“Okay, the purpose of this dress is to make him notice you,” insisted Carol. “You’re not just at work, or at the swimming pool, you’re dressing up – you want him to see the woman in you.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little bit too much?” She was a life sized piece of meringue; someone just had to dare take a bite.
“Not at all.” Carol dug a small box out of her handbag. “Men like women with confidence. You’re in advertising. Work it girl, work it! You love it, don’t you?”
Sophie caught Carol’s eye, and nodded. “Of course, it looks fab. Thanks for helping.”
“But first, Soph, look what I picked up? The very thing for your hair, Matthew won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
Sophie paled as she examined the packet. Hair dye. “You know this will bleach my hair.”
“Change your look a little bit. Take a risk for a first date. Let me do it for you, I did some of the girls at the studio. Now take off the dress for tomorrow and I’ll grab a towel for over your shoulders so you don’t mess the floor up.” Carol then instructed Sophie to sit in a chair, pushing her in, undoing the packet with speed.
“What’s wrong with just straightening it? This all seems like such last-minute effort. Not really thought out.”
“We’ll do it right now. You’ve got to see Matthew looking sensational. Besides you’re clearly getting over Derek, so we need a new you.” Carol opened the hair dye box and put plastic gloves on her hands, then combed Sophie’s hair.
“Matthew won’t even recognise me if I turn blonde.” Sophie closed her eyes, her lip wobbling a little. “The dye might totally ruin it, the bleach and everything. My hair is dark brown you know.”
“Look it’ll go a little Aztec. Look at the box. Don’t you think the colour looks fantastic?”
Sophie read the box; turning blonde could be different. The smiling blonde on the packet stared back at Sophie – weren’t blondes supposed to have more fun? Blonde hair could be the start of something new, problems solved with a bottle of hair dye.
“It will be the best thing to pick yourself up out of the hole you’re hiding in. Move on from Derek. There are decent guys out there. This one is teaching you how to swim. He’s a good fish.”
Maybe Carol was right, maybe hair dye would change her life. She looked at Carol; her sparkling gaze met Sophie's in the mirror. Sophie’s excitement mounted, Superhero Sophie, she liked the sound of that. Confident, sexy, better.
“Go on. Do it.” This was not a world of fear she lived in, it was only hair dye after all.
Carol rubbed her hands together. She opened the hair dye, combing it through Sophie’s hair. “This is going to look absolutely amazing.”
Carol’s mobile phone rang.
“It’s my director,” she shrieked, then answered the call. She fled to the next room, her voice loud and animated. She ran back into the room, grabbing her handbag.
“Oh God, Sophie. I’ve been called in. My director wants to see me immediately. He won’t say why. I’m so worried, I might lose my job. Are you okay to leave the dye in and just wash it out? Follow the instructions on the back of the box. It should be easy. I’ll see you in the morning.” Carol darted out of the room, not even waiting for a response.
“I’ll be fine.” Following directions for lustrous hair shouldn’t be that hard.
Half an hour later, she washed the dye out in the shower, forcing herself to towel-dry it without peeking. She cast her fingers through to smooth out the tangles, and then ran to the mirror, apprehension filling her as she approached, ready to gaze at the new, changed, dynamic Sophie. This was truly a step to moving on with her life. But as she stared at her reflection, her heart pounded. She froze.
Her hair was orange. Not Aztec blonde, not golden, but orange. Shaking her curls, shades of bright carrot and soft pumpkin shone back at her instead of blonde or brown. If she wore the fairy floss dress, she’d be truly edible. Come on boys, just eat up.
Sophie paced the room, head darting back and forth to the mirror. Her hands ran through strands of wet, orange hair, wanting desperately to call Carol, knowing she couldn’t. Carol was dealing with something urgent, and she couldn’t possibly come back to fix it.
Sophie grabbed one of Carol’s wigs, a short black bob, there was an idea. She twisted her hair into a French roll to tuck it under the wig. The roots shone bright like the sun praising a glorious new day.
She sighed. It was only orange. She could deal with that. Hair colour was nothing to get overly excited about; and after all, she was only seeing Matthew Silver… and it wasn’t a date.
Oh God, what if he thought it was a date?
***
Sophie ran to the tube station, darting through the heavy traffic of Highbury. She glanced at her watch; time was of the essence. Then a force jolted her to a stop, pulling her shoulder back. Sophie whirled round, clenching her fists. A fairy floss dress thrust at her face. Sophie stepped back with caution as the coat hanger almost poked her in the nose.
“You forgot it. You can’t be late tonight, and I know how caught up you get.”
Sophie grappled to hold the garment steady, away from her body. Peeking over the ruffles, Carol stood in her bright pink pig slippers, a silk pink nightgown wrapped round her shoulders and last night’s mascara smudged over her face. A glow of triumph exuded from her face, but her grin slowly faded, as she tugged a wisp of Sophie’s carrot hair from under the baseball cap.
“Oh Jeeeeezzzee,” Carol hissed.
Sophie shrugged Carol’s hand away. “It’s fine. What are you doing awake? I heard you come home after four.” Sophie noticed circles under her friend’s eyes and wondered whether Carol had gone to visit Josh, or whether something urgent had come up at the theatre.
“Oh Soph, I had no idea it would turn orange.” Guilt spread across her friend’s face. “Keep the dress. Please keep it.”
“No. It’s fine.”
“What are you going to do? Did you want me to dye it again?”
“No, no, I’ve got a plan. Why are you awake so early, running around the street like this?” Sophie indicated the dressing gown, noting that the silk hung only to her mid-thigh.
“What’s wrong with this? No one cares about me. I live in London, millions of people come to this tube station every day.” Carol put her hand on her hip, tapping her slippers on the pavement, the fluffy, pink pig’s head nodding in agreement as Carol’s foot went up and down. “Besides, you’re the one in my cap and sunglasses.” It was true. Sophie had borrowed one of Carol’s many hats – a black baseball cap – the most understated one in Carol’s collection.
“Well, can I borrow it?” Sophie shifted the dark sunglasses over her face feeling somewhat like a celebrity hiding from the masses, large oval circles covering half her face, lenses coming down to the middle of her cheeks.
“’Course you can borrow them. I think the glasses look better on you anyway.”
“Thanks.” Sophie supposed that was a compliment. She wrinkled her nose. The circular, goggled frames, although fashionable, made her feel like a fly. But if she took her cap off and left the sunglasses on, she supposed she’d look like a bee. It was a pity it wasn’t closer to Halloween, as she had the perfect headgear. At least no one would recognise her.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You should have rung or texted. I could have asked some of my friends to come over after the show and help.”
“I’m going to my hairdresser, she’ll sort me out.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Sophie shifted on her feet, thanking the shade of the lenses, almost black, to hide her expression. “No.” She hoped her hairdresser could help her, but it had been too late to make an appointment last night.
“What if you can’t get one?”
“Someone will do it.”
“You’re not going to race into work are you? This is an emergency; you’ve got a date tonight.”
“It’s not a date. I’m conside
ring cancelling anyway, if I can’t fix this.” Sophie tucked a wisp of stray hair back into her cap.
“You can’t cancel.”
“Why not?” Of course she could cancel. This was a disaster.
A sparkle flashed across Carol’s face, her lips twitched, slowly extended from ear to ear. “That’s why I raced out to tell you.” Carol swept up the ends of her dressing gown into the tips of her fingers with a graceful motion, and bent into a deep curtsey.
“What is it?”
Carol leapt and twirled, pig-slippered, she performed a pirouette on the sidewalk without a care in the world, even when tube passengers stopped and stared. Sophie was waiting for someone to throw a coin in her direction.
“What is it?” Sophie pulled her hand to her chest, her heart beat rapidly.
“You are looking at….” Carol paused for effect.
“What? Tell me, damn it.”
Carol’s voice came out dramatically, loudly, like she was centre stage at the theatre. “For one night only, you’re looking at the Swan Queen! You’ll even get a chance to see me! You have to come tonight. You have to!”
“Oh my God! That’s amazing!” Sophie shrieked, leaning over to hug Carol. She pulled back and stared into her friend’s face. “How did this happen?”
“The lead is sick! Frightfully ill, the doctor says – she hasn’t been eating, mind you, but we won’t tell the doctor that. You know how dancers get when they’re in the spotlight. Anyway, she collapsed – that’s why I had to go in last night, perfect all the moves because I’m front and centre tonight. I rehearsed, dancing my little butt off for hours last night, making sure that I’ve got all the moves down.”
“I don’t want you to get sick too. So go home and rest before the performance.”
“I’m too excited to rest. Can I help you at all?”
Sophie frowned, realising the dark circles were larger than she’d seen before on her friend. Carol always did this, hyped herself up when she got over excited. She took her friend’s hands, patted them gently. “Run yourself a warm bath, I have some salts in my room. You need to calm down, get some sleep, so you can do your best tonight. Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be fine. Matthew and I will see you tonight. Good luck.”
“Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.”
“What am I supposed to say? Break a leg? Not very good for a dancer is it?”
“Well ‘break a leg’ is the act, one foot behind the other.” Carol bowed down. “Get it? It’s an archaic expression for bowing or curtseying. But if you want, say ‘merde.’ That’s what we all say; it’s French.”
Sophie scratched her head. “Is that the right slang?” Sophie asked, her brain working in overdrive. “I’ve heard a different meaning for that word.”
“No, no, it’s French for ‘break a leg’. We all use it. I’m more than just a pretty face.” Carol leapt in the air, floating on her personal high. “Ciao, ciao.” She waved, dashing across the hectic road.
Sophie frowned. The only French translation she knew for merde was a profanity, a curse uttered more likely when a dancer broke their own leg. Sophie sighed, she’d probably misheard. It wasn’t like she was fluent in French. Besides, Sophie probably had had about as much sleep as her friend, worrying about her hair. Who cared if the ballet dancers were shouting ‘shit’ for encouragement rather than ‘good-luck’?
***
Sophie stared at the receptionist, her voice shaking. “What do you mean she’s not in? She’s always in.” The girl stood behind the reception counter of the hairdressing salon. Thick tiger stripes coloured her brown hair, creating an alternate, edgy look. The girl shook her head, widening her innocent eyes. “She’s just not in. She’s sick today, I’m afraid. You’re just too early on a Friday morning. We could do something with a Senior Stylist later this afternoon.” The girl ran her perfectly manicured nail down her notepad. “Around four o’clock we have space. Or you’ve got me? I’m free right now. I could help.” The girl moved the broom awkwardly from the reception area. She’d been sweeping up cut hair. “Why don’t you let me see?” The girl reached over and took the cap from Sophie’s head.
The girl fondled a strand of hair. “Do you think you can fix it?” Sophie asked and her chest tightened.
The girl nodded, her head bobbing up and down slowly. “I’m only an apprentice. But I can fix it.” The girl’s voice was strong, unwavering, and confident.
How many people, Sophie wondered, came into the hairdresser to get a colour correction? How much experience would an apprentice have with colour correction?
Sophie groaned, shutting her eyes. She might not make Carol’s show if she waited for an appointment with a Senior Stylist. “I’ve got to go to work,” Sophie said. “I’d better get it fixed now.” She followed the apprentice to a chair inside the salon.
She sat down, examining the hairdresser’s reflection in the mirror as she brought over a colour chart and began matching the strands of carrot. This could possibly be an even bigger mistake.
“So you wanted blonde, right?”
“That was the idea.”
“I won’t be able to take you too light.”
“Okay.” Sophie nodded and furrowed her brow as she watched the girl mixing the dye into a bowl. What more could possibly go wrong? Surely there wouldn’t be much to it – a colour chart, chemicals – hairdressing wasn’t rocket science was it? Although, she’d gotten it wrong.
Hours later, she ran a hand through the finished hair. It looked natural, like she’d been visiting the beach every weekend for the past decade. She just needed the tan to go along with it. “You’re going to need some new makeup. Some softer colours, otherwise you’ll feel washed out.” The apprentice lifted a strand of hair. “And you know it’s going to break. The strands are damaged from so much processing. I would recommend I cut a bit of it while we’re here.”
Sophie shrugged looking at her wrist watch. “Do we have time?”
“Don’t you want to look fabulous for Carol’s performance?” The girl had been so easy to talk to. Sophie had found herself telling her about Derek, Bradley, Kelly and even the possible – yet unlikely – date with Matthew. What a hairdresser!
Sophie nodded. “Let’s get you a new look.” The apprentice said, reaching for the scissors.
Chapter 17
Sophie eventually arrived at Clarks and work was chaotic. Sophie fought fires throughout the day, negotiating contracts with agents. The price for their chosen actress to perform in the skinny dipping commercial was a particular point that she’d tried to get people to agree on the whole day. To think England was in a recession, yet the actress had the audacity to question the amount of money Sophie offered for the job.
“Take it or leave it,” Sophie trilled down the phone to the agent. “This is a national commercial. She could become a national star.”
There was a pause down the line and Sophie looked at her watch. “Look, if she doesn’t like the pay then I’ll have to find someone else. We’re in a recession and that’s the budget. Take the offer to your client and call me tomorrow with your answer. There is no wriggle room. I repeat, no wriggle room.” Sophie hung up feeling slightly tense about the conversation.
Trying to forget it, Sophie rushed to the office toilet cubicles and changed into the fairy floss dress. She checked her appearance in the mirror. A stranger looked back at her. Her eyes widened as she stared.
She raked a hand through the short blonde bob, fingers stopping at the ends where the length of her long brown hair used to continue. She lowered her lashes, the eyelids painted with pastel pink eye shadow. Her heart fluttered, possibly with nerves; she felt different. A good different.
Finally leaving the office, Sophie bought a bunch of flowers and walked to the theatre, and grabbed a programme. Feeling nervous and excited, she arrived at the stage door, and pounded. She held the flowers on her hip. She’d bought lilies, carnations and roses.
Sophie pounded the stage door again. The
rose scent mingled with the garbage she was standing beside. Casting a quick look at the dustbin, Sophie decided that backstage in London’s West End was not as glamorous as she’d imagined. The backstage entrance was away from the bustling crowds, located on a tiny cobbled street in Piccadilly Circus.
“Hello, anyone there?” The door burst open. “Thank you!” Her jaw dropped and she blinked, struggling to blank her expression as she looked at the man standing in front of her. He was pale like an albino giant dressed in black. He loomed in the doorway and his mass of muscles spread across the entry. The figure hugging fairy floss dress, made Sophie feel tiny in comparison.
She purposefully closed her jaw, trying to seem unaffected by his astonishing size. “I’m here to see Carol.”
He folded his arms, muscles bulging in his skin-tight, black t-shirt. “No chance.” This was not the kind of man she would want to meet in a narrow alleyway, which, she realised, she was currently doing.
“But have you asked her?” she said in a strong voice.
The man scratched his bald head and shrugged. “You’re too late, I’m afraid.” He turned, closing the door.
“Wait.” Sophie lodged her foot between the door and the frame. “I won’t stay long.” She manoeuvred her head, looking through the curtains, past the bulk of the security guard. Black sheets hung from the ceiling and dancers ran past.
He looked at his watch. Sophie took advantage of his distraction. She plunged her body forward, through the narrow gap between the door and his brick body. But not only was he big, he was also quick. She hadn’t expected the albino to be quick. She felt her body bounce back from his as he blocked her. She groaned as the wind was taken from her.
The man shook his head. “Carol is the new leading lady and doesn’t need disturbances. Now move along.”
“Let’s try this again.” Sophie rubbed her head, feeling like she was slightly spinning. “Carol’s my flat mate and we hang out a bit. Wouldn’t you want to wish your friend well if they were dancing the lead role? She’s the principal dancer tonight, isn’t she? Could you please just ask her whether she has two minutes to see me?”
Skinny Dipping (Skinny Sagas) Page 17