I’d do anything for my sister except style her wig for free

Hadassah

I was so excited for Lakey when her salon opened.

There’re three of us sisters, we all live nearby, and we’re close. Sara’s the high school mechaneches — classic oldest, super practical. Then there’s me, and then Lakey. She’s the baby of the family, and to be honest, she’s always been a little floaty. Head in the clouds, relying on Sara and me to get her out of trouble. Typical youngest.

But in the last few years, it seemed that even she’d grown up. Two little ones, husband in kollel, and money was tight. Sara and I could both relate to that — Sara and her husband are in chinuch, and as for me, the graphic design industry is not what it used to be. It’s flooded, and you need to up your game and lower your prices to stay in the loop. Lakey had been a stay-at-home mom for the first couple of years, but eventually we heard more and more mention of “maybe getting my name out there” and “I’d love to be bringing in some money, it’s not easy...” Still, knowing Lakey, I was surprised and impressed when she actually opened up a salon.

Of course, we cheered her on. Sara talked her through a ton of decisions (what paint color? How many appointments in a day? Should she match the prices of the established hairdressers or charge less? Would she look unprofessional if she charged too little?) and I offered to design her store logo.

“Wow, that’s really nice of you,” she gushed. “I was gonna get a graphic artist, but if you’re sure....”

“It’s no problem. It won’t take long,” I told her. I opened a new file and started creating a few quick samples — Lakey’s Locks in various fonts, linked to a comb, blow-dryer, and brush. “What’s your color scheme again?”

“Gold and brown — like wood-brown. Maybe do the logo on a wooden plaque? Or whatever, you’re the artist here, I’m sure you’ll figure out how to incorporate the colors.”

I e-mailed her a few designs. “Tell me what you like, and I’ll perfect it.”

She hung up the phone and I went back to another project I was working on. Promotional material, super-boring but good pay. Besides, I needed this client, he was one of the few very regulars I had.

The next evening, Lakey texted me: Can I come over to design logo?

I was glad to take the break from my work. Logo designs were fun, and she was easy to please. The design took about 15 minutes, and I e-mailed her the file before she even left my front door.

“You’re the best!” she gushed as she said goodbye.

“No problem,” I told her. It was good to be appreciated. And appreciation didn’t come too often nowadays. I had an e-mail blinking on my screen from a client who wanted her work done before the next morning. I stared at the half-done project and sighed. It would be a long night.

In between work, car pools, and laundry, I heard how Lakey’s project was going. Most of my updates came from Sara, who went to get her wig redone one night and described to me the whole layout of the new salon.

“It’s all professional and stylish, you gotta see it sometime,” she told me.

“Um-hm,” I said, focusing on shading the background of an advertisement.

“Do you need your wig done? She did a great job on mine.”

I snapped back to the conversation. “I always wash my own sheitel, it’s so expensive to keep getting it done. But maybe with a sister who’s a sheitelmacher....”

“Of course she’ll do it for you,” Sara said. “She’s got real magic hands, our sister. You won’t regret it.”

“You’re a good marketer,” I told Sara with a laugh.

“Well, I’ve been busy raving about her to the entire teachers’ room, I’ve had practice.”

She wasn’t the only one spreading the word. I’d texted a whole group of friends when the salon opened, hoping to get my sister some customers.

“Hey, don’t you have a chasunah coming up? You’ll get to see Lakey’s salon then,” Sara reminded me.

Gosh, it was already January. She was right; my brother-in-law was getting married in a few weeks. I had gowns for my four girls already — gemach ones, but expensive enough once you count the alterations and the accessories and the dry cleaning and everything — and there was absolutely no option of going to some pricey hairdresser. Last year, Rafi’s sister got married, and Lakey did all of us — me and my girls. She did an incredible job, and she hadn’t even trained in updos and stuff yet. Pure talent (and a bunch of online tutorials, most likely).

“I’d better book her in this time,” I said thoughtfully. “I mean, she has real customers now, and official appointments. I need to get used to that.”

“Yup,” Sara sounded distracted. “Okay, fine, Yisroel, I’m coming to look at your Lego now. Bye, Das, I gotta go. Speak to you soon!”

I finally got around to calling Lakey a few days later.

“How’s the salon lady?”

She laughed. “Great, how’s the graphic artist?”

“Eh, doesn’t have the same ring to it.” I didn’t have time to chat, it was late and I had two more deadlines. “Basically, I just wanted to book our favorite hair stylist, Rafi’s brother’s chasunah is in a couple weeks. Me and the girls, same as last time. That okay?”

She hesitated a little. “Uh, wait, what day did you say it was?”

I told her the date. “Don’t tell me you have a hairdressers’ conference or something right then....”

“No, no, I don’t. Um, I need to check my calendar, though. I’ll call you back.”

She hung up the phone, and I was left wondering if I’d really just heard my breezy baby sister stammering.