Sunset Salon

Jackie Hearst said goodbye to her last client for the day and tidied up her station. It had only been a quick trim, so there wasn’t much to do but sweep and wipe down the chair. With everything spic-and-span, Jackie locked up and sat down at her station for a quick break.

Her new client would be along in a half hour or so and she’d need most of that time to prepare herself. One of the ways she did that was to look around at her little salon, at how each station was fitted with new equipment, professional lighting, and the best products money could buy. The space was sharp, inviting, and most importantly, hers.

She’d inherited the shop from her mother, who’d been a hairdresser for as long as Jackie could remember. Momma had done her best with the shop, kept it going as the neighborhood deteriorated around it, and her clients either passed away or found other places to get their hair done. When her mother got sick, she’d begged Jackie not to sell the place, to keep it going for the people in the neighborhood that still needed it. Jackie had agreed and set about improving the place as best she could.

She’d worked in the mortuary business for twenty years and had a good 401k and some decent savings. She’d liquidated both to remodel the shop and rename it Sunset Salon. Then she’d set about attracting new clients, using social media and good old-fashioned word of mouth. That had worked some but not nearly enough and after a few months of scraping by, Sunset Salon was on the verge of going under.

Then a new type of clientele came knocking, one who knew about Jackie’s experience as a mortician. One who paid in cash, and plenty of it. One who only came at night, after all her regular customers and the few hairdressers she employed had gone home. Her after-dark clients were the reason Jackie had everything she did, the reason Sunset Salon wasn’t just getting by but thriving.