The shopping stage was fine. Terrifying, and I feel sick with nerves at wearing any of these outfits in public, but fine. I can wear one of the, frankly, slutty outfits Danny picked out for me tonight, but then I can take it off, safe in the knowledge I gave it a go, and then I’ll never have to wear it again. Same goes for the OTT make-up. But here, now, sitting in this chair at the hairdresser’s, I am terrified. It’s a really funky place and I don’t think anyone working here has a hair do that would see them succeed in a job interview for any other professions, except perhaps the circus.
I twirl my longish ash-blonde locks nervously. This is my natural colour, and I’ve never dyed it before. I’ve never really had more than a trim, so I’m dreading the ‘expert advice’ I’m waiting on. Unlike the clothes, the hair won’t be so easy to rectify. Not without another sitting in the chair, and I’m not exactly flush with money right now. I can’t even really afford this, but I figured I could use my wages from this week, seeing as though I haven’t actually done a second of work, and pretend it was a holiday. I could’ve used my poor finances as a valid excuse to get me out of my makeover but, to be honest, I kind of want Danny to do his worst. I trust him. I know he wouldn’t make me look stupid. Then again, today he’s wearing Batman Converse.
A guy with a blue reverse mohawk (at least that’s what I imagine it is) comes over and introduces himself as Zander.
‘So, your friend tells me you’re after something completely different,’ Zander says as he ruffles my hair.
‘Yes,’ I reply confidently. ‘A different colour, for sure. Maybe a different shade of blonde, like Jessica Simpson.’
‘Fuck Jessica Simpson,’ Danny interrupts. ‘I’m thinking Jessica Rabbit.’
‘Oh, oh, yes!’ Zander claps excitedly. ‘With your little waist and your big cans, we can get you looking like Jessica Rabbit. I’m thinking we dye you red, put in a few extensions to give you a bit more length and a bit more volume – boom!’
I glance back and forth between them in the mirror for a few seconds, taking one last look at my blonde hair. Say goodbye to the old Candice.
‘Fuck it,’ I blurt out. ‘Do it.’
As soon as the words leave my lips it occurs to me to immediately change my mind. I know it’s only hair, and that technically it could be fixed if I didn’t like it, but there’s no way I could afford all the work it would take to have the red completely removed.
You know what? I need to take a few risks. Do a few things that can’t be easily undone. Well, now that Zander is slopping the dark-coloured dye on my hair, there really is no turning back.
I smile to myself as I watch all traces of the old me being covered up. The boring, stuffy, Candice I had morphed myself into to please Will is being plastered over, ready for me to start my life again.
Since we arrived they’ve been playing booming, clubbing music here in the salon, but the mood changes suddenly when Jack Duff’s new track comes on. He’s a singer/songwriter, not unlike Ed Sheeran or James Bay, with his poetic lyrics and beautiful acoustic sound making him sure to be the next big thing, picking up the Mercury Prize, going multiplatinum and then recording a cover for the John Lewis Christmas advert over the course of the year.
‘I love this song,’ I say with a sigh, to no one in particular.
Danny is sitting next to me, twirling in an unoccupied chair as he thumbs through a copy of Tatler.
‘This romantic junk?’ He laughs.
‘Yep,’ I admit. ‘I don’t usually like this kind of music, and it’s not because I’m heartless, although that is up for debate,’ I joke. ‘It’s just… I don’t know. I usually opt for the strong chicks, like Beyoncé or Kelly Clarkson. But I like this. I like Jack. He makes me feel a rush of something in my chest, like maybe my cold heart might be thawing, just a little, and he writes the kind of lyrics that make you feel like it might be quite nice to have someone who gives a fuck about you.’
Danny smiles. ‘You know, despite being self-depreciating and littered with expletives, that might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard you say,’ he tells me. ‘Perhaps you’re not the cold robot you make yourself out to be.’
‘Perhaps I’m not.’ I smile.
‘Rinse time,’ Zander chirps, interrupting our conversation.
After my hair is rinsed, Zander escorts me back to my seat.
‘Wait, don’t let her look in the mirror,’ Danny insists. ‘Face her away from the mirror while you dry her. It’ll be a surprise.’
‘I’ll plaster some slap on her if you like,’ one of the girls sweeping the floor offers. ‘Then the change will seem more drastic, extreme makeover style.’
‘Fab idea,’ Zander replies as he pushes me into the chair and forcibly spins me around before I get a chance to look in the mirror.
So, as it stands, I have the makings of a new wardrobe, I’ve had my hair dyed a drastically different colour, I’ve had some hair cut off, some added in, and a young girl has spent the better part of the past hour covering me in make-up. Finally, I am twirled around to look in the mirror, and I hardly recognise myself.
‘That is not me,’ I squeak, waving my hands to see if the movements of the girl looking back at me correspond with my own. They do. That’s definitely me.
With entirely different hair and make-up, I look like an entirely different person. It’s not just that though, I feel different. I feel confident. I feel like I look good, and I think that is making more of a difference to the way I look than any external makeover ever could. I want to stand tall, throw my shoulders back and let people see me, rather than skulking around in my Stepford gear, keeping my head down.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ are about the only words I can eloquently force out.
‘Say you like it,’ Zander insists.
‘I love it!’ I exclaim. ‘I really love it.’
‘You look incredible, Candy,’ Danny says as he rubs my shoulders. ‘Oh, God, she going to start blubbing.’
I laugh as I check my eyes. It is actually taking a lot of willpower to prevent a few happy tears escaping, but tearing up with all this slap on would take me from zero to Alice Cooper in a matter of seconds.
‘So, are you taking her out to show her off?’ Zander asks Danny.
‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘I’ve got it all planned out.’
‘Oh really?’ I ask.
‘Really,’ he replies. ‘Brace yourself.’
Chapter 32
As I get ready in the bathroom at the hotel, Danny tells me about his plans for our big night out.
It turns out, the hotel we are staying at has its own nightclub called Eros, and Danny has got us on the guest list.
I take one of my new dresses from out of the bag. It’s a red micro minidress, covered in glitter – so much so, my body and the bathroom are both coated in loads of glitter now too.
I slip the dress on, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but it seems to boast even less fabric than it did before when I tried it on.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Danny calls from the bedroom – I must be taking too long.
I slip it on and examine myself in the mirror. There’s no way I can go out in this, it’s about as low-cut as it is short, and the only thing it leaves to the imagination is what I’d look like wearing clothes.
‘I’m not so sure,’ I call back.
‘Whoa, you look hot,’ Danny exclaims as he enters the bathroom unprompted. ‘Don’t forget these,’ he adds, tossing me a pair of sky-high black heels. I slip them on, but the fact they make me so much taller than my usual five foot six only makes my dress seem even shorter.
‘Yowza,’ he yells.
I laugh self-consciously. ‘Are you sure I look OK?’ I ask nervously, my newfound confidence fading fast.
‘Bro, you look incredible,’ he says sincerely.
‘You’re really trying to make this bro nickname stick, aren’t you?’ I laugh.
‘Well, guys probably call you nice names all the time. I like
to be different. Anyway, you get mad when I call you Candy.’
Thinking about it, I haven’t told him off for calling me Candy for a while now.
‘You know what, I feel more like a Candy now,’ I admit. It must be my new look.
‘Well now that you like it, I’m definitely going to stop calling you that.’ He laughs. ‘Seriously though, you look amazing. You look: this emoji.’
Danny does the ‘OK’ gesture with his hand.
‘Thanks, nerd.’
I take one last long hard look in the mirror at the new me. So this is Candy Hart, and I think I like her. I bite my lip nervously as I stare at myself, yanking the dress down over my thighs, only for it to ping back up.
‘OK, let’s go…before I change my mind.’
Chapter 33
Eros is as sexy as its name suggests. As soon as you walk through the door you are greeted by an overlybronzed, buff bloke wearing a pair of wings and the tiniest pair of pants I have ever seen on a man – scrap that, on any adult human. He carries a bow and arrow, just like Eros, but it only seems to prevent him from doing his hosting job properly.
‘So, what’s my next move?’ I ask Danny over the loud music.
‘I know it’s early days, but perhaps you need to start moving on. Maybe we just need to get you flirting with someone to start with, see if you’ve still got it in you.’
‘Yesterday I told a perfect stranger that I howl when I masturbate,’ I reply. ‘Clearly, my flirting game is weak.’
Danny laughs. ‘With the right person, I think you’ll be fine,’ he assures me, squeezing my hand, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think Danny was flirting with me. Of course, he isn’t. This is Danny and he flirts with everyone – I need to keep reminding myself that. ‘Unless, you’re too scared to go for it.’
‘I’m not scared,’ I insist. ‘My flirting might be rusty, but I’m just as game as the next girl. What, do you think I can’t pull the trigger?’
‘Not until you prove it,’ he replies.
We’ve had quite a few drinks but, although I can feel my confidence growing thanks to being slightly drunk, I am not sure this is going to make me suddenly suave enough to bag me a boy.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I tell him before wandering over to the bar. As if it isn’t hard enough walking in these ridiculous heels, Eros is quite dark, and the areas surrounding the dance floor are scattered with beanbags that looks like clouds, as well as tables and chairs, and booths that all seem to be packed with people. I pull my dress down awkwardly, trying to keep my arse covered as I walk. It’s very tight-fitting, but thankfully shows off my curves in all the right places. Teamed with my new red locks and my heavy make-up that the girl at the salon did for me, I do look a little like Jessica Rabbit…although perhaps a porn version. Still, we’re in a nightclub, so it’s fine.
‘I’ll have a strawberry Bellini, please,’ I tell the barman, raising my voice a little to make sure he can hear me.
He hands me my yummy-looking drink – they really go all-out with their cocktails here – but as I reach in my bag to grab my purse I accidentally elbow the person next to me.
‘My gosh, I am so sorry…’ I babble, but my voice trails off as I finally make eye contact with the man next to me. For a second we just look at each other and smile.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I’m Jackson.’
‘Hello,’ I reply, immediately intrigued by his accent. ‘I’m Candy.’
I shake Jackson’s hand and we share a few more seconds of just staring at each other and smiling. Jackson is tall and muscular, he has quite short, dirty blonde hair that is effortlessly but intentionally messy, and a pair of eyes so blue, I feel like I could dive into them. I can see his black shirt buttons struggling to do their job of containing his muscular body, and I can’t say I’d be that upset if they failed.
I glance over at Danny, who is watching me like a hawk, probably just making sure I’m OK. I think about what he said, about how I need to put Will behind me and at least take the first steps of moving on, even if it’s just flirting with this dude in this bar.
I take a long sip of my drink before attempting to turn on the charm. I just need to channel Blair from Gossip Girl. She’d know what to do in this situation.
‘You’re not from around here,’ I observe.
‘Neither are you,’ he replies. ‘Northerner, right?’
I nod my head.
‘Cute accent. My grandma is from Huddersfield, but I grew up in Australia,’ he tells me. ‘Melbourne.’
That explains that delicious accent.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I can’t help but ask.
‘I’m a pro rugby player,’ he tells me. ‘I’m here with a few of my teammates – over there.’ Jackson points over at one of the booths. I glance across the dark room and see a few waves from his friends. I politely wave back.
‘So you’re Australian and a professional rugby player? It’s like you’re just listing all the sexy things you can think of. My brain can’t even process this. Next you’ll be telling me you taste like chocolate – you don’t, do you?’ I ask. Hmm, the confidence is coming back a little too quickly. Perhaps I should have gone a little easier on the Dutch courage.
Jackson laughs. ‘So, are you working?’ he asks.
‘I am,’ I reply, impressed at his good guess, because I doubt I look like I’m on a business trip.
‘That’s cool,’ he replies. ‘You’re very sexy, you know.’
For a moment, I just gaze into his gorgeous blue eyes. He smiles back at me and about the time I notice how perfectly chiselled his strong jaw is, is about the time I do something completely out of character from me. I lean forwards, place my hands on either side of his face and kiss him. It’s a frantic, fast-paced red-hot kiss. Jackson is into it too, his tongue creeping in and out of my mouth as he grabs a fistful of my new, big hair. I move back slowly, trying to disguise my delight at making such a bold move. I didn’t know I had it in me. Neither did Danny, it seems, because I peep over at him and he looks dumbstruck.
‘Shall we take this to my room?’ Jackson asks.
I pause for a split second before I answer, battling the gut feeling that is telling me – no, demanding me to say no. But then I think about Danny, and this weird little crush on him that I feel sneaking up on me. It’s manageable now, but I worry it could get out of hand if I don’t nip it in the bud. He doesn’t think I’ll do it. He was pretty much goading me before, talking me into it…
Jackson stares at me expectantly.
‘Let’s go,’ I reply confidently.
Jackson takes me by the hand and leads me across the room. As we pass Danny, I give him a subtle thumbs up, like, there, I did it, I pulled the trigger, or I’m about to at least.
Jackson’s room is on a much higher floor than ours and, as such, is about three times the size of ours. In fact, I think his bed might be as big as our bathroom. I take a seat on the edge of it as I watch Jackson unbutton his shirt. He pushes me back onto the bed before slowly peeling off my tiny dress – like it was ever going to get in the way anyway. Jackson presses down on top of me, his rugby player’s body weighing heavy on my tiny-by-comparison frame. We kiss passionately again, with way more steam that I’d ever shared with Will, but it’s not as sexy as it looks in the movies. Our teeth are banging together, I can feel his chin wet with a mixture of our saliva, and I just know that my big curls are going to be crushed from rubbing against the pillow – and there’s no way I’ll ever be able to recreate my new ’do myself.
Jackson runs his tongue across my lips before slowly flicking it all the way down my body, stopping when he gets to the tiny red thong Danny insisted I buy, so that it didn’t show under my tiny red dress (yep, he’s even better at being a woman than I am, but VPL isn’t an issue when you dress like a nun – or so he teased me when we were shopping). But as Jackson seductively takes my underwear in his mouth, beginning to pull it from my body with his teeth, I have nothing but D
anny on my mind.
‘Wait,’ I insist, stopping Jackson in his tracks. I don’t want to be that girl, the one who is so ‘up for it’ and then changes her mind, but I can’t do this.
‘Oh, right, sorry,’ Jackson says, rummaging around in his pocket. He pulls out a black leather wallet and removes a large wad of notes before folding them in half and stuffing them between my boobs. ‘That should cover it,’ he says with a smile, like he’s being overly generous. ‘If I throw in a little more, will you pee on me?’
For a moment I can do nothing but blink at him. The fact he is paying me and the fact he wants me to pee on him both battling for space at the forefront of my mind, but I can’t process either. Finally one thought is victorious, and I manage to speak.
‘You’re paying me?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘Wait, are you not a prostitute?’
‘No,’ I reply slowly, cautiously, paralysed with shame.
‘Oh shit,’ Jackson replies, looking about as mortified as I feel. ‘It’s just I thought with you saying you were working and, you know, the dress…’ His voice trails off.
I use the back of my hand to wipe away what is left of our kisses from my mouth before anxiously nibbling my thumbnail. Sure, I could get mad at Jackson. I could get mad at Danny for dressing me like a hooker. I could get upset and burst into tears. Me last week would have done all of these things, but the new me… I just laugh. I erupt with laughter and it’s not the cute little giggle I use to acknowledge jokes, it’s my honest-to-God laugh, the kind that makes you look ugly but you don’t even care.
With Jackson still hovering between my legs, I scooch away from him and retrieve my dress from the floor, slipping it back on, still laughing to myself. I grab my shoes and head for the door.
‘You can keep the money,’ Jackson calls after me. ‘Just, please, don’t tell anyone.’
I grab the money from my cleavage, having forgotten it was even there, and toss it on the floor.
‘Don’t worry,’ I call back. ‘I won’t be telling anyone about this.’
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