Welcome to California, Chanel., chapter 6
Halfway into the driveway, Mom finally noticed what I did to Gabe's hair.
"Gabe, honey, what happened to your hair?"
"Chanel spiked it for me. Isn't it cool?" Gabe grinned.
The car came to a screeching halt. I was dreading her every word.
"Chanel? This is your doing?"
I mumbled something.
"I don't want you to ever spike Gabe's hair again. You understand me? I don't want my eight year old looking like some... like some... Sex Pistol," the words slid off her tongue as if they were scum.
"It's just fucking hair. He's in elementary school; I doubt that anyone thought he was a punk."
"Chanel! Don't ever say that word in my presence! Picking you up at the police station was enough, let alone having you corrupting your brother with your language and music," she said viciously.
I opened my mouth to argue, but by the way Soph and Gabe were looking at me, I figured I should shut up.
I got out in the garage, and without a word, went up into the bathroom. I had something pent up inside still that I was dying to get out.
***
"Let me in," Soph said through the door.
"I'm busy!" Chanel screamed back. She was rinsing household bleach out of her newly white-blonde, and badly burned scalp. She should've bought a bleaching kit instead of using the type meant for clothes. It hurt like hell.
"Doing what?" she said curiously.
"Doesn't fucking matter. Use mom's bathroom," she snapped, chopping off a length of hair.
"C'mon Chanel," Soph pleaded.
"No."
"Let me in!" she screamed, and pounded on the door.
Chanel jumped out of shock and sent a nearby bottle of magenta tie-dye flying.
"Fuck! Soph! You made me drop it."
"Drop what?"
"Nothing. Go use mom's bathroom," Chanel growled. She was losing her already short patience.
"Fine," she whined, and her footsteps disappeared up the stairs.
With a sigh, Chanel picked up the bottle and set it on the counter. She continued cutting her hair. Several inches of bleached hair fell to the ground, leaving her hair about shoulder-blade length. Then, the remains of the tie-dye bottle were poured on her hair, the rose-colored liquid dripping off and onto the old t-shirt she was wearing. She threw the paintbrush to the floor and hoisted herself up on the counter. She didn't know how long the wait would be.
She could hear the phone ringing in the other room. Someone ran down the stairs to answer it.
"Hello?" It was Soph.
"Oh yeah, that guy she got arrested with?"
Chanel listened in curiously.
"'Kay, Hold on," Soph said. Chanel could hear her put the receiver down.
There was a knock at the bathroom door again. "Chanel! Phone!" Soph shouted.
Chanel wrapped a towel around her head and ran to the kitchen silently.
She picked up the phone, one hand balancing the turban-like mound on her head.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey. Chanel? It's Billie."
"Figured that." She laughed.
"So, what're you doing?"
"Dye—uh, fixing my hair."
"Right."
"So, what'd you call me up for?"
"Just wondering what you were up to. I was wor--"
"Aw, fuck you Billie," Chanel teased. "I can take care of myself. I waved to you before I left."
"Nah. It was just because of the whole thing. I thought your mom'd be pissed."
"Not much. She gave me the same bullshit she always sort of gave me whenever I got in trouble years ago. She did get pissed off that I spiked my brother Gabe's hair though. Said she doesn't want her darling eight year old to look like a Sex Pistol. "
Billie laughed, "A Sex Pistol?"
"Yeah."
"Listen. I'm going to Gilman this weekend. Vanessa's gonna be there--"
Chanel scoffed.
"--But you can come if you want. Just try to tolerate her for me."
"I'll think about it."
"I doubt she's bringing Ann. Believe it or not, Vanessa's pretty damn punk rock, even though she's a little high maintenance."
"A little? A little?" Chanel roared with laughter. "Hell... If she's a little high-maintenance, Soph's no beauty queen."
"Okay, a lot. Whatever. She just cares about her appearance, what the hell's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, just saying..."
"Okay."
"Hey," Chanel began to improvise to get out of the conversation. "I gotta go... uh. Wash out my hair."
"Okay... Bye."
"Bye."
She hung up the phone and sighed, removing the wet towel from her head. She headed back into the bathroom and stuck her head underneath the faucet, eyes closed. When she was sure it was all washed out, Chanel toweled it dry and looked at the mirror.
It looked pretty damn good. It was a cotton candy pink. The burns from the bleach weren't even noticeable.
Visibly happier, she swept the scissors that had just recently been used to cut off her hair off the counter and headed upstairs. This wasn't over yet.
"Gabe, honey, what happened to your hair?"
"Chanel spiked it for me. Isn't it cool?" Gabe grinned.
The car came to a screeching halt. I was dreading her every word.
"Chanel? This is your doing?"
I mumbled something.
"I don't want you to ever spike Gabe's hair again. You understand me? I don't want my eight year old looking like some... like some... Sex Pistol," the words slid off her tongue as if they were scum.
"It's just fucking hair. He's in elementary school; I doubt that anyone thought he was a punk."
"Chanel! Don't ever say that word in my presence! Picking you up at the police station was enough, let alone having you corrupting your brother with your language and music," she said viciously.
I opened my mouth to argue, but by the way Soph and Gabe were looking at me, I figured I should shut up.
I got out in the garage, and without a word, went up into the bathroom. I had something pent up inside still that I was dying to get out.
***
"Let me in," Soph said through the door.
"I'm busy!" Chanel screamed back. She was rinsing household bleach out of her newly white-blonde, and badly burned scalp. She should've bought a bleaching kit instead of using the type meant for clothes. It hurt like hell.
"Doing what?" she said curiously.
"Doesn't fucking matter. Use mom's bathroom," she snapped, chopping off a length of hair.
"C'mon Chanel," Soph pleaded.
"No."
"Let me in!" she screamed, and pounded on the door.
Chanel jumped out of shock and sent a nearby bottle of magenta tie-dye flying.
"Fuck! Soph! You made me drop it."
"Drop what?"
"Nothing. Go use mom's bathroom," Chanel growled. She was losing her already short patience.
"Fine," she whined, and her footsteps disappeared up the stairs.
With a sigh, Chanel picked up the bottle and set it on the counter. She continued cutting her hair. Several inches of bleached hair fell to the ground, leaving her hair about shoulder-blade length. Then, the remains of the tie-dye bottle were poured on her hair, the rose-colored liquid dripping off and onto the old t-shirt she was wearing. She threw the paintbrush to the floor and hoisted herself up on the counter. She didn't know how long the wait would be.
She could hear the phone ringing in the other room. Someone ran down the stairs to answer it.
"Hello?" It was Soph.
"Oh yeah, that guy she got arrested with?"
Chanel listened in curiously.
"'Kay, Hold on," Soph said. Chanel could hear her put the receiver down.
There was a knock at the bathroom door again. "Chanel! Phone!" Soph shouted.
Chanel wrapped a towel around her head and ran to the kitchen silently.
She picked up the phone, one hand balancing the turban-like mound on her head.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey. Chanel? It's Billie."
"Figured that." She laughed.
"So, what're you doing?"
"Dye—uh, fixing my hair."
"Right."
"So, what'd you call me up for?"
"Just wondering what you were up to. I was wor--"
"Aw, fuck you Billie," Chanel teased. "I can take care of myself. I waved to you before I left."
"Nah. It was just because of the whole thing. I thought your mom'd be pissed."
"Not much. She gave me the same bullshit she always sort of gave me whenever I got in trouble years ago. She did get pissed off that I spiked my brother Gabe's hair though. Said she doesn't want her darling eight year old to look like a Sex Pistol. "
Billie laughed, "A Sex Pistol?"
"Yeah."
"Listen. I'm going to Gilman this weekend. Vanessa's gonna be there--"
Chanel scoffed.
"--But you can come if you want. Just try to tolerate her for me."
"I'll think about it."
"I doubt she's bringing Ann. Believe it or not, Vanessa's pretty damn punk rock, even though she's a little high maintenance."
"A little? A little?" Chanel roared with laughter. "Hell... If she's a little high-maintenance, Soph's no beauty queen."
"Okay, a lot. Whatever. She just cares about her appearance, what the hell's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, just saying..."
"Okay."
"Hey," Chanel began to improvise to get out of the conversation. "I gotta go... uh. Wash out my hair."
"Okay... Bye."
"Bye."
She hung up the phone and sighed, removing the wet towel from her head. She headed back into the bathroom and stuck her head underneath the faucet, eyes closed. When she was sure it was all washed out, Chanel toweled it dry and looked at the mirror.
It looked pretty damn good. It was a cotton candy pink. The burns from the bleach weren't even noticeable.
Visibly happier, she swept the scissors that had just recently been used to cut off her hair off the counter and headed upstairs. This wasn't over yet.
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