The Notebook

Like most of the jobs I receive, it all began with a random phone call. This one was a young girl, sounding flustered and nervous asking if I was “the one who does the retro hair”.

“That would be me!” I told her, as I listened to her requests, and went into my spiel of general information.  She explained to me that she LOVES all things “retro”, and is obsessed with the movie “The Notebook”, which was to be the theme of the wedding. Now, admittedly, I had never seen The Notebook in its entirety, just bits and pieces while flipping through the channels and landing on Lifetime for a few minutes, but I knew the gist that it was a sad romance movie set in the 1940’s.  I figured this should be interesting, as we checked our calendars to schedule a date for her hair trial.

On the day of the trial, Annie, the nervous bride to be, came in accompanied by her mother Roberta. While I started introducing myself and asking basic opening questions, Roberta would barely let me get a word in edgewise. She was going on and on about her love for all things vintage; the hair, the makeup, the clothing, the movies, etc. Every time her daughter would open her mouth to speak, her mother would beat her to the punch.  Any time I asked her daughter a question, she would answer it.

“So Annie, what type of style did you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking down, with some soft curls off of her face, I hate when her hair is in her face”, replied the mother of the bride-to-be in her thick Long Island accent (“Lawngisland” being the correct pronunciation), because clearly the question was geared towards her. Poor Annie tried so hard to compete with the volume and intensity of her mother, but no such luck. I could see her getting frustrated and shooting her mom the death stare.

I began to do my thing, curling and setting her hair in the direction of the style they were collectively after, and letting them tell me everything and I do mean EVERYTHING. I was told that Annie was getting married on Roberta’s parents’ wedding day, because she thought that was a nice thing to do. I heard the entire birth story of Roberta’s Eldest daughter, and how she was born with beautiful curls, when no one else in the family had ever had curly hair so they never wanted her to cut it, and also born with… a tooth (terrifying). I learned about ROBERTA’S wedding; the location, the color scheme, how she met her beloved husband Ralphy, and what song they danced to at prom. How she had been blessed with the artistic talent in her family, and how she is VERY creative. Every now and then I threw in a “wow, really?” for good measure. 

Playing with hair is like performing magic; you’re touching the outside of someone’s head but discovering the inner workings.  The only irony was, it wasn’t Roberta’s hair I was working on. She was showing me inspiration photos for HER hair for her daughter’s wedding, which was 1940’s style “Victory Rolls”; a bold choice for a bold woman.  I just listened, taking it all in, but also feeling bad for poor Annie, who was basically a mannequin at this point.

I decided to pull a move and spin the chair around so Annie and I were both facing away from Roberta, who was still talking, but our new direction made her less audible and gave us a fighting chance at conversing. I always start with a basic “get to know ya” question at a hair trial; “How did you and your fiancé meet?” 

She gushed on and on about how Tony was her first true love. They had met at the local community college, dated, and then he broke it off. She was devastated, having had no real reason for the breakup, other than he wanted to live his best community college life.  She was so upset that she couldn’t eat or sleep for months, and wouldn’t date anyone else. Now Annie, an adorable brunette with a big white toothy smile and doe eyes, stood about 5’3” tall and 98 pounds in her happy “pre wedding” weight. I couldn’t even imagine how tiny she had gotten while Tony was playing Spring Break on the South Shore of Long Island in his 2002 Honda Civic. She continued this romantic fairytale by saying that all of Tony’s friends were getting married, so eventually he came back around and rekindled their eternal love (I was glad at this point in the story that her back was facing me and there weren’t any mirrors, as I have absolutely no poker face and was visibly cringing). She seemed to love that part of the story, telling me how it was one of the happiest days of her life, and I was left wondering if this was the storyline from “The Notebook”.

While Roberta was still in the zone, talking to herself in the background, I asked Annie the follow up question to the first, “How did he propose?”

 Well what do you know??? She had told him previously that she wanted everything to be just like The Notebook. So they took a trip down to Charleston, where someone down there is running some racket where you pay to have your names put on a marquee of an old theatre used in the filming of the movie.  He took her there (presumably in the Honda Civic), made her close her eyes and turn around.  She opened them to see “Anni  and Tony forever”. She didn’t even mind that there was a slight misspelling in her name. Tears flooded her sweet Bambi eyes and she said “Are you asking me to marry you???” to which he said “Yeah” (she admitted that Tony isn’t too emotional, but she was so happy nonetheless). 

She also showed me a series of “Notebook” inspired photos she forced him to take while they were in town, where a very tall and burly Tony was shoved into an old timey knickers and vest combo that was definitely purchased sight unseen from the internet, but what her version of 1940’s men’s fashion (made in China) looked like.  And they were both holding glass bottle cokes. And she was wearing a crinoline skirt and Wilma Flintstone sized pearl earrings. Welcome to “The Notebook”.

After our girl talk, I spun Annie around for the grand reveal to the only person who needed to be impressed, Roberta. “WOW”, she gasped, “Annie! Ohmygawd I’ve neva seen you look so good! Erica did such a good job! Now if only she can get the bags under your eyes to go away…”. Despite her mother’s insult laden compliments with her thick accent, Annie too was happy with the outcome (which in the end was curled, down hair, nothing more or less). I was booked for the job on the spot and thanked profusely as I marked her wedding date in my calendar.

About a month after the trial with 4 months to go until D Day, I started receiving the calls, the first from Roberta.

 “Erica, Annie neva knows what she’s doing, and I keep making suggestions but she won’t listen to me! You gotta tawk to her!”

“About her hair??” I ask. “Did she want to change something? It looked really pretty at our trial”.

“No, about her dress! And if she thinks after all that I am doing for her, that I’m not having a say on her dress, she’s got another thing coming! I didn’t go through 36 hours of labor and deal with all of her crap to be treated this way! I am spending all of my time making things for this wedding, and if she thinks she’s not letting me design her dress, she’s got another thing coming! She’ll listen to you, please you gotta tawk to her!”.  

Not really knowing how to field this request, I replied with “I can discuss her hair with her if you want, and how I think it would look with her dress. You can ask her to give me a call”. My response seemed sufficient at the moment, and I thought maybe she would calm down and forget. But no, the next call was from Annie.

Apparently, she had searched all of Long Island for the most perfect dress for her dream wedding, and after exhausting every bridal shop, she tried a consignment store. Roberta had claimed to have seen the dress in a dream, and Annie claimed to be “drawn” to this dress, that her grandmother had “sent” it to her. It was a 1980’s floor length, drop waist, long sleeve monstrosity of a dress.  But with enough squinting, hemming, hawing, and reworking, they were determined to use this as Annie’s dream dress, because who had a long sleeved drop waist dress?? The girl from the Notebook!

Even the most talented seamstress is still not a magician, and it seemed like any changes they were asking for (and probably not explaining correctly), were resulting in absolute butchery of the already unsightly lump of fabric. Annie was ready to give up and find another dress, but Roberta thought they were really onto something and should forge forward. This is where I come in…. or should I say, this is where I come in? Somehow, I was brought in to bridge the gap.

Annie called in tears, telling me how controlling and mean her mother had been, and how she felt guilty that her mother was paying for massive amounts of alterations, and she wanted to scrap the project.

“You know, Erica, my Ma is just so artistic, she has the artistcial gift in the family but I just think I need a different dress”. I listen, thinking about going back to school for psychology at this point and upping my rates…

 “Well, it is your wedding, and your choice, so you will have to do what you feel is right”. Generic, but it was the best I could do, other than personally driving her to David’s Bridal to save the day.

The calls went on sporadically for a few months. One would get mad at the other, and use me as an intermediary. I just kept counting down the days until the wedding.

As the week of the wedding arrived, I sent out an email to Annie, just as I do to all of my brides, to remind them of how to prepare for hair services, timing, scheduling, and payment balances. All of this information was of course in a carefully curated contract that she had signed, but I fully anticipate half of my clients being stressed out and forgetting everything. My email prompted a call from Annie, “Hi Erica, what am I supposed to do??”. Yep, saw that one coming.

I told Annie that she should make sure her hair was clean and dry, along with everyone else receiving services. I explained to her since we had 7 people total, we would need to stick to our starting time of 7:30am, and to make sure everyone arrived with clean, dry hair. Also, clean, dry hair. But most importantly, make sure everyone’s hair is clean and also dry. 

Aside from trying to drive home my message, I included that as per the contract, payment should be counted and collected by 1 point person, and put into an envelope. I made this part of my contract after years of having crumbled bills shoved into my pants pockets like a topless dancer, unable to keep track of who had paid, who didn’t, who underpaid, etc. After stressing the importance of one person collecting any and all cash and placing it into an envelope, I could hear the confusion in her voice, but she nervously said “Ok, I got it”. I knew this was now up to fate.

On the wedding day, I arrived at the venue, which was quiet and not yet set up for the big event. I was greeted by a nervous but excited Annie, who was decked out in a white polyester robe  that read “Bride” in  glued on rhinestones on the back (thanks, Amazon). I congratulated her on the big day, and asked how she was feeling, though she was visibly shaking as she smiled her toothy grin. Three of her best girlfriends were there, chattering away about what a beautiful day it was, “OhmyGawd, Annie! Such a nice daaaaay- uh. Ohmygawd my nails aren’t even blush, I told the girl to do blush but she did ‘ballet slipper’-so annoying-uh!!”. I interrupted the riveting conversation to pull one bridesmaid away for a mini consultation, making sure we stayed on our timeline, but also noting that half of the bridal party had wet hair, and the other half looked greasy. Fantastic.

After some debate, my first bridesmaid opted for a half up and half down style (the most basic, but pretty, nevertheless.) I start making conversation, as I generally do, and she tells me all about her friendship with Annie, her stressful pedicure she just received, her own wedding, which was last year….. Until boom! Half up and half done complete, Next!

As I started my second bridesmaid of the day, the first came over and handed me a crumbed wad of cash saying flatly “Where do I put this?” (Well, I tried….). 

“You could just put that over here on the table, thanks so much” I replied, while trying to eyeball if the correct amount was in the crumble, all while trying to work on the current greasy mop. 

The morning went pretty much like that, with a lot of bridesmaids staring off into the distance contemplating their hairstyles before choosing the same as the first. Each individually handing me cash as I toiled away and could hardly keep track.

About 4 people into my day, Annie decides to tell me she ordered the girls flower crowns. Now, generally a flower crown is a dainty little circular wreath, but Annie’s over enthusiastic florist went heavy handed on the baby’s breath, creating thick, flowered hula hoops for the head.  I could see all of the girls slightly cringe upon seeing this new mandatory accessory, and I was so surprised that with all of our chats, she NEVER mentioned I would be incorporating shrubbery on her girlfriends’ heads. The crowns completely deflated and covered half of the work I already did, sigh, but the show must go on. Annie also asked if I would mind doing her sister’s hair, who was not originally on my roster. I peeked over, saw her sister with a large dark brown bun on the top of her head, figured she would want the same as the rest, and agreed.

Next up was Roberta, who must have taken some kind of tranquilizer for the occasion, because she was actually pretty tame. I fashioned her victory rolls right on top of her head, as instructed, and she was delighted. She kissed my cheek and hugged me when I was done, singing my praises. Though it was not the style I would have personally chosen for her as it made her look more like she was attending a costume party from the neck up,  I was happy she wasn’t having some kind of meltdown as I had originally anticipated. She went on to put on her ultra beaded gown in the other room.

When it was time for Annie’s sister Stephanie to hop in my chair, she let down her bun and I COMPLETELY forgot all about Roberta’s original story from the hair trial; Stephanie had never had a haircut in her life. Her hair was about down to her knees and curly. Of course because of the extreme length and curl it was completely frizzy, as no one, not even Rapunzel herself has the kind of time and willpower to brush all of that. She was an odd girl altogether, choosing to do her own makeup, which included glitter eyeshadow from Claire’s and hot pink blush and lipstick. She wanted to continue the trend of “half up and half down”, which I knew would look horrible, given the frizz factor and the issue of not being able to fit one single section of her hair on my curling iron, due to the length. I suggested a really pretty pull through braid, and sold it on the idea of it being “very fairytale princess glam” (between the hot pink blush and tinkerbell eye shadow, I figured that was the branding this style needed). She was sold, and everyone else seemed happy with the end result. 

Last but not least was Annie. She was shaking nervously the entire time she was in my chair, asking me, “Erica, is it okay to be so nervous? This will be good, right??”

Given all of the glowing stories I had heard about Tony, I would have to say no…. But since it was her big day and all I simply replied with “Everyone is nervous! It’ll be great! You’re going to have a great time!” and left it at that (all the while wondering how Tony’s 2002 Honda Civic was going to look with the streamers and tin cans hanging off of the back…)

I finished Annie’s hair, which she absolutely loved, and passed her off to the makeup chair so I could then affix the flower crown disasters to the bridesmaids. Sitting each girl down in my chair, I plopped the thing on the top of their heads, shoving bobby pins in the sides, and hoping for the best. 

The ladies all stood in a line in front of the bride to get the final seal of approval on the completed look. Annie honed in on her sister for some reason.
“Everyone looks so great!! Wow!!!…… but YOU! I’m sorry but that crown looks really bad on you, I HATE it! No way you’re wearin’ that, you have to take it off!”

Well ,this (along with the crown) did not sit well for her sister Stephanie, and she had a few choice words to call the bride to be before throwing the wreath to the floor and running off into the other room.

There was a lot of screaming, door slamming, and then Annie started to cry (luckily before her mascara was finished). I was just standing there thinking how close we had come to being incident free, and yet here we were….

Roberta comes running into the room with only the bottom half of her dress on, and completely topless. I mean flapping in the breeze, completely topless, and completely unphased by that.

“Annie what the hell is your problem!? Your sister is crying, what’s the matter with you?!! You’re being such a bitch!!” she screamed at the bride. 

Stephanie reemerged, tears flowing from her hot pink shadowed eyelids, screaming obscenities at her sister. Honestly, all of the flower crowns looked pretty bad, and I do think it was just Annie’s nerves that were for some reason manifested in this one detail.

“Ma, I can not walk down the aisle with her wearing that, she just looks so terrible! It doesn’t go, it doesn’t look good!! Your maid of honor is supposed to look good, Ma!!”

Fearing that Roberta’s tranquilizer could be wearing off at any moment, I stepped in. 

“I have an idea…. Since Stephanie is the maid of honor, she can be a little different than everyone else. How about I weave the crown into her braid, that way she still has the flowers”.

They all starred, and I knew I had to act fast.

I grabbed a pair of scissors, hacked through the 10 lbs of wire on this floral arrangement, and cut it into small straight sections. I went down Rapunzel’s entire braid, weaving little segments in and bobby pinning and praying. After completing the final section, I took a step back to reveal my master plan, and what do you know..

“I love it!!!!” Annie cried, starting with happy tears this time. Roberta, still standing there completely topless, made her way over to thank and kiss me (not awkward or anything…), before asking me to zip her up. 

Annie’s makeup was almost finished when the old fashioned trolley she had hired to take her crew to the church arrived (Apparently there was a trolley in “The Notebook”, which meant there would have to be one at The Notebook Wedding).

After helping her into her dress, (a totally new dress she had bought off of the rack, but luckily fit her perfectly) waiting patiently for photographers to get out of the way so I could put on her veil, we were finally nearing the finish line.

Annie came over to me with a fistfull of cash, and said “Here Erica, is this enough?”

So I stood with the beautiful bride, decked out in her full gear, counting money (which was of course almost $200 short), trying to explain that to her in the most tactful way possible. She shimmies around the room, heads towards Roberta to try and gather the rest of the money owed, and returns.

“Sorry about that Erica!” she says, as she hands me the remainder, and tells me “And there’s extra. Thank you so much for everything! Oh!! And here’s that envelope you asked for!” as she hands me an empty, blank envelope. (I guess the message of “please have one person count and collect all money owed and neatly placed in an envelope” translated in her mind to “Erica might want to mail a letter, so I’ll bring her an envelope”.) I thanked her and the makeup artist and I watched as the girls all frantically checked themselves out in the mirror one last time before racing to make it out the door. We waited until we saw the trolley pull away before letting out a sigh and sitting down, with my head spinning. 

We picked at what was left on the pastry platter, and the makeup artist summed it up by saying “I think I need a Xanax…”

I counted the final amount Annie had handed me, noting the “extra” she put in was in the amount of $20, which would cover about the first 10 minutes of therapy I was going to need after this one.

The biggest tip I could have received, however, happened next…..

The makeup artist and I cleaned up our stations and packed up our kits in the bridal suite, which looked like it had been hit by a category 5 hurricane.

We lugged all of our gear, heading out of the main entrance, which was now set up for the wedding reception. I could see a cute little shabby chic dresser set up with place cards, very Pinterest perfect, but stopped in my tracks.

There seemed to be a life-sized painted plywood cut out of what appeared to be two people fornicating. I turned to the makeup artist, completely confused and stunned, and said “Ummmm What the hell is that?!!!”

She took a minute and said “Well, I think it’s supposed to be from the famous ‘kissing in the rain’ scene from the Notebook”. 

It seemed as though Roberta’s “artistical” talent had lent itself to painting a life-sized portrait of this pivotal scene on a plywood, strategically placed next to the place cards for all to see.

The graphic expressions on the faces of the painted characters looked as though they were caught in a moment of ecstasy, with the woman’s legs wrapped around the man’s waist, and the man standing up, but cut off at the knees, like he was growing out of the reception hall’s carpeting. It seemed like the perfect thing you would want to show your friends and extended relatives upon entering a formal occasion.

I snapped a few photos of the art installation, considering it an extended gratuity, as I knew no one would believe it unless they experienced it visually. I headed home and crossed off yet another wedding for the books.