She turned slowly, showing her followers the length of her extensions.
“Eight hundred dollars, guys. Eight hundred. Every penny was worth it.”
Then she dropped into her seat and tossed the entire length of her hair over the backrest.
It landed on my tray table.
Several strands slid across my arm, and the ends brushed my forehead.
I gently lifted the hair and moved it away.
“Excuse me. Would you mind keeping that on your side?”
“Not now. I’m live.”
“I’m sure your audience can survive without watching the back of your head for a moment.”
She turned around.
“Oh, my God. It’s just hair.”
“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to move.”
Harold leaned toward me.
“Eight hundred dollars,” he whispered. “I paid less than that for my first car.”
“Did it have an engine?”
“Eventually.”
I laughed, grateful for the distraction.
But Brittany was not finished.
