The Lodge on Holly Road. Sheila Roberts

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      She gave Larry a wicked smile and cooed, “No problem.” Then she picked up a section of hair and made a radical cut. Oh, that felt good. Let’s do it again. Another section of hair disappeared.

      “Whoa,” said Larry. “Just a trim. Remember?”

      “Trust me. I know what I’m doing,” she said with a Grinchy grin, and more of Larry’s hair vacated his head. Then she got out the clippers.

      “Whoa, stop,” Larry cried.

      Too late. She was already running the clippers up the back of his head.

      “Hey,” he protested, trying to move his head. That got him a nick in the ear. “Yow! What’s with you?”

      “Just giving you a trim,” she told him sweetly. “Like you said.”

      “That’s no trim! It’s a scalping.”

      “Oh, Larry, I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess we’d better stop.” With half his head buzzed and the other half shaggy. Hee, hee.

      “You can’t stop now! I look like a freak.”

      Yeah, it would be a shame to look like the freak he was. “Well, Larry, if you promise to keep your hands to yourself we’ll finish this.”

      “What do you mean?”

      She didn’t say anything, merely stood there, staring at him in the mirror until he actually made eye contact.

      Then he scowled. “Okay, okay.”

      She rewarded him with a smile. “You’re going to look totally buff.”

      “Buff, huh?” He thought a moment. “Yeah, buff is good.”

      When she was done, Larry’s hair was ready for the marines. Too bad the rest of his body wasn’t.

      She handed him a mirror and turned the chair so he could see the back of his head.

      He nodded approvingly. “Hey, it’s not bad. I kinda like it.” He smiled up at her. “Nice job.”

      Oh, great. She’d earned the undying devotion of Larry the lech. “Um, thanks,” she said.

      She took off the cape and Larry forgot his promise and decided to stretch. She was too fast for him this time and danced backward, away from his lecherous paws. He frowned.

      But when he paid, he gave her a ten-dollar tip.

      She watched him go out the door and sighed. “Why do I feel like a pole dancer?”

      Shiloh was next to her now. “You should be so lucky. Pole dancers make a lot more than we do.”

      Two more cuts, two more decent tips and then she left to collect the kids from the babysitter and hit the road for their Christmas adventure. So far their Christmases hadn’t exactly been something you’d put on a greeting card. Often there’d been a boyfriend involved and a fight, or a tipsy neighbor stopping in to share the yuletide cheer, drink in hand, always a scraggly bargain tree with cheap presents that broke by the end of the day or weren’t what the kids really wanted.

      She wasn’t going to come through in the Santa department this year, any more than she had last year, since Carlos still wanted a dog. It was hard to produce a dog when her landlady didn’t allow pets. “All that barking, my nerves couldn’t take it,” Mrs. Entwhistle said whenever Missy broached the subject.

      Mrs. Entwhistle lived in the other half of the duplex Missy rented and was hard of hearing. She probably wouldn’t hear a Saint Bernard barking in her ear. She sure never heard when the teenagers down the block were partying till all hours of the morning or racing their cars. Or when the couple across the street had too much to drink and started yelling loud enough to drag Missy out of a sound sleep.

      “Dogs are so messy,” Mrs. Entwhistle would add, strengthening her argument.

      So were children. Missy never pointed that out. The last thing she wanted was Mrs. E. deciding she didn’t want children living next door, either. So, no dog for Carlos. They couldn’t really afford a dog, anyway. But how did you explain that to a seven-year-old?

      And then there was Lalla. Oh, how she wanted a grandma. This was even more impossible to produce than a dog. It had just been Missy and her mom when she was growing up. So there was no grandma by marriage. And Missy’s mom was no longer on the scene. After wrapping her car around a tree while under the influence, Mom had gone to climb inside that great whiskey bottle in the sky.

      Still, in spite of the no-dog-no-grandma thing, Missy was going to give her kids a wonderful Christmas this year. They were going to Icicle Falls to stay at the Icicle Creek Lodge, a big, beautiful place with a fireplace in the lobby and rooms that had fireplaces, too. At Christmas, the B and B not only provided its usual breakfast but dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. One of her clients had told her about the place, and she’d been saving for it all year. This was going to be a Christmas her kids would never forget.

      She could hardly wait to get up there and show them the real, live vintage sleigh in the lobby, decorated with greenery and ribbons and filled with presents and teddy bears. There’d be no dog and no grandma in there, but staying in such a cool place should make up for the fact that Carlos was getting a stuffed dog and Lalla was getting a princess doll.

      The kids were literally bouncing with excitement when she picked them up. Or maybe it was a sugar buzz, since her girlfriend Miranda’s three kids were also bouncing. And yelling. And jumping on Miranda’s tired couch. Miranda was very fond of Oreos and thought them an excellent afternoon snack, usually ignoring the carrot and celery sticks Missy gave her to dole out. (“Hey, the kids like Oreos better.”) Carlos’s pants were muddy and ripped, a sure sign he’d been playing in the run-down playground half a block away, hopefully not unsupervised, and Lalla’s dress had a chocolate stain on the bodice while her ever-present tiara sat crookedly on top of her cornrows. Obviously, they had enjoyed themselves.

      “Are you guys ready for fun?” she asked, hugging them both.

      “As if they don’t have fun here,” snorted Miranda.

      Of course they had fun at the babysitter’s. She gave them junk food and they could watch cartoons all afternoon. Miranda had a good heart, but was she a good influence? If only Missy could afford to put the kids in some fancy day care with planned activities and...carrot sticks.

      Well, down the road. She wouldn’t always be at Style Savings. Oh, no. She was already looking at employment sites online. She’d done makeovers for a couple of her friends and was putting their before-and-after pictures in a notebook so she could show just how expert she was when she finally went to interview at that high-end salon. Unlike her mother, who never got beyond waiting tables at the nearby breakfast place, she was going to make something of herself. She was going to make her children proud.

      And, meanwhile, this Christmas, they’d be making a memory worthy of the Hallmark Channel (which she’d be able to afford someday). She thanked Miranda, then said, “Okay, guys, let’s go,” and with a squeal they bolted for her beater Honda.

      “Have a great time,” Miranda said, giving her a hug. “And don’t do СКАЧАТЬ