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    What Can We Do? – (Chapter: Hair)

    Story written on February 15, 2008 by spashley18.
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    Genre(s): N/A
    Rating: N/A
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    Number of Comments: 2
    Words: 1650
    Story Shortlink: https://assertive-maroon-jellyfish.104-250-143-187.cpanel.site/?p=18033
    Author Notes:

    Chapter 6- Spencer and Ashley are aspiring singers. What will they do for their manager, Ethan, to be noticed and do they really have a choice?

     

    “Right” I grumble again. I honestly don’t care what they do to my hair as long as I don’t look like Hayley from Paramore. Cool hair but not for me. She is really hot though!

     

    “Ashley? Hello? ASHLEY!” Ethan screamed.

     

    “Huh? What?” Ethan said pulling me abruptly from my fantasy with sweet and innocent Hayley.

     

    “Spencer is waiting in the limo. Go!” Ethan said irritably. So much for being in a good mood!

     

    I stood up slowly, stretched, and finally started to make my way to the door walking torture ably slow just for my amusement.

     

    Spencer’s POV

     

    I’ve been sitting in the limo for a few minutes. Where is Ashley? Suddenly the door opens and Ashley jumps in the limo. She sits down…on my lap.

     

    “Ahhhhhh,” she screams and falls onto the floor. She’s still lying on the floor and mumbles, “Fuck…sorry.”

     

    “It’s okay, really,” I reply.

     

    She slowly stands up and fixes her hair then sits across from me. She doesn’t look at me for the rest of the fifteen minutes we are in the limo. I had no idea being friends with a lesbian would be this awkward.

     

     

    Ashley’s POV

     

    I am trying to stay calm right now. I’m sitting in the chair of the stylist Ethan got for me. I’ve already had my hair colored. I asked the colorist about whose hair she had done AFTER she had colored my hair. Guess who one of her clients is? Yep, Hayley freaking Williams. Plus there are no mirrors.  I hope I get out of here alive.

     

    At least the stylist doesn’t seem to be cutting off much of my hair.

     

     

    Spencer’s POV

     

    That was an odd experience. Getting your hair done with no idea what is happening. I finally got to look in a mirror and I’m not totally against this hair. It does look a little more rockish and jagged but not too much. And it’s very blond. Like platinum blond.

     

    All of a sudden there’s a scream from around the corner. Oh no…Ashley. I walk swiftly around the corner and see Ashley looking dazed.

     

    “Ashley,” I say quietly. She scowls. “What’s wrong?”  She raises her eyebrows and points to her hair. I really look at her hair. I think it looks good. Honestly, I think it looks hot. Much more rock star than mine. It’s mostly still the chestnut brown color it was before just with streaks of red and purple. It’s very jagged just like mine.

     

    “Ash, it looks great,” I say trying to comfort. I don’t know how much good it’s going to do. You can tell she takes her hair very seriously. She looks like she’s going to cry. I pull her into an awkward hug. “I think it looks great,” I repeat again. She looks up at me and whispers, “Really?” I try to whisper a reply but I don’t think anything came out. I’m lost in chocolate brown gaze. All thoughts of hair are forgotten.

     

    Suddenly, a very flamboyant middle-aged gay man comes strutting around the corner. He stops and catches in our embrace. “Oh girls, I’ve heard so much about you from Ethan. I’m the owner of this fine establishment,” he exclaims laughing to himself. Ashley and I are no longer hugging but still standing close to each other.

     

    “I love what you are doing. When Ethan told me what he was doing with you girls, I was so excited,” he continued rambling.

     

    “So show me something,” the man said. I looked at Ashley confused. She looked stoic and was saying nothing.

     

    “You want us to sing?” I questioned.

     

    “Oh no,” he chuckled. “Come on hun give her a smooch.”

     

    I looked over at Ashley and her eyes flared. She quickly gave me a kiss on the cheek then stormed off.

     

    I quickly followed her; still unclear to what was going on. Why am I always the last to catch on? The last thing I heard before she went to the door was, “I’m going to kill that fucking bastard!” Huh?

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