Do you want me to wash my hair?

Do you want me to wash my hair?
Thank you . " I turned to greet Jensen , but he was already on his feet .

"I'll come and stand outside your door again," he said by way of explanation.

I motioned for him to leave. "Oh, you don't need to do that."

"Arthur " said yes." His face was expressionless, and there was clearly no point in arguing with him, so I turned to leave again, with Jensen behind me.

Upstairs, my room was a hive of activity. One lady was applying my makeup at a table, and another was hooking up various appliances to do my hair. A third woman poked her head out of the huge closet and squealed at the sight of me. "Oooo! She's here, isn't she adorable, this is going to be hilarious!"

A smile broke out on my face, awkward and hesitant at such enthusiasm and attention. Part of me hoped to sneak into my room almost unseen, but that hope quickly faded when the other women started talking.

"Hair or makeup first?" The lady with all the hair styling appliances held up a curling iron.

"To the bathroom " I muttered." Do you want me to wash my hair?" 

I grabbed a robe offered by the woman in the closet and, with a gesture from the hairdresser, slipped out behind a closed door. It was too much. Almost too much. Other than last night, I had never spent more time in a hairdresser's than it took to trim a couple of inches off the bottom of my hair, and even those visits were irregular.

As I returned to the bedroom, my robe pulled tight, the hairdresser beckoned me in. "Hair first," she said. "Shall we wear it loose with big curls or up?".

I sat in her chair and she played with my hair, forming it into a bun and pulling it up into a pseudo updo before her gaze drifted to my neck.

You know what? I think those big, loose curls might look good after all. She quickly set some curlers and turned on the blow dryer, eliminating the need for conversation as she backcombed my hair and set it just the way she wanted it. 
"You must be such a temptation " she murmured as she worked. "I wonder what the family will say when they meet you."
"No doubt I was the center of attention for the casino boys," laughed the make-up artist.
"Yeah, well, they know the rules. Nothing too complicated. " The hairdresser gave her a strange, warning look, and the makeup artist looked away, suddenly busy examining the label on a small jar of moisturizer.
I studied my fingers as I twisted them in my lap, hiding my expression from the women present.What rules? I felt like everything that was said around me was said in code. What was Arturo involved in? For the second time that day, I imagined the doors to the west wing. The one place I couldn't enter. Apparently, those were my rules, the ones I had to follow.
But maybe I could choose not to. Next time I was alone, maybe I could get rid of Jensen if necessary and find a way in. It wasn't like the guy followed me into the bathroom.
The hairdresser wrote me off right away, though she couldn't resist one last backcombing touch-up on some curls before passing me off to the makeup artist. For the second time in as many days, I looked flawless. That had probably never happened to me before.
And when the stylist came out of the closet, practically humming a fanfare as she walked towards me, with an amazing dress in her arms, I didn't know what to say.
Holy crap! That can't be for me. Yes. I didn't know what to say, so I blurted it out without thinking.
The women with me laughed. "Arturo has really good taste, doesn't he?". The stylist raised an eyebrow, but I remained silent.
"He chose you, you know, so your answer should always be yes." The makeup artist put away her lotions and potions as she spoke, and I made a face she didn't see.
If collecting a debt was a choice, then yes.
But I said nothing. I simply watched as the stylist placed the dress on my bed and then pulled out another fancy lingerie set, this time with thigh-high stockings. OMG, I was going to look like a porn star under the dress. Good thing rich casino owners and their families didn't come equipped with X-ray vision.
I sheepishly pulled down my gown, my hands a little shaky, as I showed off my body to three women I didn't know before putting on my new panties and letting the stylist fasten and position my bra just under the dress. I then put on the stockings before she could even try to help me.
She picked up the dress and held it out to me, and I swallowed saliva to keep my throat from going dry. It was a gorgeous shade of emerald green, with a structured bodice, fitted waist and tiny black crystals sewn in a floral print that sparkled as they reflected the light.