“Your scalp looks very tidy,” Eleanor said, studying my head as I pulled out a leather barstool.

“Rose at the neighborhood salon cleaned up the rest of the hairline with real care.”

I slid my hand into my coat pocket and felt the little card Rose had given me after tending to my scalp that morning.

I took out the white salon consultation card and laid it facedown on the granite beside my saucer.

“A simple style suits a woman who stays home where she belongs,” Eleanor said, straightening the lapels of her floral robe.

“Long dark hair only draws unwanted attention when you spend your evenings in city boardrooms.”