A Taste of Bliss Page 4

  I sit as instructed and lay the paper face down on Louisa’s desk, my fingers tracing the edge before I push it toward her with purpose. The threat of a headache begins to build behind my eyes from the sickeningly sweet smell of the lilies in a crystal vase on her desk. I have always hated her penchant for keeping lilies in the salon. Just another thing I will never have to endure after today, I note.

  My heartbeat gallops in my chest, knowing I am making a life-altering decision with this single sheet of paper. I quickly remind myself that this is the first step in achieving my dreams of working as a freelance artist, and swallow back the indecision that creeps along the edges of my mind and thickens in my throat.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Louisa asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re unusually quiet today. Normally I can’t get you to shut up. You worry me, and I already have enough on my plate. This better be good.”

  I swallow and glance around. The ticking of the second hand on her giant silver wall clock sounds like a death march, counting down to my execution. Her disguised taunts and barbed words have always been a source of conflict for me. I hate that she’s so negative and discouraging, when she should be uplifting and supportive of her stylists. No matter how hard I work, the amount of ten hour days I put in, and the extra on-location work I accept for her, she still can’t say a simple “good job, I appreciate it.” I finally find my courage, thinking of everyone who has encouraged me to take this step, including my sexy one-night stand. I let it burn within me.

  “Louisa, I’m leaving. I can’t work for The Vaughn Group anymore.”

  She freezes with her outstretched hand hovering over my resignation letter. Her fingers curl into a fist as her lips twist into a snarl she can’t hide fast enough. A beat goes by before she composes her face into her normal blank mask of boredom and snatches my letter off the desk. She skims it quickly, not taking the time to really read the letter I labored so hard on. I thought it was important to find a decidedly positive twist for my decision to leave The Vaughn Group, that it would somehow make my decision easier. I knew before she even glanced at the letter that my wording would have no bearing on her acceptance. She’s absolutely furious.

  “What, the actual fuck, are you doing?” She hisses as she lays the page down on her desk. “You have everything working here. How can you possibly want to leave? Your schedule is always full, you make the highest commission every week, you even get top pick of on-location jobs.” She punctuates her words with a finger smashed into her other palm.

  Her question is rhetorical, but I feel the need to stand up for myself, for once. Working for her sucks. She makes my life miserable by demeaning my skills and time. When she says I make top commission, she forgets to mention that over fifty-percent of every service fee goes right back to her. I work for less than minimum wage most of the time.

  “I need to make changes in my life that will make me happy. I want to work for myself, following a different path than what the salon can offer me. It has nothing to do with you or your business, I just need to go out on my own.” I am such a bad liar. It has everything to do with Louisa, and the way she runs her business, but I am determined to end our business relationship amicably and not burn any bridges.

  “You ungrateful shit.” Her eyes are wild and her olive complexion is now an unbecoming shade of red. I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears. Her anger is scary. “I poured three years of my life into grooming you, teaching you, and making sure you were always booked for jobs. How the hell can you slap me in the face like this, after all I have done for you?”

  Oh, that bridge is on freaking fire. Napalm and flamethrower status. Maybe an incendiary grenade.

  She may have mentored me when I started working for her years ago, but that didn’t last. Once I finished the apprentice program, I was on my own without her less-than-nurturing tutelage. I carefully bite back all of the retorts that would like to fly from my mouth. I remember that above all else, I must remain professional, and make myself abundantly clear.

  “Louisa, learning from you has been an amazing experience that I will never take for granted. I can’t possibly thank you enough for all of the opportunities you have given me, and what I have achieved thanks to The Vaughn Group. I need to move on now, however hard that is for both of us, and find my own way.”

  With a disgruntled and animalistic scream, Louisa crumples my resignation letter into a ball and throws it at me. I am so stunned I make no move to block the paper as it hits me square in the forehead. I blink rapidly and stand, ready to make my exit before she throws the vase of those god-awful lilies next.

  “I will arrange with Heidi to have my last paycheck mailed to me. I wish you all the best with the salon and agency, and hope we can regard each other on friendlier terms. Someday,” I tack on as I turn hastily to escape her office. The last thing I see is Louisa grasping her desk and breathing heavily, her eyes filled with malice and her face contorted into the most gruesome snarl I’ve seen from her yet.

  Before I can make it out the door, she says, “You will regret this until the day you die, Bliss. You will never succeed in San Francisco, I will make sure of that.” With her threat hanging over me, I hastily retreat from her office, into a world I have chosen instead.

  Chapter Four

  “Holy shit. Bliss, honey, are you okay?” Willa asks when she gets home.

  I was wrong in thinking she wouldn’t leave the couch today. She was gone when I got back from The Vaughn Group, which allowed me to crumble into a puddle of anxiety and depression right on the living room carpet. She kneels down on the floor next to where I have been sprawled for two hours counting the cracks in the ceiling and contemplating my life’s choices. I had a good cry not long ago, so my makeup is probably smeared and my eyes are puffy.

  “Seriously, are you catatonic or something? Do I need to spoon feed you ice cream, or call your mom? What happened?”

  I can only assume I really look like crap and seem like a crazy person if she’s asking about calling my mom. I continue to ignore her and now start an inventory of the water stains that creep down the wall a little further each time it rains. Damn, I hate living in San Francisco sometimes. Even with three roommates, two of whom make huge salaries and contribute the majority of our sky-high rent, our four grand a month only gets us a shit-hole in the Inner Richmond district. Just another thing I need to tack on to the never-ending list of anxieties I have to worry about now that I am self-employed, and no longer have a steady source of income.

  Good thing I’m not a picky eater and can handle a diet heavy on the sodium and full of ramen noodles. Yeah, that and tap water will be fine. I am sure I can get on Pinterest and find some creative recipes to doctor up a bag of noodles.

  A loud clap right in my face causes me to jump and blink quickly at Willa. “Seriously, snap out of it Bliss! You’re freaking me out, and I do not want to put up with nutcases at home when I deal with them every day at work.”

  I roll onto my side in a fetal position, but look up at Willa. “I gave Louisa my resignation today. She crumpled it up into a ball and threw it in my face, literally. I think she left a mark on my forehead.” I point above my left eye.

  “Took it well then, didn’t she?” Willa smirks at me and rubs my back. “At least you still have all of your limbs. I thought for sure she would have torn off your left arm to keep some talent in her salon. I bet she’s kicking herself now she didn’t get her greedy claws on you before you escaped.”

  The corners of my mouth quirk upward into the ghost of a smile. I’m thankful for Willa’s attempt to cheer me up. She’s an optimist through and through. It’s helpful to have her around when the world seems to be caving in on you with the weight of your decisions and those yet to be made.

  “Did I make the wrong choice, Willa? Should I have stayed at The Vaughn Group, working my ass off behind the chair and taking jobs even though I had to give up over fifty percent of each to Louisa? How the hell am I going to run my own
business and compete with her? She’s a mainstay in the San Francisco hair and makeup scene, has her claws in all of the corporate accounts that need artists, and the salon has hall of fame status for so many Best Of Weddings awards for our market. I can’t compete with that.” Saying my fears out loud does not make them any easier to bear. In fact, I would like to go back to counting the defects of our apartment and not thinking that this is the worst thing I have ever done.

  “Nope. Not going there, Bliss. You know this was the best decision you could have made for yourself, and the timing couldn’t be better. I’m so glad you finally pulled the trigger. Bellissima Beauty is set to do big things this year. You did the heavy lifting months ago, and have solid bookings for the next three months, thanks to a little networking and covert advertising. We have already gone over your numbers, and your expected income should be more than enough if you focus on getting more freelance jobs now that you aren’t in the salon so much. Louisa was holding you down, keeping you from realizing your full potential. She was using fear to control you. You will be working on-location only now, no longer in the salon slaving away for someone else. You can take half as many jobs, and make the same or more because now you get to keep the entire sum, rather than a percentage.

  “Running the business out of the house, and only being responsible for yourself keeps your costs low. You were already buying all of your own supplies for your hair and makeup kit, so that’s been factored in. What are you worried about, doll? This is good. Really good.” Willa grasps my hands and I let her pull me to a sitting position against the couch.

  Sighing heavily, I look up at Willa’s pretty brown eyes that peek out at me from under the front fringe of her shaggy pixie cut. She’s in need of a trim; I should offer to do that tonight. At least it’s a nice distraction from my decisions.

  “You need a haircut, homie. How can you consider this messy look work appropriate?” I tousle her hair half-heartedly, but give her a real smile.

  She beams at me with her megawatt grin. “I’ve been waiting for my celebrity hairstylist best friend to finally have some free time to fit me into her schedule. She’s so in demand and constantly booked with weddings and special events that she never has time for me. You would think that being her roommate would make it easier, but I maintain that is just not true.” She makes a mock-serious face and scoffs. “And this is San Francisco. Have you seen the level of hipster douchery that is considered work appropriate? Even at an investment firm, I’m seeing untucked shirts, homeless beards, and skinny pants on guys. It’s deplorable, really.”

  “Willa, you’re the best, you know that? I swear, psychiatrists should start prescribing you to cure depression. How did you end up in finance when you should obviously be a life-coach or something equally as uplifting and perfect?”

  “Gotta pay the bills somehow. And how could I let this perfect brain go to waste?” She taps her head with a manicured finger. “Besides, you’re the only life I want to coach, because you actually take direction and listen to what I have to say. That job would only be rewarding if your clients accepted everything the way you do.” She bumps her shoulder against mine.

  “My life is yours to mold, oh Jedi master.”

  Willa points her finger in my face and raises an eyebrow at me. “Do not mistake me for being a fangirl of geekery like you. I am not into that Star Wars Trek stuff. Give me Real Housewives of wherever over sci-fi any day. I can coach you on ripping out weaves, talking trash, and flipping tables, but I am no Jedi master.” Willa shakes her head as she flops against the couch next to where I am a puddle of mush.

  I laugh a little and lean against her. “I’m still bummed.”

  “Maybe you should call Tech Bro Boyfriend. Good sex can make all the difference about how you are feeling about life. Trust me. I stopped off and saw Mitch the other day after I had messed up one of my boss’s client’s portfolio, and had to grovel and plead to keep my job. I wasn’t thinking about portfolios after that.”

  “Dillon is not my boyfriend, he was a booty call. And the sex wasn’t even all that great. He could never make me forget about my current crisis. I want something better than Dillon.” I sigh wistfully. “Is that even possible, without a committed relationship?”

  I longingly think of Talan. He managed to play my body so expertly on the first try. He pushed me a little, made me ask for the things I wanted instead of living without them. He blew my mind without any real sex. He’s the kind of booty call I would like to have on speed-dial, but he lives an hour away in Sonoma, and there’s no way I’m seeing him again after leaving without so much as a goodbye. It’s a little depressing, but my reality, and why I end up not telling Willa about it.

  “Dude, I know what I’m supposed to say. Things like you’re twenty-one. You’re so freaking young, and hot, and starting your own business; there’s no need to find ‘the one’ to settle down with forever. Good sex when you want it is just fine.”

  She rolls her eyes and then levels me with her serious face. “What I really want to get through your head is that maybe you need to find a guy to share life with. A relationship, whether for the long haul or short term, is better than an uninspired friends with benefits situation anyday. Being with a guy who supports you and wants more than a booty call means you can still focus on the important things, like achieving your dreams. Let’s tick those off right now, just to remind you of your goals.” She crosses her arms and looks at me expectantly.

  I look away but know she won’t let this slide. I wish she were kidding, but she’s absolutely serious. She insists each roommate makes a vision board every December so we can visualize the goals we would like to achieve for the next year. Honestly, I actually like doing it, but I really hate when she puts me on the spot and makes me confront things head-on like this. I’d rather stick my head in the sand.

  “Fine, you win. You’re a total asshole for not letting me mope and forcing me to focus on the positive, you know.” Willa laughs and pushes my shoulder playfully, but cocks her head and gives me her most serious look.

  “I’m waiting.” She motions for me to continue, set on hearing my goals.

  “Okay, you positive-manifesting-rainbow-pusher.” I scrub my eyes and sigh. “I want to be successful on my own, doing hair and makeup in San Francisco without an agency to hunt down and book jobs for me. I want financial freedom. I want to make a name for myself on my own, not through The Vaughn Group. I want to win awards and have so much business coming to me organically that I don’t really have to advertise, and have to operate more exclusively, or with a waiting list. Happy now?”

  “For your work goals, absolutely. We can work on the mechanics of how you will achieve these things later. Don't you think you are focused a little too completely on your career, though? Where are the goals for a relationship, even something more casual? I just told you that you needed to give that more thought.”

  “You’re not letting that go, are you?” I roll my eyes at her. She’s a great friend, but sometimes she’s a little too persistent. “I would think you get enough relationship material from Emme and Milleigh without needing me to define my relationships and hunt down a man. They will talk about their feelings and love all day long. On Facebook and Instagram and all over this very apartment. They are the relationship ideal, and are quite happy to share.”

  “Milleigh and Emme are truly adorable, but I want to know what your relationship goals are. Do you want to take things further with Tech Bro Dillon?” The look on her face tells me she hopes I don’t, but asks to be nice and keep the conversation going in this direction. She’s really too sweet for her own good. I know she really doesn’t like Dillon, which is why she usually calls him a Tech Bro, our term for particularly douchey guys who happen to work in the tech sector.

  “I sort of already called things off with Dillon the other day. Neither of us wanted anything more than casual hook ups, but even that wasn’t doing it for me. I’m not sure I could see anything more with him, anyway. He
’s a total man-child. I would feel like I would have to mother him if we were in a relationship.” Now that I am opening up about my flawed arrangement with Dillon, I feel the need to elaborate. “Did you know he squeezes his toothpaste from the middle and refuses to put the cap back on? Or that he eats his cereal out of a coffee mug, and will leave it on the counter instead of rinsing it and putting it in the dishwasher? He does laundry only when the clothes on his floor are indistinguishable from clean or dirty. Oh, and he never dresses up, even when I’ve seen him out at events.”

  I shake my head, both at Dillon, and at myself. I only just now broke it off with him after noticing these things a long time ago. Talan seemed to be the perfect opposite of Dillon, but I screwed that option up. He will have to live inside my memories and be my “could have been” if only the timing was different.

  “You want to help me make dinner? I think I can finally eat now that my nerves aren’t twisting my stomach into knots. I’m sure it will just be us tonight, anyway.” We both know Em and Milleigh will probably just eat dinner at some cool new hotspot their foodie friends have mentioned. During the week they usually eat at the office, since their awesome tech company provides free food for the employees. Lucky.

  “Sure, but how about we explore the reasons why you don’t want to find a suitable guy to date.”

  And so the evening goes, with Willa forcing me to talk about things I would rather ignore.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m so glad you were available last minute. This shoot popped up unexpectedly, but I couldn’t pass it up. I can’t wait to have more creative shoots with you, it’s been too long. Oh, you are going to love Sheila and Derrick’s wedding photos. I’ve already started editing them and, damn, they look good. That winery was the perfect backdrop for every shot,” Finch says, setting up his lighting for our shoot. It’s been a week since I gave my resignation to Louisa, and I’ve been on a roller coaster that dips and climbs between worry and the joy of freedom.