Chapter 3: The First Chair
"This way," Tessa said, keeping her voice steady. "Right over here, by the window."
George followed her across the marble floor, past the obsidian mirrors and the leather chairs. Every stylist on the floor was watching.
"Where exactly do you think you are going?" Regina said from the desk.
"Chair One," Tessa said.
"Chair One is for clients," Regina said. "Paying clients. It has the best light in the house, and I am holding it for walk-ins who can afford us."
"He is a client," Tessa said. "And Chair One is exactly where he belongs."
George stopped beside the chair, hat in his hands. "I do not want to cost anyone their place," he said quietly. "Another chair would do. The back, if it is easier."
"No," Tessa said. "Sit here. Please."
"Tessa." Regina came out from behind the desk. "Walk him back to the door and end this. I will not say it twice."
"Then hear me the first time," Tessa said. "There is a rule in this salon older than either of us. The First Chair covenant. Chair One is reserved so that any person preparing for a job interview receives one full service, free, no questions asked."
Blair laughed softly from her station. "She is making up rules now."
"I am not making it up," Tessa said. "It was in the old employee handbook in the break room when I started. I read it my first week. Page four. The First Chair."
"Sentimental nonsense," Regina said. "Halcyon retired all of that years ago."
"Retired is not the same as erased," Tessa said. "This chair sits empty half the day with the best light on the floor. That is why. It was meant to wait for somebody who needed it."
"Somebody," Chase said, not looking up from his phone, "who pays sixty dollars."
"Somebody who has an interview at four o'clock across the street," Tessa said, "and asked this house for help. That is the whole rule. He qualifies."
"Do you understand what you are risking?" Regina said, her voice low. "You are a junior stylist on thin ice. Defy me in front of the floor, and I will write you up before his hair hits the ground. Defy me twice, and you will need an interview of your own. Is that clear?"
Tessa's mouth went dry. The rent notice was folded in her apron pocket. She knew exactly what she was risking.
"Yes," she said. "It is clear."
"And you are doing it anyway," Regina said.
"I am doing my job anyway," Tessa said. "The job this salon was founded to do. Every head held high. That is painted on the training room wall, Regina. I did not invent that either."
Then Rosa appeared at Tessa's elbow, a fresh towel over her arm. "I will run the shampoo bowl," she said brightly. "No charge on my end. I shampoo like a champion, sir. Ask her. She tips me in compliments."
A small sound escaped George, almost a laugh. "Then I am in honored company," he said.
"You are," Rosa said. "Sit, sit. People write songs about this chair."
George lowered himself carefully into Chair One, and Tessa saw his shoulders ease, as if the chair itself had recognized him. His hands rested on the arms, trembling slightly.
"Your coat, George," Tessa said gently. "Let me hang it up safe while we work."
"I can keep it with me," he said.
"It will only get covered in clippings," she said. "I will put it on the hook right there, where you can see it the whole time. Nothing leaves this room. You have my word."
He studied her, those clear gray eyes calm and measuring, and then he nodded. "Then I will trust your word," he said, "the way you trusted mine about the interview."
He shrugged out of the frayed tweed coat and handed it over, and Tessa nearly fumbled it. Something inside was heavy, solid and metallic, riding low in an interior pocket and knocking once, softly, against her wrist.
She did not look. She did not reach in. A person's pockets were a person's business; her mother had taught her that along with everything else.
"Careful with that one," George said mildly, watching her face. "It carries more than it shows."
"So do most people," Tessa said, and she hung the coat exactly where she had promised, in his sight, on the hook by the window.
"Last chance," Regina said from behind her. "Walk away now, and I forget the write-up."
Tessa picked up her cape, shook it out with a snap, and looked at George in the mirror. His eyes met hers in the glass, patient and unafraid.
"Forget it or file it, Regina," Tessa said. "Either way, I am cutting his hair."