Read Addie and the King of Hearts for Free Online Page B

permanent before,” I said. “But we’ve got a big Valentine’s Dance tomorrow, and I wanted my hair to look different.”
    â€œI’ll be at that dance,” said Irene. “I’m gonna play the piano for the King and Queen ceremony.”
    I looked over at her. Could that have been the dance she wanted my father to go to? I hoped she wouldn’t jazz up the music too much and ruin the dance.
    â€œHow’s your grandma?” she asked.
    â€œOh, she’s fine.”
    â€œAnd your dad?”
    â€œFine,” I said tensely. I was supposed to find out about her, and she was giving me the third degree.
    â€œDid your dad suggest you come over here for a permanent?”
    I looked startled. What a question! That showed how little she knew about my father!
    â€œGosh, no!” I said. “He doesn’t even want me to have a permanent. He thinks they’re stupid!” That would stop her.
    Irene gave me an odd look in the mirror.
    â€œWell, you know how men are,” she said cheerfully. “They don’t know anything about what it takes for us to look glamorous.”
    I didn’t like her including me in that “us.” I had no intention of ever looking anything like her.
    She motioned me to a chair in front of the mirror, and I plopped down and looked around the room as she got her equipment together. There were a couple of big, silver, bullet-shaped hair dryers on one wall, a shampoo sink with a mirror over it, several mismatched chairs, and a coffee table covered with movie magazines. There were photos of swanky, movie-star hair-dos on the wall, and a little rolling table which held every imaginable color of nail polish. Over in one corner was an evil-looking electric permanent machine with wires and clamps dangling from it. I eyed it with some misgivings. On the counter in front of me was a garish, gold-plated trophy of a Greek goddess with wings. I inspected it closely. It was engraved “Mrs. Irene Davis, Third Prize Hair Styling, Nebraska State Cosmetologists Convention, 1947.”
    I was a little relieved to see that. At least she had some talent. I thought again about how glamorous I would look when she finished.
    Irene unbraided my hair and brushed it out.
    â€œMy, you sure got pretty hair, Addie.”
    â€œThank you,” I said, watching her every move carefully in the mirror.
    â€œWell, we’re gonna fix you up real fine for the big dance. Let’s see if we can find a style you’d like.”
    She brought over a huge hairstyle book, and as the two of us leafed through it she discussed the merits of some of the various hair-dos.
    â€œRita Hayworth wore that in her last film,” she said about one glamorous, swept-up style.
    I glanced up at Irene in the mirror and saw that it was almost like her own.
    â€œNo,” I said distastefully. “That’s too overdone.”
    Irene laughed.
    â€œYeah,” she said. “I guess it’s too much for somebody your age.”
    Her remark annoyed me. I hoped she didn’t think I was just a kid.
    â€œWell, I do want something that will make me look older,” I said worriedly.
    She smiled.
    â€œNot too old,” she said. “I think we can come up with something you’ll like—something that looks like you but just a little more sophisticated.”
    â€œYeah,” I said happily. “Exactly.”
    She moved me over to the shampoo sink and tilted my chair back and started washing my hair.
    â€œSo how do you like being in the seventh grade?” she asked.
    â€œOK,” I said, squinting to keep the soap out of my eyes.
    â€œYou’ve got that Mr. Davenport for a teacher, huh?”
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œHe’s a cute one, huh?” she said.
    â€œYeah,” I said. I thought it was disgusting! Calling a grown man like Mr. Davenport “cute.” Billy Wild might be “cute,” but Mr. Davenport was