Free Not Your Everyday Housewife by Mary Campisi Page B

Tula Rae said you needed some help?”
    His eyes are even bluer than Alec Rohan’s. Shea lifted a piece of hair. “It’s a mess.” She laughed. “My friend decided we should all dye our hair, you know, to look like movie stars. I was supposed to be Liz Taylor, she was Marilyn Monroe and my other friend—” she stopped mid-sentence, realizing she must sound ridiculous.
    “Who was she?” he asked, his full lips curving to reveal stark white teeth. “Raquel Welch? “
    “Sophia Loren.”
    “Ah, Sophia. Good choices.” He leaned over and she inhaled his cologne, a spicy mix of musk and nutmeg. “But why would anyone ever cover such exquisite hair?” Marcus sifted chunks of her hair through his fingers, lifted the underside. “Was it virgin?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Your hair, was it virgin before this?”
    “Oh, yes. Yes it was virgin.”
    “Good. Let’s give it a treatment and see how close we can match this to your natural color.” He let her hair fall and stepped away. “You do want to go natural, don’t you?”
    “Of course,” she said, though she’d been thinking of keeping up the Liz ruse until a second ago.
    “Okay.” He extended a hand and helped her from the chair. “Right this way, Shea.”
    She walked beside the gorgeous young man with the blue eyes and tight jeans, and felt old and dumpy. And lumpy. Why hadn’t she listened to Derry today and worn the pink velour again instead of green scrubs? At least she could look neat, even if she was twenty-five pounds overweight with bi-color hair.
    What did it matter anyway? Her self esteem lived in the basement, no sense trying to yank it up the stairs now.
    “Let’s give your scalp a massage and then we’ll get started,” Marcus said, motioning toward a chair.
    He was well-spoken, polite, with just a hint of familiarity. That’s how he gains the trust of his clients , Shea thought as he massaged peppermint-lavender oil into her scalp with long, capable fingers. His voice swirled around her, dipping and pulling like warm taffy.
    “Where are you from, Shea?”
    “Reston, Virginia.”
    “Ah, the city. Let me guess, you’re a nurse.”
    She laughed. “How’d you guess?” His fingers were wonderful. Her eyes slipped shut and she tilted her head forward.
    “What kind of nurse?”
    “ER.”
    “Do you like it?”
    Ah, the proverbial question. “No, actually, I hate it.”
    “Then why don’t you do something else?”
    “Because I have responsibilities.” Children, a husband, a baby...
    “Don’t you deserve to be happy?”
    It was the casualness in his voice that really irritated her. She jerked her head up and glared at him from the mirror. “Spoken like a person who has nothing to worry about but himself. And who said I wasn’t happy? I’m fine. Perfect.”
    Marcus opened his mouth to speak, his face serious. A second passed, two, then his lips slid into an easy smile and he said, “Live and let live, huh? Let’s see what we can do with this color.” He lifted the bottom strands of undyed hair. “Your natural color is a mix of strawberries and oranges. Why would you want to be Liz Taylor when you are so clearly Ann Margaret?”

     

Chapter 9
     
    Cyn flipped a page of Good Housekeeping , stared at the forty-something woman holding a shiny frying pan in one hand and a bottle of Dawn in the other. Victory smeared the woman’s face.
    As if life’s challenges could be determined by scouring pans and dish detergents. Cyn flipped another page.
    A distinguished, fifty-something, professor-type male face stared back at her from the top of an article entitled, “Blessing or Curse: The Truth About Online Trading.”
    Next page. “Are You Addicted to the Internet?” by Dr. Ralph Laminger. It starts out innocently enough. People want to connect with the outside world in the comfort of their homes. They can engage in nameless, faceless pursuit, where, with the click of a button, they share secrets, thoughts, hopes and dreams all via