The Prince Charming List. Kathryn Springer

sent up a quick prayer that the rest of my day would be as easy as handling Ian Dexter.

      Chapter Three

      What about womn? (Text message from Tony

      Gillespie to Ian Dexter)

      Been here 48 hrs. (Dex)

      So? Has 2 b grls there. (Tony)

      Havent seen any. (Dex)

      All work and no play…(Tony)

      Gets me to S America fastr. (Dex)

      I started brewing the coffee as soon as I let myself in. Bernice had mentioned that people stopped by the Cut and Curl at various times during the day just to grab a free cup of coffee so she always kept the pot full.

      There was a loud thump above my head and the light fixture on the ceiling quivered. Great. What was Dex doing up there? Painting or replacing drywall?

      “Where’s Bernice?”

      I heard the voice and the bells above the door jingle at the same time. It was hard to believe the petite grandmotherly woman tottering toward me was one of Bernice’s high-maintenance clients. The circles of coral powder on her cheeks matched the lipstick that followed a crooked path across her lips. I glanced at the appointment book. “Good morning. You must be Mrs. Kirkwood.”

      “No. I’m Lorelei Christy. Florence has a mission circle meeting this morning so we traded appointments. Where’s Bernice?”

      Traded appointments. Was this allowed?

      “Bernice is on her honeymoon.” I knew Bernice had told all her clients she’d be gone for the summer but if Mrs. Christy had forgotten, I wasn’t going to argue the point. “I’m Heather Lowell and I’m helping Bernice out this summer.”

      I scanned the appointment book. Sure enough, Lorelei Christy was supposed to be my four o’clock. The last shall be first and the first shall be last. According to Bernice’s system, that meant she was a “low maintenance.” Which meant that Mrs. Kirkwood, my last appointment for the day…wasn’t.

      “All right.” Lorelei slipped off her lavender cardigan and draped it across the back of a chair. “I’m sure if Bernice hired you, we’ll get along just fine. Right, dear?”

      As far as I was concerned, Lorelei Christy was the dear.

      “What would you like me to do today, Mrs. Christy?”

      “Just a shampoo and set. The yellow rollers work the best. And I like the shampoo that smells like coconut. It reminds me of the cruise Edward and I took for our fiftieth wedding anniversary.”

      By the time I was finished, I wanted to adopt Mrs. Christy and add her to my grandparent collection. She’d told me all about her family, recited her recipe for rhubarb pie, quizzed me afterward, and filled me in on her plans for the summer—which involved knitting slippers for the upcoming preschool class.

      “Oh, I almost forgot your tip.” Mrs. Christy turned back to the counter and reached into her purse. “Here you go.” She handed me a neatly folded dishcloth.

      If I shook it, would a five-dollar bill fall out?

      “I crochet them myself. If you don’t like pink I have a green one in here somewhere—”

      “No. Pink is fine. I love pink.”

      “You’re a sweet girl. I’ll see you next week. Four o’clock.”

      That wasn’t so bad. One down, four to go.

      Five minutes after Mrs. Christy left, a harried-looking mom pulled four-year-old twin girls into the salon. I checked the appointment book. Natalie and Nicole. Adorable. They were even dressed alike. This was one of the times I got that wistful I-wish-I-had-a-sister feeling.

      They each picked out a chair by the window but their sweet, identical smiles disappeared as soon as their mother announced she needed to run to the grocery store for a gallon of milk. Because she’d only be gone for a few minutes and the girls would be fine without her.

      “Who’s first?” I patted the back of the chair.

      The girls linked arms in a show of defiant solidarity. A scene from Lady and the Tramp—the one with the Siamese cats—came to mind. No one at cosmetology school had coached me through this scenario.

      “One at a time.” Come on, Heather. Don’t let them get the best of you.

      Natalie scowled at me. “Where’s the elephant chair?”

      “I want the elephant chair, too,” Nicole whined.

      Could four-year-olds smell fear?

      “Can I have a sucker now?”

      Aha. Leverage. “No suckers until after you get your hair cut.”

      “Bernice lets us.”

      I knew this was a big fat fib. Bernice would never let kids get sticky until they were about to go home. “I’ll get the elephant chair while you two decide who’s going to be first.” There you go, Heather. Pleasant but assertive. Fortunately, I’d paged through a few of Mom’s parenting books over the years!

      While my back was turned, I heard their low, candy-sweet voices planning their next move.

      Think fast, Heather.

      “You girls are lucky today—you get the ten-o’clock special,” I said, pretending I didn’t see Nicole stick her tongue out at me as I turned around.

      “What’s that?” Natalie tilted her head and Nicole elbowed her in the side.

      “A manicure—and you even get to pick out the nail stickers.” I stared at the clock. “Oh, oh. Only ten minutes left…I don’t know if I’ll have time…”

      “I’ll go first!” Natalie bounded over to the elephant chair while her sister crossed her arms and pouted.

      Yes! Divide and conquer.

      By the time their mother strolled in forty-five minutes later, holding a cup of coffee from Sally’s Café, I was just finishing up Nicole’s manicure. There’d been a tense moment when the girls had tried to talk me into letting them each take home an extra set of stickers but after I’d gently pointed out that other little girls might want them, too, they hadn’t pushed the issue.

      I was going to be a wonderful mother someday, I just knew it….

      “Look, Mommy! She painted my fingernails. And I have pony stickers.” Nicole spread out her fingers for her mom to admire.

      Mom frowned.

      “No charge,” I said quickly, and winked at the girls. “The ten-o’clock special.”

      “My stickers are better,” Natalie announced. “Mine are kitties.”

      “Purple kitties.” Nicole tossed her head. “Kitties aren’t really purple, so mine are better.”

      Wait. What was happening here? My brilliant idea was being hijacked by a pair of three-foot-tall divas.

      “You didn’t give them the same stickers?” Mom turned accusing eyes on me.

      “Ah, I let them pick out the ones they wanted.” What kind of pre-parenting mistake had I just made? I was an only child. Was this something I was supposed to know?

      The look she gave me was both pitying and resigned.

      “How long do the stickers usually last?”

      “About a week.”

      She nodded. And sighed.

      “You have a pink pony.” The war waged on around us. “There aren’t pink ponies, either!

      “Duh! On the merry-go-round.”

      “Girls!”