Milk Duds

She opens the door and the ring of the plastic bell indicates her arrival. Once inside, it greets her all at once: that chemical smell of platinum blonde, of caramel highlights for the girls whose mothers normally won’t let them dye their hair but a bit of colour going into summer is okay, of hairspray for the near-graduates, trialing their coiffed updos and comparing them to the Vogues that lay on every open surface of the salon. Someone’s brought in a chihuahua, that on hearing the bell begins to bark. It’s now being shushed, and in the next second the woman, the one who is long accustomed to the sounds and scents that fill the air, welcomes her, leading her past the shelves of fancy hair products on promotion, past the young girl sweeping tufts of unwanted hair, and over to a seat carefully prepared just for her. She hasn’t met this woman before, but it’s a Tuesday afternoon and she usually comes in on the weekend.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Dina,’ the woman says. She wipes a few leftover hairs from the seat, her own freeze-dried curls swinging in unison with each motion. ‘Oh, almost forgot,’ she says, grabbing a thin silk robe off the wall and passing it to Elaine. Elaine looks at the robe, patterned with leaves from some exotic tree she’s never seen before, then back at Dina.

‘What’s this?’

‘They’ve replaced the old capes,’ Dina says. ‘It’s the owners, they’re trying to fancy the place up. From next week you won’t be able to book an appointment anymore, it’ll be an experience, you know? You can change just over there.’ She gestures to an area of the salon that didn’t exist the last time Elaine was here, one fitted with floor-to-ceiling cabins. Much like the ones you’d find at a spa, she imagines. Inside each of the stalls, a slight scent of coconut and sunscreen wafts through, accompanying the rainforest sounds that play just loudly enough to drown out the noise of the blow dryers. Elaine’s almost at peace, and she’s fiddling with the robe in her hands, feeling the soft material, when she realizes that the robe is thin; quite thin, actually. It’s raining today, so she’s wearing a jumper with only a bra underneath, no middle layer. Is she expected to wear it over her jumper? And be spilling out, unable to lift her arms, the entire appointment? Or maybe it’s meant to be worn over bare skin. No one had warned her to wear a thinner layer underneath. She hadn’t seen anything about this when she made the appointment online, nor had they said anything when they rang two days ago to confirm. The answer had to be obvious, that’s why they hadn’t mentioned it. No one else had ever needed instructions for how to put on a robe, so of course they hadn’t thought to tell her. Soon they’d notice how long she’d been in this little room. Who knew what she was doing in there? They wouldn’t say anything, of course. Just smile. They were professionals. Of the highest grade luxury salon. They wouldn’t balk or sneer or comment, they’d fix her hair up all nice and as soon as that little bell rang out again signalling her departure, as soon as that door had slammed behind her, they’d all exchange a glance and roll their eyes. She contemplates for another minute, then finally removes her jumper, placing it carefully on one of the velvet hangers, and steps out of the
room.

Before Elaine has even settled into the seat, the woman’s long, hot pink fingernails are running through her ashy streaks, yanking them down and then fluffing it all back up again, pausing for a moment once she reaches brown roots, already grown out three inches. She doesn’t mention how tightly the robe is tied around Elaine’s waist or how she keeps adjusting it.

‘Touchup? Looks like it’s been awhile.’

‘A few months,’ Elaine says. ‘I’ve been liking the lived-in look.’ Then, more embarrassed: ‘I’m also trying to watch my spending a bit, you know?’

‘Of course, aren’t we all?’ Dina holds up her hands, wriggling those hot pink fingernails in the mirror, and in an exaggerated way mouths, press-ons. Elaine feigns surprise though she knows not a thing about press-ons. Acrylics, gels, it’s all the same to her, really. Doesn’t matter much what kind of fake it is, as long as the length is there. She once had her hair cut by a woman who was absolutely lovely until her unmanicured hands had taken Elaine over to the basin. Having her scalp scrubbed by someone’s fingerpads just wasn’t the same; she wanted to feel the tips of long, unknown nails, scratching, going deep, past her follicles and into her skull, until she could no longer hear the sound of her own thoughts. Even better if it was accompanied by the clanging of a few bangles around the wrist. That’s what she came for, really. It was never quite the same without a long, lacquered nail doing the grunt work. She had smiled through the rest of that treatment, resentfully watching the woman’s childlike nails in the mirror all the while, had tipped well at the end, and then promptly switched salons. Since then she’d been coming here.

‘So is it a colour and a trim today? Keeping things more of the same?’

‘Actually,’ Elaine hesitates. ‘I was thinking we’d switch it up a bit this time.’

‘Oh, exciting! What are you thinking, a bit of a fringe?’ Dina separates two strands of hair on either side of Elaine’s face and scrounges them up to look like the covergirl on the magazine a meter away. She’s squinting her eyes and making a kissy face at the camera. Elaine tries to imagine that same look on herself and gives up.

‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t think it would suit me. Plus, I’d never style it on my own. I was actually thinking about going a bit shorter.’

‘Shorter? How much are we talking? Two inches?’

‘A bit more, I was thinking.’

Dina frowns, reluctantly raising her fingers, in which she’s clutching the ends of Elaine’s rib-length hair a couple centimeters. ‘Three?’

‘To my chin.’

Dina pauses, nods. ‘Is everything alright at home?’

‘What? Of course it is.’

‘Did you recently go through a breakup?’

‘I’m married.’

‘Divorce?’

‘What? No.’

‘Death in the family?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have kids?’

‘Two girls,’ she stammers.

‘And they’re doing alright in school? They’ve got friends? Not being bullied or anything?’

Elaine laughs. ‘Everything is absolutely fine! I just need a change. I’ve had this same style for nine, ten years now. I just need a change.’

‘Okay,’ Dina shrugs. ‘I just have to ask, you know? Lots of women come in here heartbroken, depressed, out of sorts. Asking for all kinds of things.’

‘What kinds of things?’

‘All kinds. You wouldn’t believe. If they have long hair they want a bob, if they have dark hair they want to go blonde. Last week a client of mine walked in, been cutting her hair for six years, she always gets the same thing. About an inch off, just a trim. And a gloss. Always a gloss. Sometimes she gets a treatment too, depends on the season, but she never leaves without a gloss. Anyway, so last week, Monday I think, she walks in and tells me she wants pink hair. The whole thing. Hot pink. Had an entire Pinterest board of pictures prepared. I asked her if she was sure and she told me she’d been thinking about it for months. Had even gone to try on wigs at that stand in the mall - you know the one?’ Elaine did. ‘So I do it for her and it looks real nice, exactly like the pictures she’s showing me.’

‘So she liked it?’

‘Yeah, it was perfect. Until a week later when she came in crying, begging me to change it back. Except she had already used box dye on it so it had this weird, greyish tinge to it. I told her it would take awhile for it to get back to exactly how it was but she didn’t want to hear that. Wanted me to undo it magically or something, I dunno.’

‘I see. And that happens often?’

‘Every time. Every single time a client wants to change the hair they’ve had for years, I know they’re going to come back to the salon within a few days, a week max, crying about it, begging me to do something. And if they’re not crying at the salon, they’re on the phone crying to their friends.’ They both pause. ‘Well,’ Dina says as she releases her clutch on Elaine’s hair. ‘If you’re sure. I’m going to go mix your colours in the back, I’ll be right out. Can I get you any tea or water?’

Elaine’s not in the mood for it but she accepts a tea. Beside her, a young girl is having her hair blown out. Her stylist, fairly young herself, has one earbud in as she uses a round brush to pull the girl’s hair in every direction, applying more than enough tension at each pull, and occasionally losing her grip and whacking the girl, who at this says nothing, on the head. The girl’s eyes, unsure of where to land, dart back and forth in the mirror from the stylist’s rough hand to the waiting room,
where women of all ages sit scrolling on their phones, or chewing gum and staring off into space. Finally, she lands on Elaine’s own eyes in her mirror. Elaine thinks she should smile, but she doesn’t. Now the girl is staring straight ahead, making eye contact with herself, and it’s too late. Back now, with a goopy purple mixture that she’s swirling around with a brush, Dina begins painting the grown-out roots, first gently, hesitantly, then comfortably, layering more and more on, slicking it to the strips of foil someone has previously torn in preparation.

‘Did you get up to anything nice this past weekend?’ Dina asks, flipping a foiled piece of hair so that it’s blocking Elaine’s face.

‘Oh, not too much. Yourself?’

Dina, hands still working, purses her lips and considers this. ‘No, actually. Had a bit of a shit weekend. My sister got dumped so she drove up here to stay at my place for a bit while she figures out what to do next. Lots of crying.’

Oh,’ says Elaine. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s doing alright now.’

‘Don’t feel too bad, it was her fault.’

‘That she got dumped?’

‘Look, I know it sounds harsh, and normally I would never say that about anyone. Relationships are complicated, they take two, I know, I know. This, I’m telling you, is actually, completely, one hundred percent on her.’

‘What happened?’

‘It’s ridiculous, really. It’s her jaw. It pops.’

‘Pops?’

‘Yeah, like whenever she opens her mouth to yawn, or eat, even sometimes when she’s mad and she’s getting all worked up. If she’s really bitching about something it’ll just start popping out of nowhere.’

‘Huh.’

‘And it’s gotten so bad you can hear it whenever you’re around her. It used to be that only she noticed it, but it’s gotten much worse. So imagine you’re having a meal with her and the whole time you just hear this constant light popping in the background. It’s insufferable. It would drive anyone crazy.’

‘Has she seen a doctor?’

At this Dina laughs. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. I’m always telling her to go see someone but she refuses. I think it’s because before the popping there was grinding, you know. She says if everything had just been completely normal and then gone straight to the popping she would have been more concerned. Would have done something about it, probably. I think so. But she was already so used to the grinding by the time the popping came around that it just seemed like a natural
progression.’

‘Right.’

‘So anyway, you can imagine living with her and all, always having this soundtrack in the background of everything. It gets old.’

‘Sure,’ Elaine agrees.

‘So she’s living with her boyfriend—really nice guy by the way, it’s a shame—and they decide to go on this road trip. And of course the second they pull over at the first gas station she’s in there buying a pack of Milk Duds. Have you ever had them?’

‘No, actually, I don’t think so. They’re the caramel ones, right?’

‘Yeah, exactly. Caramel and chocolate. But the thing is, I don’t think anyone else ever buys them. I mean, you know the packaging. That hideous yellow. No one’s walking past them and just deciding to pick them up. So a lot of the time you get a pack and when you open it up they’re already stale. On account of them sitting on the shelf for so long, probably. They’re good if you get a fresh pack, but most of the time they’re just stale. I think she kind of likes that about them. She’s the type to love a project, you know? Anyway, she gets these Milk Duds, and it probably doesn’t help that her boyfriend hates Milk Duds. Like, loathes. At least if she had gotten something else for him but no, just the duds. So they’re sitting in the car and she just starts going at it. Like, really going at it. And they’re so hard so she’s gnawing on each one, just working away at it. And her jaw is going crazy. So I guess he’s trying to ignore it, and for the first bit he does, or at least he doesn’t say anything. She’s chewing and he’s just sitting there silently.’

‘Don’t they have music playing or something?’

‘No, that’s the other thing. The radio in the car is broken and they don’t have a speaker or anything. So they’re just on this road trip, can’t listen to anything but each other. So anyway, she’s still chewing and he’s being pretty polite all things considered. And she finally finishes the pack and you’d imagine he’s relieved, right? Like, probably thinking he can finally enjoy some peace and quiet. Except then she reaches into her bag and pulls out another pack and starts right back up again. Can you imagine?’

Elaine laughs.

‘It’s funny, right? Well, he didn’t think so. He stops the car, literally pulls over right on the side of the highway, and tells her that’s it. That he can’t take it anymore.’

‘He broke up with her on the side of the highway?’

‘He did. Not only that, but he tells her to take the car back and he calls a friend to come pick him up. Doesn’t even drive her home.’

‘But that’s insane! Didn’t she offer to stop eating the Milk Duds?’

‘She did. Which is really big for her because she loves them. Always has. But he said it was too late. And I think if it was just the Milk Duds it would have been fine, but it’s everything. Like, he has to listen to that sound every day of his life. I guess this just pushed him over the edge.’ As she wraps up the last bit of brown hair she shrugs. ‘What can you do? That’s life, I guess. Maybe now she’ll go see someone about it. Let’s get you under the blow dryer.’

Her head fully foiled, Elaine makes her way to the other side of the salon, passing women who are texting, chatting. Some are playing Candy Crush on their phones. One of the women on the way is speaking, yelling, really, into her phone while a stylist carefully arranges and snips layers into her hair: ‘No, no! Are you listening to me? Where’s your dad? Put him on the phone right now!’ Their eyes meet and the woman smiles sheepishly at her. Another woman, slightly older than Elaine, is sitting in the next blow dryer. From her angle, Elaine can see the woman scrolling through her camera roll, looking at holiday pictures. It looks warm. Family vacation. The occasional palm tree. She scrolls through a series of photos of herself with her teenage daughter, presumably, and with each swipe of the finger she stops, pinches the screen to zoom into her own face, observes it for a moment, then promptly moves on to the next. Swipe, pinch, swipe pinch, each time bypassing her daughter’s sunburnt nose and toothy smile. Elaine closes her eyes for a moment, focusing only on the warm air blowing around her. Each time she dyes her hair it seems to her that by the time she arrives home her roots are already trying to push through, to be visible again. Not to mention the brassiness. Liters and liters of purple shampoo line her bathroom cupboards, each one promising to prevent nature from running its course. She’s used to the smell now. It’s kind of nice, actually. She inhales it as she drifts off slightly, never falling into a deep sleep, only resting her eyes while her ears and nose continue taking in the rest of the room around her.

‘Elaine, Elaine.’ She opens her eyes to Dina gently rousing her. ‘I don’t want to bother you but you’ve been under there a while, I think we’re ready to rinse it out.’

‘Oh, no bother at all. Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping quite right lately. Just wanted to rest my eyes a little.’

‘Oh, of course. It’s nice under there, isn’t it? Kind of secluded, too. Like you’re in your own little world.’

At the basin, the stylists are dropping their clients off to be taken care of by some trainees. They’re young for the most part, and nervously dipping their fingers into various scalps. Not Dina, though. She takes Elaine to one of the stations and shampoos her herself. Those nails, the jangle of her bracelets thrashing against each other, the smell of the shampoo, of lavender, of vanilla. Even the robe. It really is an experience. Elaine’s eyes close again as she relaxes completely, only now noticing the tension that has built up in her shoulders and neck. No sooner does she lean back fully into the basin than the sound of the tap stops. She feels her head, now being wrapped in a towel, return to its full weight. Already over. Back in her chair she sees that the young girl from before is now gone, off recounting the entire affair to her friends, no doubt. Dina pulls out her scissors and with them begins to snip. First gently, like with the foils, then faster, taking off larger and larger chunks of hair. When she finishes, a young woman, different from the one who was working when she came into the salon, but similar enough, immediately comes over to sweep up the piles of hair on the ground. She sweeps, avoiding eye contact with Elaine, trying to rush away as quickly as she can. The blow dryer sounds, muffling the sound of the sweeping, and of the chatter, and of Elaine’s thoughts, until her hair is completely dry. Those who walk by notice that the amount of hair on the ground is far greater than the amount remaining on her head, and stop to compliment the decision that has been made. Wow, short really suits you! It absolutely takes years off of you! I almost want to go short now that I’ve seen your hair! Dina, now spraying the last bits of hairspray all over, swivels the chair around and takes a step back.

‘So, what do you think?’

Elaine looks, ponders. Automatically she feels herself smile and nod. ‘It’s nice, I like it. I love it.’

‘Is that enough of a change for you?’

Elaine throws her head back, laughing a little too hard. She heads back to the cabins where her jumper awaits her, then over to reception to pay. As she taps her card and says her goodbyes, Dina is already calling the name of another woman. Rachel. She opens the door, once again sounding that bell, and is hit by a gust of cold air. It’s evening now and the temperature has dropped in the hours she was away. As Elaine makes her way to her car, she finds herself automatically reaching to brush hair that’s no longer there behind her ears. In the car, she flips the mirror down and takes a look at herself. She swivels her head around a few times, and bursts into tears. She cries loudly the entire drive home, and in the walk between her car and front door, wipes away the remaining tears and replaces them with a smile, anticipating the compliments that are about to come her way.