by Kris Webb
By the time they ask, ‘Well, what would you like us to do today?’, I’m always so demoralised that I’ll agree to anything they suggest. I also feel like a catwalk model if the hairdresser manages to get the haircut even half right.
Despite years of negotiating with difficult clients, I’m still unable to tell a hairdresser that I don’t like something they’ve done, or that I’d like them to do something they obviously don’t approve of.
I’d had my hair in a bob of varying lengths for about ten years (except for the tragic perm episode, which I’m still not able to speak about). About five years ago I took the brave decision to have it cut really short. Perry, the hairdresser, looked at my obligatory photo of the actress whose hair (and face, body and life) I wanted, looked at me and decreed that he would cut my hair like that if that’s what I desired, but did I really want to show off my protruding ears? Funny, Isn’t it, how you can get through twenty-five years of life without realising something as fundamental as the fact you have protruding ears. Luckily, Perry’s skill and training allowed him to help people with deformities like mine, and he created (his words) a cropped kind of haircut that swept forward over my cheekbones (and over my ears).
Nice concept, except that I can’t stand having hair on my face. But do you think I managed to tell that to Perry or any of the three hairdressers who have succeeded him but have maintained the same hairstyle? Oh, no. Instead I wait until I’m outside the hairdresser’s to pull out my brush, rip out the spray and push my hair back behind my ears.
Today, however, one of the younger stylists was washing my hair, and the combination of the warm water and months of very little sleep was threatening to send me into a coma. I was concerned that if this happened no one would be able to wake me and they would have to leave me propped up at the basins for the rest of the day, so I tried to think of something to concentrate on that would keep me awake.
Naturally, my mind turned to the meeting and I wondered, not for the first time, whether David would like the design Debbie and I had agreed on. I had shown her the three different page layouts Simon’s designer had presented and we had sat in silence as she examined each one in turn.
I appreciate thoroughness as much as the next person, but after five minutes her silence started to unnerve me.
Just as I had decided that enough was enough and that I’d jump across the table and hold her down until she told me what she was thinking, she looked up and smiled.
‘They’re all good, but I think this one is pretty close to spot on,’ she said, holding up the design which was my favourite.
The designer had kept a lot of clean white space and had just added decoration with vivid splashes of colour on each page.
‘Of course,’ Debbie conceded, ‘I’m probably the worst person to test this on. We should see what Karen thinks. Maybe even some other mothers?’
‘Why don’t we wait until you come back with some ideas for covers?’ I suggested. ‘That way we can see what kind of reaction the whole package gets.’
‘Works for me,’ Debbie agreed. ‘I just hope I can find what we’re looking for at the trade show. Trekking around deepest darkest China trying to unearth baby book covers doesn’t really appeal.’
I snapped out of my musings as my hair was twisted into a towel (steel grey in this salon – obviously an acceptable variation on bottle green in the hairdressers’ manual) and I was propelled back to stare at myself in the mirror. A new addition to my customarily unattractive reflection in the huge mirror was big black shadows under my eyes. Next visit to the hairdresser I really would trowel on the makeup, I silently vowed.
When dressing I was tempted to pull one of my conservative suits (which ranged from black to navy and back to black) out of the depths of my closet where they had hung unworn from the point in my pregnancy when I could no longer do up the buttons on the jackets.
However, I decided that the high-powered corporate look might be a bit over the top for someone selling baby books. I opted instead for a pair of bone-coloured trousers and a light pink top – all made of that wonderful man-made material called microfibre which didn’t need ironing and made me wonder who on earth still bought crushable clothes.
I eyed Sarah speculatively as I dressed, trying to figure out if she looked like she was in a vomiting mood. I decided that I would take my chances for the trip to Karen’s place, where she was going to stay while I was out.
The phone rang. When I answered it I could hear a child screaming in the background and after a couple of seconds Karen spoke. ‘Sophie, it’s me. I’ve got a problem. Jack’s just fallen out of the jacaranda tree in the back yard and broken his arm. I’m on my way to the hospital at the moment. I’m really sorry but I’m not going to be able to look after Sarah for you.’
‘God, Karen, don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘Do you need me to do anything?’
‘No, it’s under control. Emily and Pat are with the next-door neighbour. Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at this drill, I just about know all the emergency room doctors’ names. I’ll call you later.’
I hung up, hoping that I’d prove to be as unflappable as Karen when Sarah started running around and hurting herself. Dialling Debbie’s number, I decided I’d give her the choice of looking after Sarah or going to the meeting herself. I suspected that any reluctance she felt about seeing David would be overcome by the prospect of being alone with Sarah for several hours.
Her home phone rang out and I dialled her mobile, which clicked straight onto her voice mail. I hung up and looked at my watch in panic. I didn’t have enough time to track down someone else to look after Sarah, so there was nothing for it, I’d just have to put the meeting off.
Pulling out my diary, I called David Fletcher’s number. ‘David, it’s Sophie Anderson,’ I said when he answered.
‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you soon – there’s not a problem, is there?’
‘Actually, there is,’ I answered. ‘Something unavoidable has just come up and I’m not going to be able to make our meeting. Would it be possible to reschedule for next week?’
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ he replied, obviously annoyed. ‘I’m off to Perth this evening and I actually booked a later flight so I could see you this morning. If we’re going to do this deal then I have to see you today. Surely you can move your other commitment.’
Sarah stared up at me from where she was lying on the bed and I suddenly decided I didn’t have any choice but to be honest.
‘Look, David, this is the story,’ I said. ‘I have a baby and the person who was going to look after her while I was meeting with you has had an emergency and had to cancel. Believe me, if it was just another appointment I’d move it in a flash, but a baby’s a bit trickier to cancel and I can’t line someone else up in the next five minutes.’
‘Well, why not just bring her along?’ David said, as if that was the logical solution. It was obvious he had absolutely zero experience with children if he thought we could calmly do business while I jiggled Sarah on one knee or, God forbid, breastfed her.
About to enlighten him on the top ten flaws in his suggestion, I realised that if I didn’t meet with him this morning the deal was off. Given that I couldn’t meet with him without Sarah, I didn’t really have a lot to lose.
‘Fine,’ I said briskly. ‘Sarah and I will be with you at eleven.’
I dressed Sarah in what I had thought would be a fantastic ensemble of a little dress, cardigan and socks, then realised the dress was still way too big and the combined effect was to make my beautiful little girl look like a bag lady. I wasted five more minutes reversing the process, prodding Sarah’s little arms back through the openings I’d just shoved them through and putting her back into the hot pink and white striped grow suit she’d been in originally. Determined not to be late on top of everything else, I grabbed Sarah under one arm, my briefcase under the other and headed out the front door.
Handley Smith’s flagsh
ip store was located in the centre of town. Pushing the pram into the lift to the executive levels and punching the button for the fourth floor, I grimaced as I caught a glimpse of my very unprofessional-looking self in the mirrored walls.
When the doors opened, I wheeled Sarah into the reception area and up to the desk. ‘Sophie Anderson to see David Fletcher,’ I told the receptionist.
‘Do you have an appointment, Ms Anderson?’ she asked dubiously, obviously thinking that I was a disgruntled shopper there to complain about the state of the store’s toilets.
‘Yes, he’s expecting me,’ I replied, trying to appear businesslike. Not an easy thing to do given that I was jiggling the pram with my left foot.
The receptionist picked up the phone and informed David of my arrival. Visibly surprised to hear that I did in fact have an appointment, she gestured me to the door that led off the reception area.
‘He’s free now, Ms Anderson,’ she said. ‘Go on through.’
Despite my jiggling, Sarah had decided that this whole thing was way too much fun to sleep through. I manhandled the pram through the door, praying that she wouldn’t do anything too horrific.
Once I’d successfully negotiated the doorway I looked up. I could see why Debbie had tried to work her feminine wiles on David Fletcher. He was tall, with a strong, angular face, dark brown hair and bright blue eyes behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.
I held out my hand. ‘I’m Sophie Anderson.’
David smiled and shook my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sophie. And who is this?’ he asked, gesturing towards Sarah.
‘This is Sarah – it’s her first business meeting,’ I replied, attempting to make light of the situation.
David smiled awkwardly at Sarah. ‘Hello, there.’ He reached out his hand but at the last minute held back from touching her.
‘My sister had a little boy a year ago. I was too terrified to touch him until he was big enough to crawl. They just seem so fragile, don’t they?’
I was about to reply, when Sarah suddenly let out an enormous bellow. My heart sank. Had I really expected this to go smoothly?
‘Not when she yells like this,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry – I know this probably isn’t how you’re used to holding meetings.’
I scooped Sarah out of her pram and she stopped crying. Not looking at David, I quickly spread a bunny rug on the floor and hung a rattle off a nearby chair leg. The Mother Police wouldn’t approve, but I figured David knew even less about babies than I did and wouldn’t report me.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ David said. ‘This shouldn’t take long, anyway. Please sit down.’
I sat as instructed and watched as he settled back in his chair. Handley Smith obviously hadn’t adopted the casual dress habits that had swept through the world’s capital cities – David was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt and conservative tie. I looked at his desk surreptitiously. It was perfectly neat with papers stacked in labelled trays and pens lined up above the blotting pad. Interestingly, I couldn’t spot the expected silver-framed picture of the beautiful girlfriend. The only picture on his desk was of a sailing boat.
‘Perhaps I should start, David,’ I said briskly, very conscious that the situation could go horribly wrong at any moment. ‘As you can see, I have just had a baby.’ I gestured at Sarah. ‘But for six years I held marketing jobs in various companies and am on leave from my current job at International Events Management. As Debbie told you, she has left her position at Mr Cheapy and we’ve decided to pool our skills and produce a baby book to fill what we believe is a significant gap in the market.’
Sarah seemed to be getting restless on the floor, so I quickly leant down to attach a new toy to her makeshift mobile. As I did, I was dismayed by the unmistakable odour of a dirty nappy and the telltale yellow stain spreading down her leg. I also spotted a large splotch of vomit on the toe of my right shoe.
I couldn’t imagine how David could miss the smell, but decided that if I ignored it maybe he would too. I just hoped that there wasn’t enough overflow from the nappy to seep through the rug onto the beige carpet.
I smiled at him in what I hoped was an efficient yet calm and motherly way, and continued. ‘We’re waiting on our first specially designed covers in the range of colours we’ve already discussed,’ I said, crossing my fingers in a superstitious attempt to ward off any consequences of my lie. ‘However, I have a couple of mock-ups which are very close to what the final product will look like.’
I pulled my briefcase onto my lap and removed the cover and a manila folder. Turning it around, I showed it to him. ‘The concept is that each baby book will consist of a cover in one of a range of vibrant colours and a set of these pages which, as you can see, slip into the fastening system inside the cover to look just like a normal book.’
I opened the manila folder and handed David a set of pages.
‘Wow,’ he said involuntarily as his eyes caught the bold design on the first page. As he looked through each of the pages, I kept talking to conceal my nervousness.
‘The idea is that these books take into account that times have changed and so have families, and that people want to put different things in a record book for their babies’ first years. We’ve provided a lot of different options, both traditional and untraditional, and also some plain pages with the same design for anyone who wants to come up with their own ideas.’
David looked up. ‘I think it will sell. As you can tell, I don’t have kids myself and wouldn’t know one end of a baby from the other, but since I spoke to you last week I’ve talked to a number of colleagues who are very positive about the marketability of an item like this.’
‘That brings me to my next point,’ I continued. ‘I have some ideas for marketing. It’s no good putting them in stores if we don’t tell people they’re there. Promotion should definitely be a component of any agreement we reach.’
‘What do you want to do with these books?’ David asked. ‘Are you wanting to sell them to as many outlets as you can, or are you interested in doing something exclusive with us?’
‘It really depends on the terms you offer,’ I replied frankly. ‘If we’d sell more books by putting them in every department and gift store in the country, then we’ll do that, but there’s definitely an appeal in doing something just with you.’
‘Fair enough,’ David replied. ‘What are your costings?’
As I slid the spreadsheet across the desk, I couldn’t believe how well this was going. Despite the gurgling, smelly bundle at my feet and the vomit on my shoe, I could hear myself actually sounding very businesslike.
‘These are rough figures,’ I said. ‘We need to firm up our cover pricing.’ I grimaced inwardly at this massive understatement. ‘But it will give you something to work with and I’ll have final figures to you shortly.’
‘Okay,’ David said. ‘Leave it with me and I’ll get back to you in the next couple of days.’
I had run out of toys with which to entertain Sarah and when I sneaked a glance at her I saw with a jolt that she had screwed up her face and was about to let out a scream. Trying to look as though I did this all the time, I quickly slung her over my left shoulder, stood up and shook David’s hand with my right.
‘I look forward to hearing from you,’ I said, desperate to be gone.
I decided it was too much of a risk to put Sarah back into her pram. Moving her into the crook of my right arm, I turned the pram around and headed for the door. My one-handed steering needed work and I clipped the doorframe as I went. The jolt startled Sarah, who started to cry.
I nodded quickly to the receptionist and pushed the down button for the lift, only barely resisting the urge to keep my finger there in a vain attempt to make it come more quickly. Finally it arrived and I stepped in, sighing with relief as the doors closed. I was so relieved that the meeting was over, I didn’t even care when a couple already in the lift sidled away from us.
It did, however, remind me that Sarah ba
dly needed a new nappy. Without a clue of where there might be a parents’ room in the CBD (hardly a big call for it, I reflected), I headed for the ladies’ toilets on the ground level of Handley Smith in the hope that the sink would be wide enough to rest Sarah on while I changed her.
No such luck. The basins were the fashionable freestanding kind, which looked good but were no use to me. With a sigh, I abandoned any pretence at being professional and lay Sarah on top of her bunny rug on the tiled floor. Ignoring the procession of people that had to step over us to reach the toilets, I quickly cleaned her and changed her into a plain white grow suit.
Feeling somewhat calmer and more presentable, I put Sarah in her pram and headed back to the foyer. My entrance through the revolving doors before the meeting had clearly entertained several onlookers. Just as I was taking a deep breath in preparation for a repeat performance, I caught sight of David walking out of the lifts, talking on a mobile phone.
My heart sank. Marvellous! While I’d avoided any major catastrophe during our meeting, he was now going to witness me trying to make my escape through the revolving doors.
He put the phone away just as he reached us, and I was surprised to see a genuine smile on his face. ‘Still here? I thought you two would be long gone by now.’
‘I’ve found that when people move away from Sarah in lifts, it probably means it’s a good time for a new nappy,’ I answered with a smile.
David laughed, obviously blissfully unaware of the peril his office carpet had been in fifteen minutes earlier. ‘Can I give you a hand to your car?’