The name stuck. It’s catchy and fun to say. Rampion sounds exotic and Frenchy. Was it French? Mina doesn't know, nor does she care. Names like Rampion roll off the tongue and become iconic when the right person says them. They describe the luxury of things without saying the word, ‘luxury.'
The first batch of Rampion arrives as expected. The courier was none other than a wide-eyed old lady with a walking cane. The receptionist holds the door for her as she hobbles through clutching an old handbag at her side.
“The box is in the back,” she says in a raspy, old voice between a cough. She takes a seat on one of the plush chairs and looks around. “My, oh my it is nice in here.”
She then smooths out the fabric of her high-waisted, full-lengthed blue dress. She looks like an elderly version of Jane Austin. Her grey hair is parted down the middle with tight curls at the nape of her neck.
“Ma’am, can I get you a glass of water?” the receptionist asks. She buzzes Mina in the meantime that her order has arrived and that the courier needs help carrying it in.
She fetches the old woman a glass of cucumber water and garnishes it with a fresh cucumber slice. The old woman takes it with shaky hands. She purses her lips and brings the glass up slowly for a drink.
Her dark blue eyes go wide again and she smacks her lips. “The most delicious water I’ve ever tasted.” She looks up at the receptionist. “Have ya had a go at it?”
“It’s cucumber water, ma’am, flavored with fresh mint. I have a glass every day.”
Just then Mina enters the lobby wearing a signature pink Coco Chanel two-piece skirt suit. Her hair is in a big side braid, and she looks around, puzzled. She can’t fathom why a box of 10 pieces of hair would be too heavy for the courier to bring in. Then her eyes land on the old lady sipping a glass of water in the corner. The receptionist whispers, “I don’t think she can bring it in on her own.”
Mina nods with a curt smile. “Of course not.”
She pivots to the old woman and says, “Welcome.” She extends her hand for the old woman’s feeble attempt at a handshake. “You must be making my delivery.”
The old woman rises, “If ya want ta see me break my back, then yes. If not, the box is in the back. I’ll just get the trunk fur ya.”
She rises as her bones creak and leans on her cane. Mina reaches for her then hesitates because she’s not sure the woman wants help. She did bring a cane and she is requesting Mina remove the box herself.
Mina follows the old woman outside. She watches as the old woman fumbles with the keys in her feeble hands. She murmurs to herself about keys and ‘damn pointy ears’ before finally hitting the right button for the minivan's back door to open. She seems delighted as she smiles and says, “There we go. Good as gold.”
Mina peers inside the back of the minivan and sees an ordinarily brown cardboard box. No logo, no shipping information, just a plain brown box with a clear strip of tape holding it shut.
“I haven’t all day,” the old woman says, “take the box but provide the payment and I’ll be on my way.”
Mina licks her bottom lip, “can I see it first?”
The old woman nods with an eye roll, “Be my guest. ‘Tis not like we’re dealing drugs here.”
Mina takes a box cutter from her pocket and cuts along the middle. She’s careful not to go too deep, not sure how the hair is packaged inside and doesn’t want to accidentally cut any. To her delight, she’s met with cellophane and packing peanuts. Each bunch of hair is wrapped in a white mesh drawstring bag. She holds one up and runs her hand along the mesh.
It’s perfect.
Exquisite.
It’s even more brilliant and lustrous than the first piece that she gave to Saria. Mina has a sudden urge to remove it from its protective wrapping and run her fingers through it. She longs to feel its silky strands against her fingers. She wants nothing more than to gaze upon it. The hair holds a power over her that sends a shiver down her spine.
She places the bundle back into the box. She removes a small envelope from her pocket and hands it to the old woman. The old woman tears through the envelope and pours the gold piece into her waiting hand. She runs it through her fingers and says, “Twenty-four karat, just how the master likes it.”
“You mean, your boss?” Mina says as she lifts the box in her arms.
“No, master it is. Master is his title.” The old woman pockets the gold and tosses the envelope into the back seat through the window. “Although I’d call him a prick if I had a choice.” She snorts and says, “Titles are very particular things indeed. Particularly to those who care to tote them. You know, my husband was one for titles. He liked to be called King.”
Mina’s eyes widened as she says, “Okay well it was great doing business with you. Do tell Ardan ‘thank you’ for me?”
The old woman nods her head, “Oh sure, sure. Ardan, the one who calls himself a merchant. That prick.”
Mina doesn’t know how to respond so she wishes the old woman safe travels back home or wherever it is she’s going next. She goes back inside and takes the box to her office. She closes the door behind her and lets out a breath, happy to be done with the transaction and the weird old lady.
The box sits on her desk like an elusive surprise of delight. She wants to pop open a bottle of champagne or something. Maybe she can call Marcel over to celebrate with her and they can finish with a hot session on her desk. She thinks about kissing him as his arms wrap around her as he lowers her bottom onto the desk. Now she’s craving him.
She blinks out of the daydream, “focus,” she says to herself. “Snap out of it and be professional.”
She opens the box and removes every bundle of hair. Each is encased in a mesh bag. Each bundle is the same golden blond, the color of wheat. A simple red bow ties the strands together and each bundle is easily twenty inches long. She takes one bundle out of its bag and runs her fingers through it.
It feels like silk, like baby skin, like the finest of all things a human can ever touch. She brushes it against her cheek and it’s utterly luxurious. It shines with a hue unlike anything she's ever seen before. The hair is more than just blond colored, it's almost like it holds the essence of color in its strands.
It will be worth a fortune. And a fortune it will make her. Mina contemplates keeping a few clip-ins for herself but after consulting with Evelyn over Saria’s orders, there won't be leftovers. Saria and her greed.
“Make three halos as requested,” Mina says to Evelyn, “and the clip-ins and one full wig. Don’t assign this to just anyone, I want Amy and Tish to be the only ones. I need my best to handle this hair. It needs to be perfect. Am I missing anything?”
“No, I think that’s it,” Evelyn says, as she jots down Mina’s list and compares it to the orders.
“And the price? What are we charging for it?”
Mina taps the end of her Mont Blanc pen against her chin. “Ten thousand each for the halos, one thousand per clip in, and twenty thousand for the wig.”
Evelyn stops writing and raises an eyebrow, “are you sure?”
“Oh yes,” Mina says with a wicked look in her eyes, “I’ve never been so sure before. This hair is like Willie Wonka's Golden Tickets, Evelyn. Whether anyone knows it or not right now, they'll all want it." She grabs Evelyn by the shoulder and takes a step closer, "you have no idea, the frenzy this hair is about to cause. It will elevate Wilhelmina Hair to the next plateau."
"And what plateau is that?" Evelyn's question is sincere but Mina can't help but grin at it.
"Household name," Mina says with confidence.
"Yeah, but most households would never be able to afford the price of Rampion. Besides, the hair market isn't THAT big to where teens would be putting it on their Christmas wish lists." She raises an eyebrow. "Unless you're already planning the rollout of a more affordable version?"
Mina waves her off. "Never mind all that. I haven't thought that far yet. All I know is, this hair will change the face of Wilhelmina Hair forever and it's exclusively ours for now."