The Hair Job 2

1. Julianne Moore’s Perspective

Julianne Moore walked into the chic downtown salon, her copper-red hair tied loosely in a bun. It had been weeks since her last touch-up, and the busy award season meant her hair needed some extra love. She had an appointment, but the place was bustling, and the receptionist seemed overwhelmed.

“Julianne! Welcome!” the receptionist greeted with a frazzled smile. “We’ll get someone to you in just a moment. Feel free to have a seat.”

Julianne nodded politely, taking a seat in the waiting area. She flipped through a magazine, half-listening to the chatter around her, when a man approached.

“Julianne Moore, right?” he said with a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Robert. I’ll be taking care of you today.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Julianne replied, standing and following him to the washing station.

She reclined in the chair, feeling the tension in her shoulders melt as warm water cascaded over her scalp. Robert’s hands were steady and gentle, his touch firm but soothing. He massaged the shampoo into her hair with such precision that it felt more like a spa treatment than a quick salon visit.

“You have such beautiful hair,” he said as he worked. “That color is stunning.”

Julianne smiled. “Thank you. It takes a village to keep it looking this good.”

Robert chuckled, rinsing the shampoo and applying conditioner. His fingers moved through her hair as though he were sculpting something precious. Julianne closed her eyes, enjoying the moment.

After the wash, he guided her to a styling chair. “What are we thinking today?” he asked.

“Just a blowout, something simple,” she said.

“Got it,” Robert replied, reaching for the tools.

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of blow dryers and round brushes. Robert was efficient but meticulous, and when he finished, Julianne’s hair fell in soft, glossy waves. She touched her hair, smiling. “This is perfect. Thank you, Robert.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said with a kind smile.

But as soon as Julianne turned to grab her bag, Robert was gone. She assumed he’d moved on to another client, so she went to the front desk to pay. That’s when the chaos started.

“Robert?” the receptionist asked, confused. “We don’t have a Robert working here.”

“What?” Julianne said, her stomach sinking.

The stylists around her were equally baffled, and it wasn’t long before everyone realized what had happened. Julianne’s perfect blowout was tainted by the unsettling fact that a stranger—someone who didn’t even work there—had done it.

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2. A Stylist’s Perspective

The salon was packed, as Saturdays always were. Maya, a stylist with a knack for complicated color jobs, had just finished a balayage session and was heading to the break room for a quick water break. That’s when she noticed him.

The man in the black shirt and neatly pressed pants moved through the salon like he belonged. Maya squinted. She didn’t recognize him, but it wasn’t uncommon for Marcia, the owner, to bring in a new hire or temp without a formal introduction.

He seemed confident, leading none other than Julianne Moore to the washing station. Lucky guy, Maya thought. Celebrity clients were usually reserved for senior stylists, but this guy looked like he knew what he was doing.

As she grabbed her water bottle, she kept an eye on him. His technique was flawless—his hands moving through Julianne’s iconic red hair like he’d been doing this for decades. But something about him seemed… off. He didn’t interact with the other stylists, didn’t ask for help or even glance at the supply shelves. He worked in focused silence, like a man on a mission.

When Maya returned to the floor, she saw Julianne’s hair finished, styled into perfect, glossy waves. The man—Robert, apparently—stepped back, said something to Julianne, and then… walked out. Straight out the front door.

Maya frowned. “What the—”

She hurried over to the receptionist. “Hey, who’s that guy? The one who was with Julianne?”

The receptionist blinked. “What guy?”

Maya gestured to the door. “Robert. Tall, black shirt. He just left.”

The receptionist paled. “We don’t have a Robert.”

Realization hit them both at the same time, and Maya felt a wave of unease. “Oh my God… he didn’t work here.”

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3. Robert’s Perspective

Robert adjusted his glasses, tapping the tiny button on the frame to start recording. The hidden camera was a recent upgrade to his “work,” and he was eager to document every detail of this job. This wasn’t just about touching Julianne Moore’s hair—this was art, and every heist needed its masterpiece.

His research had been meticulous. He’d spent hours scouring Julianne’s Instagram, noting her habits, her favorite looks, and her preferred stylists. A little deeper digging revealed the salon she frequented. Then came the recon: a full week observing the salon’s flow, identifying weak points in their operations.

“Receptionist barely looks up,” he muttered to himself during one stakeout. “No one questions new faces on a busy day. Cameras? Minimal coverage inside. Perfect.”

On the day of the job, he dressed the part: clean-cut, professional, with tools in his pocket just in case. When he stepped into the salon, he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. He grabbed an apron, tied it around his neck, and approached Julianne Moore like it was just another day at work.

“Hi, I’m Robert. I’ll be taking care of you today.”

The moment she smiled back, he knew he had her trust. Leading her to the washing station, he began his work. Every movement was deliberate, his hands weaving through her hair with practiced ease. He murmured compliments, not just to keep her comfortable, but because he genuinely admired the texture and color of her hair.

The blowout was his favorite part. As the brush glided through her hair, he felt the satisfaction of an artist perfecting their craft. The hidden camera captured every angle, every moment.

When he finished, he stepped back, admiring his work. “All done,” he said, giving her a polite nod before slipping away.

He walked out of the salon, heart pounding, a smile creeping across his face. The recording was perfect—proof of another successful job. As he turned the corner, he tapped his glasses to stop the recording, already thinking about his next target.