“Ring-a-ding”
Belladonna absolutely loathed the sound of the Salon Delilah's doorbell. Not only was the obnoxiously happy sound a nuisance to a tired head, worse yet, the sound of the door bell was the sure sign that work was about to enter the salon. And Belladonna was not too fond of work.
This time, however, the other beauty-and-hair-assistants who usually got all lived up by the promise of a customer to please were behaving very strangely. At the sound of the doorbell, the common, high-pitched chitter-chatter about fashion had suddenly stopped and everybody had turned around to look at the door. Belladonna was the last to finally put down her issue of Cosmopolitan to see what had caught the attention of her peers.
And what a sight it was. In the doorway stood a tall, ridiculously skinny woman dressed in a mink coat that was far too big and fluffy for her. Her head was adorned with an enormous blue bonnet that featured what seemed to be the full stock of the local florist. Underneath it, garishly red curls framed her skinny crane face and tried to steal the focus from her absurdly long nose and deep wrinkles. Carefully hidden in wrinkles and tasteless blue eyeshade, her black eyes stared out at them. There could be no doubt in Belladonna's heart. This was Hannah Nightingale, the 60 years-old former primadonna and currently most feared beauty-parlor-visitor in all of London. The Customer From Hell had arrived.
It was during the same moment that Belladonna discovered that her faithful colleagues had all mysteriously vanished. Belladonna was left completely alone to fight this old dragon.
“Hell-oooo, little one,” the dragon whistled at Belladonna as she shed her enormous mink coat, revealing an even more ridiculously looking bright blue dress underneath. “It is time to preserve my undying beauty!” Undying, bah, Belladonna though as she tried to avoid the feeling of nausea that was erupting inside her at the sight of the customer's wrinkled neck. With a clumsy gesture that might have been supposed to impress Belladonna, Hannah winked her 'servant' over and helplessly tried to climb one of the fancy salon chairs. With a feeling that this encounter would not end happily, at least not for both of them, Belladonna slowly moved over to the side of the customer's chair.
“So. What does the lady want?” Belladonna managed to say while trying to forget just how close she currently was to those wrinkles. “Oh, you know, just the average. The full treatment.” the dragon sang. Belladonna sank. The full treatment! It was no wonder why this customer was feared by everyone in the salon. With a loud sigh, she went to the remedy cupboard and started to pull out shampoo, creme and cosmetics. “Oh, and you know, I'd prefer it if you gave me what I deserve. I won't be satisfied with the stuff you use on the normal customers, little one,” the dragon hissed from the other side of the room. Belladonna felt a sudden urge to strangle the bottle of conditioner she held in her hand. “Of course I won't give you the second best,” Belladonna managed to say without it sounding like too much of a threat as she stuffed the remedies back into the cupboard, only to take the same things out a few seconds later.
The full treatment consisted of shampooing, occasional coloring, conditioning, face mask, creme treatment, and make-up. At least, it usually did. “Oh, won't you give me a foot massage as well, little one?” the dragon chirped and “I'd prefer it if you curled my hair as well, little one,” the dragon snapped. One hour became two became three and a half before it was time for the final make-up. Belladonna, who was now very, very close to the edge of Absolute Destructive Anger bowed over the customer's still heavily wrinkled but at least now properly foundationed face and pulled out the mascara brush. “Oh, and please take note that you cover all of my leashes, won't you little one?” the dragon whined and pulled her hand over her face, presumably to point to her lashes. Unfortunately for her, old people have clumsy movements. Unfortunately for her, her movements were very clumsy. Unfortunately for her, her movement managed to smear out the eyeshade surrounding her eyes, mixing it with her own mascara, while, at the same time, showing the mascara brush into Belladonna's eyes, knocking said Belladonna over, and landing her into the dust bin.
“Uh... are you hurt, little one?”
Belladonna jumped to her feet. “WHATDOYOUMEAN'AREYOUHURTLITTLEONE'YOUOLDSTINKIN'FARTOFANOLDWITCH GETTHEHELLOUTOFHEREORI'LLROASTYOULIKEABARBECUECHICKENYOU....”
Smack.
Mrs. Harris had rushed in and bitch-slapped Belladonna like no one ever bitch-slapped Belladonna before. “OUT! OUT RIGHT NOW!” Grumpily, Belladonna moved into the back of the shop as Mrs. Harris rushed to her customer, excusing for her employee's extremely bad behavior and assuring her that, no, her employees did not grow claws, not even if they tried to strangle someone, which they surely didn't do – at least not any of the others.
A few minutes later, a much more relaxed Hannah Nightingale left the Salon Delilah. Mrs. Harris had succeeded in her attempt to calm down the customer, and even made sure that she would come back again. “It was nothing.” she said to herself as she walked down the avenue. “I was just imagining, and the little one sure did her very best.” Still, her heart skipped a beat as Belladonna was suddenly right in front of her. “I'm very sorry for my behavior,” Belladonna said before Nightingale had any chance to get away. “And because we at the Salon Delilah are all very sorry if you had a bad experience, let me at least give you this little gift.” Carefully, Belladonna handed her former customer a bright golden comb. The dragon stared at the comb. “But isn't this..?”
“Oh don't worry, we can afford it. And if you visit us again, that will be my pay-back.”