, for something sharp seemed to gouge the side of her head. Then her hat was lifted high in the air.
And the lights came on!
There was a moment of startled silence. Susanne looked at doorways filled with unfamiliar faces and knew she was dreaming. This was some kind of nightmare.
Then someone laughed. Susanne glanced toward the right-hand door. Maggie, looming over those standing there, was laughing right out loud.
Carefully Susanne lifted her hand to her head. It held no wig. Now she understood.