High Class Books: Jack Canon’s American Destiny by Greg Sandora @gregsandora

Like earlier, when Lisa and I walked into the salon the young
women who walked over to greet us made quite an impression. Her
movements caught my eye as we entered and I secretly hoped she’d
be interacting with us. Walking like it was an art form, she slinked her
way toward the front reception area and strangely unlike most people
the closer she got the better she looked. An all black mini dress barely
covered her. From a high collar, it scooped ultra low backless loosely
draping her bottom revealing some of her sides and lowest back.
I could make out a couple tattoos without trying to hard. They
were both in handwritten script; one across the exposed part of her
foot read butterflies. The writing flowed beautifully at the angle of her
heels. The other–four lines of a story centered across her ribs.
Normally I don’t even like tattoos, now I’m fantasizing about tracing
the letters with my tongue and tasting her skin. Once upon a time, a
girl got her heart broken…
Her hair was gorgeous. She wore it mid back length, stick
straight, with bangs just touching the top of her softly brushed brows.
Crazy, I’ve never liked black hair before, but I was fascinated by the
shine.
Close up her face looked smooth as silk, like it was in soft
focus. Her delicate features reminded me of a new fawn with giant
eyes and a turned up nose. I thought, the lighting must be magnificent
in here, so I looked over at Lisa to test the theory.
Lisa shot me a look like ‘don’t you dare compare me to her.’
It wasn’t the lighting.
Face to face, I focused on her steely blue eyes under large lids
covered in smoky dark charcoal.
Her body language was saying no, quickly twitching her head.
She looked Lisa up and down as if she was nothing, and then briefly
turned a dismissive glance towards me.
Through high gloss lips that were a perfect match for a hot
pink scarf she wore, she asked, “What can we do for you today?”
I hadn’t heard a tone that condescending in years. I wasn’t
used to being treated like that. The problem was she had an attitude
like we couldn’t believe. I thought, how can something all wrong, be
so perfect.
Lisa seemed a little uncomfortable too. Then, I remembered,
with my Boston Cap and Ray-Bans, I’m as invisible as any other
middle-aged guy would be to a girl her age.
As I was removing my sunglasses and cap, Lisa said
sheepishly, “Do you have anything available now for a walk in?”
“Right now?” Over a look like you can’t be serious.
“Well we’re on our lunch hour,” Lisa managed.
During the verbal exchange, I was scanning the salon for eye
contact with anyone in charge.
A man came quickly over, “To what do we owe the pleasure
today?”
The pink lips said, “I was just telling them we have nothing
avail…”
“Nonsense,” he said. Bumping her aside with his hip, he
moved directly to the middle of the counter.
“I’m Jean-Claude; I’ll take it from here Daphne!” Shooting
her an if looks could kill glance, he turned to us.
“Daphne does not realize she may have just told the next
President of the United States we can’t help him. That will never do!”
He clapped his hands in the air quickly saying to Daphne,
“Get my station ready! I will take you myself, follow me.”
Jean-Claude was unfazed by the beauty and dismissed her out
of hand. While an assistant was shampooing Lisa, Jean-Claude stood
by telling me he was a big fan of the campaign and he wanted to
volunteer.
Following Daphne’s movement around the salon as if I was on
surveillance, I…