Bad Hair 8 - Day Perish By Pedicure by Nancy J. Cohen Read Free Book Online Page B

mad at him.”
    She crossed one leg over the other. Something didn’t add up in this equation. “But he’s the one who started it all. Chris got angry at Tyler’s remark in the bar, and she left in a huff. I was witness to that much. You didn’t do anything.”
    “Yes, I did.” Georgia sniffed, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I let him sit next to me. That was enough to put me in Christine’s black book. Listen, Marla,” she began, but just then Sampson swooped down on them.
    “There you are,” the artistic director said, waving his arms. “What is going to happen to us? I am ruined, ruined!”
    Marla shot to her feet. “Calm down. Tell me, who’s in charge of the group now?”
    “Jan would be the logical person to take over.” He shook his head, as though to dismiss administrative duties as beneath his talent. “We’ll have to cancel. What a disaster! Good God, the scandal will destroy me.” His face was chalky white.
    “That’s not true,” Marla said in a soothing tone, while Georgia rose slowly with a dazed look on her face. “I don’t see any reason why the show can’t go on. As long as the sales reps and salon owners manage the counters, you and Ron can proceed with your stage demos. How much stuff got unloaded last night?”
    “All of the heavy equipment.” Sampson had regained his composure and was now glowering at her. “But we’ll be delayed in putting the exhibit together, and we still have to prep the models who are coming by this afternoon.”
    “No problem. Did you pick up your exhibitor badge?”
    “I’ve got mine,” he said, tapping his pocket.
    “Georgia? Do you have yours?”
    Georgia glanced at Marla as though she were from another planet. “Huh?”
    “Come with me.” Grasping Georgia’s elbow, Marla marched her toward the registration desk and pushed her into the line for exhibitors. “Here’s the stuff you told me to bring,” she said, handing over the sack she’d brought from home.
    “Thanks. I’ll wash up in the restroom after we get our badges. I must look like a wreck.”
    Marla turned her attention to the registration clerk when their turn came and gave their names. Then she waited outside the ladies’ room for Georgia to refresh herself.
    Sampson trailed after her, pinning his badge onto his blue cotton dress shirt. He chatted up a storm as though needing to distract himself, asking Marla about her salon and offering advice until Georgia emerged. “Let’s go,” he said, loping toward the exhibition concourse.
    The cavernous hall showed none of the finishing touches that would come tomorrow with the opening ceremony. Carpeting had not yet been rolled down the aisles, and wires trailed everywhere on the concrete floor. Sounds of hammering and the whine of electric drills resounded throughout. Searching for their booth number, Marla picked her way down rows strewn with half-emptied boxes, banners waiting to be hung, and large advertising posters.
    “Clear the decks,” yelled a voice from behind, accompanied by a beeping noise.
    Marla stood aside while a forklift lumbered past, carrying shipping crates on its outstretched arms. This counts as hazardous duty , she thought, bumping into an exhibit table for a hairbrush display. Rubbing her hip, she was glad to spot Amy Jeanne Wiggs unpacking cartons at a large block of counters up ahead. A makeshift stage had been constructed beside the sales area, where folding chairs were stacked ready for placement. They had a good position, right at the intersection of two important junctions.
    “Thank the Lord,” Sampson cried, raising his arms as he rushed ahead. But then he stopped short, surveying the mess that needed organizing. “Incredible. How will we ever put this together in time?”
    “Hi, guys.” Amy Jeanne regarded them with sorrowful brown eyes. “I guess you heard about Christine.”
    “Yeah,” Georgia answered, and the women hugged each other. “I can’t believe she won’t be here