by Billie Jones
‘I understand. Now, is the crimp fixable?’
She ran her fingers through my hair. I must admit I much preferred a guy doing it, but beggars can’t be choosers. ‘Of course. I can fix anything. You are seriously going to need some conditioning treatments after all that abuse, though.’
Here we go: the hard sell. It was inbuilt in hairdressers.
I’d need the special blonde conditioner, the toner, the hair masque, and the hair serum.
She began wetting my hair with a spray bottle. ‘Now, your hair’s been through enough today, so instead of shocking it senseless under a full stream of water, we are just slowly getting it used to us. A little spray here, a little spray there.
Shh. There, there. I know. It’s been a bad morning.’ This is how she did it. She spoke to your hair as if it were a real thing, in a soft, soothing mummy voice. I began to fall into a dream-like sequence. JJ and I were sitting side by side in a plush hotel room with hair specialists crooning tenderly to our locks, and once styled we were free to frolic. We held hands and jumped up and down on the king-size bed because it seemed the least grown-up thing we could do. Then we undressed and put our big fluffy robes on and those stupid cardboard slippers they give you. We ordered room service of strawberries and champagne. JJ dipped each strawberry into his glass before feeding it to me, and then he kissed me full on the mouth so he could taste the champagne too. I had become too hot in every sense of the word, so I took my robe off and told JJ to do the same. Then, both naked, we …
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Kylie.
‘Oh, nothing much. Why?’
‘Because you’re sitting there in your bra and you were about to take your jeans off.’
God. How embarrassing. ‘Oh, I just get overheated. It’s a medical condition. Don’t mind me.’
‘Why don’t you just call JJ?’
‘JJ? Haven’t thought about him in aeons. What would I call him for?’
‘Because you were just murmuring his name! It’s kind of weird standing here watching you undress and say your ex-boyfriend’s name repeatedly!’
When she puts it like that, it does sound weird. I put my clothes back on and made a mental note to stop undressing in public. I thought it was just a dream sequence like in the movies. You can’t trust anything these days.
Kylie was slowly sliding the tongs through my hair and from the burning sensation I could feel on my scalp I knew it was going well.
‘Umm, Sam,’ Kylie whispered in a wavering voice.
‘Yes,’ I said, watching the light catch the strands of hair that were fluttering to the floor.
‘We have a problem.’
‘Yeah, I think we’ve established that, Kyls. I’m doing my best here, but these unforseen dilemmas just keep cropping up.’
‘Yes, yes,’ her voice trembled, ‘we’ve got a new, unforseen dilemma. Just hear me out, and don’t panic.’
‘Don’t panic?’ I said, panicking. ‘What now?’
‘Um, your hair is breaking off at the roots!’
‘Oh my God, what?’ I scrambled to the bathroom, with Kylie close at heel.
I looked in the mirror and nearly fainted with shock. My Posh-style bob was gone. It was replaced by black tufts that stood up on end where my hair had snapped clean off. Kylie grabbed me by the waist to steady me, as I let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead.
‘Oh my God, Sam!’ she said, shaking me. ‘Your face is turning blue! Take a breath!’ She shook me more forcefully and said, ‘Sam, you’ll prematurely age if you don’t take a breath!’
I immediately gulped in the bitter air, and continued to scream silently. I was literally frozen in shock. Gazing at my gaping mouth, I watched tears roll down my cheeks. Cheeks that would now look chubby without hair to disguise them.
For the first time ever, I couldn’t think if anything to say, as my sobbing continued unabashed. I touched my once-perfect mane of hair and the remaining pieces of black snapped and tumbled to the floor. ‘How is this even possible?’ I whispered.
‘His tongs must have been too hot, and after the damage from the small hair fire …’ Kylie said, edging me back to the lounge room.
‘No. It’s the curse.’ I said ominously. ‘I just can’t believe this is happening.’ An overwhelming sense of foreboding gripped me. If I could lose my hair, I could lose everything I held dear. Shivering, I sat, staring straight ahead.
‘Don’t go catatonic on me. I can fix this, Sam.’
My sobbing had turned into strange hiccoughing sounds, and I tried to still them as I spoke. ‘How can you fix this, Kylie? You’re a hairdresser! That implies you need hair to dress!’
‘Think pixie haircuts. It’s the latest thing in, er, London.’
‘In London?’
‘Yep, and you know how advanced London is in fashion compared to us here in little old Perth.’
‘Yes, they are a step ahead. But I thought pixie cuts were for waif-like girls?’
‘It’s all about what you project, Sam. You know that. Do you feel waif-like?’
‘Well, I am pretty hungry.’
‘See, you’re already doing it. People will only see what you show them. And right now I’m seeing a pixie, waif-like girl, who is streets ahead of the rest of us fashion-wise.’
I really didn’t have the heart to say I didn’t believe her. Would JJ still love me now that I was practically bald? Everyone would know the curse was working, and stripping me of my beauty, which would appeal to most of my friends.
Kylie seemed satisfied she’d placated me and began chopping off what was left of my hair. With all the stress I must have fallen asleep for a while. When I woke, Kylie was still snipping and murmuring to my follicles. I tried to shake the feeling of gloom that cloaked me. I didn’t want anyone to see me looking glum, because that’s just what they would want to see. I’d have to pretend my new hairstyle was planned, though two radical styles in the same week looked about as contrived as Paris Hilton.
‘When are you planning on looking for work?’ she asked.
‘Wow. Not for a while. I’d be no good to anyone in this condition. I need to recharge, rejuvenate, relin…’
‘Stop!’ she held up her hands like an eighties’ back-up dancer.
I waited for her to break out in song. ‘It’s me you’re talking to, remember? I know your rent’s due in a couple of days and your power has been disconnected. I hate to think of how many credit card payments you owe. You really need to get something organised immediately.’
‘Hello, fun police,’ I felt like saying. ‘No, officer, I wasn’t about to enjoy my day off. Please take away the sunshine while you’re here, too, wouldn’t want something tempting me to smile.’
‘I know all that, Kylie. Sheesh. Surely, something will happen that’ll turn my fortunes around. I can’t sit here worrying all day about it. I’d never get anything done!’
‘You don’t have anything to do!’
She’s unbelievable, right? ‘That’s where you are mistaken. I have someone waiting to brunch with me right now. Can I borrow your phone to text her?’
‘No. I’m not going to support your bohemian lifestyle. I heard you were doing interviews for a new BFF yesterday.’ Cue the petulant voice.
I thought back to who I met with yesterday. Who would have spilled the beans? Who would dare put me in this dangerous predicament? Gemma. She of the blue-haired, unwashed tribe.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Geez, she was onto me. ‘I asked you to meet me at Toff’s yesterday. As usual you were too busy!’
‘It’s fine. At least I know where I stand. You’re all done here,’ she said as she showed me my follicles in a small round mirror. I looked like Bert Newton. Who knew my face was that round? How would I ever be able to walk out in the public eye looking like this?
‘Now, you are going to need the blonde shampoo, the hair masque, the toner and the silk serum. I can give you a discount because I know you’re unemploye
d.’
A discount? Jesus. Little did she know I just sneak into her place and replenish my bottles with her full ones. ‘Oh that’s OK, I still have plenty left from last time I bought some.’
She consulted her iPhone, where she had all her client information stored. ‘Hmm. It says here you haven’t bought any products since 2006. Is that right? That can’t be right?’
‘Sounds right. I use it very sparingly.’
‘Hmm. If you still have some left, you are definitely not using it as per the manufacturer’s instructions. Use ten times that amount and I’ll order you some more in anyway.’
‘Where are you going now?’ I asked.
Kylie looked at her feet and fidgeted with her thinning shears.
‘I have another appointment.’
Of course. It was work, work, work, for boring people. ‘Well, duh. I know that! Who, what, where?’
‘Mai Ling’s son, actually.’
‘You’re cutting Sam’s hair?’
She rolled her eyes at me and said, ‘No, I’m not cutting his hair.’
‘God. Whatever. Shampooing, blow-drying, whatever you call it.’
‘No. We are going out for an early lunch before he starts work.’
‘I’ll just add this to this list of things I would never do to you, but that you’ve done to me, shall I?’ It was beginning to be a very big list of BFF code violations.
‘You do that. If I had to stay away from half the men you’ve had mind sex with, there would be no one left!’
Mind sex? What the hell was she on about?
She shook one purple French-tipped nail at me and said, ‘You’re a mind sex slut!’
Well, I must say, I was shocked. Where did that outburst come from? What was she implying?
‘Wow. You have some issues there, Kylie. I think you’d better ask my Mum for some herbal muscle relaxants or something next time you see her.’
‘Yes. I think I will drop in and see her. She’s always happy to hear about what her daughter is up to now, since you don’t bother ringing her.’
‘What are you? My keeper? My life coach? Are you suffering from nicotine withdrawal? Sheesh, if I wanted this much abuse I’d go see my ex-husband!’ I picked up my bag and mobile charger and stomped out of there. Just in the nick of time, too, otherwise she probably would have tried to charge me for lopping off the burned strands of my hair.
So now you know – another secret. I was briefly married once. It was a huge mistake. A spontaneous decision based on a particular ‘vision’ my mother had incorporated with some naive infatuation and voila, a wedding fit for two queens. The guy in question started going to all these drag queen reviews and the next thing you know, I caught him in my underwear. It was a dark day for me, I tell you. He went from Timothy to Toffany.
Now it’s out in the open. God. No one can have secrets in this town.
Chapter 12
The Ex-Factor
I meandered down to Toff’s. I was abhorrently late and had no way of calling Leila, so I had to play it exceptionally cool. I walked into the cafe slow and fluid-like, waving at a few people I knew here and there. Leila was sitting in the Serial Killer section, so I ambled over to her.
She looked up from her vodka-soaked fruit and said, ‘You’re pretty fucking late, Sammie. I was just about to leave.’
‘Crazy morning. So many phone calls from perspective employers that my iPhone died, and…’
‘Fuck me, your hair! It’s so short. What made you decide to chop it all off?’
‘Oh, you know me, it’s the latest thing in London these days. You know the er … elf look.’
‘The elf look?’
Goddamn it to buggery. ‘I mean the pixie look. More of a movement really. Hair, projection of waif-ism, that kind of thing.’
‘I see,’ she said, and gestured to the seat opposite her. ‘Sit down. Do you want some cereal?’
‘Sure, but I’ll just go ask Toffany if I can put my phone on charge. Be back in a sec.’ I walked to the counter and tried my hardest not to gaze at the old modelling photos of Timothy plastered all over the walls. God, he was hot. Short blonde hair, tanned taut muscled body, ocean-coloured eyes you could swim in, a strong chiselled face you could crack nuts on and full lips just begging to be kissed. With a whoosh of wheatgrass juice, there in all her emerald eye-shadowed glory was my former husband. ‘What’ll it be, Sweet Cheeks?’ she boomed at me.
‘Hi there, Toff. I know it’s against the restraining order rules and all, but I was wondering if I could charge up my phone? It’s just, I’m waiting on …’
‘Sure, Sweet Cheeks. Go on back to your office. It’s exactly as you left it.’
Probably another little fact you might not know, but Toffany’s used to be called Toscany’s. It was a little Italian restaurant my dad owned and ran his whole life. I used to help with all the paperwork, hence why I had an office. Dad lost the place in a poker game to Timothy at his infamous bucks’ party. Dad was happy to see it go. The number of people chasing him for money, and the liens he leaned against the liens of the loans were just ridiculous. It was either fake his own death or bow out gracefully and give the cafe to Timothy.
Timothy instantly remodelled the place and called it Toffany’s (I know, this should have been my first clue) and we worked there together quite happily until the whole drag queen incident reared its Maybelline-plastered head. Tim begged me to stay with him. He told me it was just something he felt compelled to do. I considered it, I seriously did, but if you could see how good-looking this guy is, whoa! Then clarity dawned and I realised I’d now be fighting off men and women who wanted a piece of perfection. I was a love machine, but, really, there was only so much I could do. I packed my share of the shoes and a few CDs that had special meaning and got the hell out of there.
Kylie had just split with her boyfriend, an English backpacker, so we found apartments next door to each other and began our single life anew. We had each agreed on a certain period of mourning for our lost loves. We both called in sick that week, stocked up on Lindt chocolate, microwave popcorn (the really buttery kind), red cordial and rented as many soppy chick flicks as we could find. We each made up a bed on the lounge, changed into our Peter Alexander PJs and didn’t move for a week. When we were sick of chocolate, we ordered pizza and Chinese and began scoring the delivery guys on their looks. That’s how I knew we were recovering. That week was utter and absolute bliss, almost worth the sudden breakouts and the three extra kilos I’ve never been quite able to shake.
I glanced at Toffany to make sure she was genuinely allowing me to go beyond the yellow line. (Yes, she was one of those crazy, yellow line bus rule type of people). She nodded once and seemed sincere, so I walked into the office that formerly belonged to me. I plugged in my phone and don’t mind admitting I felt a little emotional. I couldn’t believe I spent the last two hours without this vital little device of communication. I was stronger than I gave myself credit for. The door clicked closed behind me and I turned around to see who had followed me. I worried this was some kind of trap that would have me sent to jail for breaking my RO (which was a total misunderstanding, I only threatened to set the place on fire. I wouldn’t actually do it!).
‘Sweet Cheeks, I need to talk to you. Short hair suits you, by the way.’
Hmm, dodgy. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I heard you’re having some financial woes, amongst other things.’
This town was full of gossipmongers. I had a list as long as my credit card bill, with possible suspects. ‘What? Who told you that?’
‘Can’t break that code. Customer/proprietor privilege.’
‘Fine. Well, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. Blabbing bollocks about me to try and get into your pants.’
Toffany screwed up her face in disgust and said, ‘Actually, I can almost guarantee they weren’t trying to get into my pants.’
‘Oh, this is no time to be coy. I’ve seen men and women alike start to swoon when
you walk by, the wheatgrass juice stench does nothing to deter them!’ I was so sick of women giving me their numbers to pass onto Timothy, men leaving their business cards on the table, hotel room numbers on napkins, you name it. They all wanted him, then when he was her, her. He said he’d do anything to stop the steady flow of admirers and came up with the obvious answer of wheatgrass juice. He drank shots of it all day long that made him smell like mouldy, dewy wet grass that was mowed in a thunderstorm. Still, it didn’t stop them. They suddenly liked the fact he, then she, took care of himself. I wondered why he still drank it if I wasn’t here to care.
‘I’m not being coy, just honest,’ said Toffany.
‘Well, I think as part owner, I should be in on the customer/ proprietor privilege.’
I’d walked away from my share of the cafe after our divorce because I felt like Toffany had built the place up from nothing and if I’d have insisted on my share she would have had to sell it in order to pay me. No one would lend her money because of the simple fact that, according to the government, there was no Toffany Marilyn Monroe born twenty-five years ago in sunny old Perth.
‘OK,’ she said, giving up a little too easily if you ask me, ‘it was your mother. She’s desperately worried about you. She was mumbling something about Mexican witches and fire? She said you’ve lost your job and you’re destitute. You’ll be homeless by the end of the week.’
‘Wow. She doesn’t put a positive spin on things, does she?’ That crazy-arse woman! I was going to kill her. This kind of slander, no matter how true, would ruin my credibility in no time.
‘She also thinks there’s a chance you and I can make things work.’
‘Oh my God! What is it with my mum trying to set me up with gay guys? I hate to tell you this, Toff, but yesterday she was all set to plan the wedding for JJ and me.’
‘She mentioned JJ. Look, I have no hard feelings when it comes to him, but I was your husband. What we shared should count for something.’
‘My transvestite husband. It would have been nice to share that before the wedding.’
‘Sam, I tried. So many times. Remember when we were shopping for your wedding dress and I said I’d try on some too? You agreed. I thought you understood what I was implying?’