When Polly Met Olly

by Zoe May

  I force myself to meet his gaze. ‘I know it sounds self-hating, but it’s true. I am a scruffy broke wannabe. I’ve been broke for ages. I haven’t got any nice clothes. I haven’t had a decent haircut for years. I do feel scruffy.’

  ‘Oh, hun.’ Gabe shuffles closer to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. ‘When do you get paid? Or if you want, I’ll treat you! We’ll go shopping! We’ll go to a nice salon and get your bangs cut if they’re bothering you that much.’

  ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to treat me. I might be able to cover it,’ I say, thinking of the Alicia payment. I don’t want to tell Gabe about it until the money arrives in my account, in case I jinx the whole thing.

  ‘You know you’re beautiful, right? With or without expensive clothes or a fancy haircut,’ Gabe reassures me, rubbing my back.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘Babe, stop putting yourself down. You know the only thing those sassy girls in Olly’s office have that you don’t?’

  I look up. ‘What?’

  ‘Confidence. You just need to believe in yourself a bit more.’

  I nod, thinking back to Eve’s mantra, which seems to ring true for so many situations in my life right now: you set the standard for your worth.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. But perhaps I could do with a makeover. Particularly since Derek’s party’s coming up.’

  ‘Ah yes, Cupid’s bash.’ Gabe grins. ‘There’ll be plenty of single guys there.’

  ‘Yeah, tons. But I shouldn’t really mix business with pleasure,’ I comment, although the truth is, I doubt Derek would care if I coupled up with one of the clients. As long as they end up with someone, his obligation is fulfilled, even if that someone is me. In fact, I’d be doing him a favour if I dated one of our clients. But the real reason I don’t want to date anyone from the party is because I’m into Olly. Really into him. And even if nothing’s going to come of it, I at least want to give myself time to get over these feelings before I find someone new. The last thing the business needs is for me to date one of the clients to distract myself from a crush I have on someone else, only to ditch them later when I get bored. No, that would definitely not be good for our reputation.

  ‘Well, even if you don’t mix business with pleasure, a good night out, a new haircut and a bit of TLC is in order.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

  ‘Course I am. I can’t have my best friend feeling like she’s not cool because of a scruffy hair do, now can I?’ Gabe says, ruffling my hair with his knuckles.

  I giggle. I’m still not sure a haircut, a makeover and a bit of sass is going to get Olly’s attention, but even if it’s not, it’s still a fun way to pass the time.

  Chapter 20

  ‘So, how do you want your hair?’ The hairdresser asks.

  Gabe’s brought me to the swanky salon in Tribeca where he and Adam get their hair cut. It’s located in a converted warehouse with exposed brick walls and tall ceilings covered with industrial-looking pipes. The staff are all impossibly thin, several of the women are wearing fedoras inside and the men have artfully groomed facial hair. It’s a far cry from the place I usually get my hair cut: a small salon tucked away on a backstreet around the corner from mine and Gabe’s flat ran by a Polish woman. It’s called Paulina’s, after her. It has a peeling paint sign and the haircuts are pretty basic – they’re certainly not fashionable or cutting edge – but they’re thirty dollars and you can’t complain for thirty dollars. Gabe’s always taken the piss out of me for going there, but I just ignore him. I’ve grown quite fond of Paulina and her no-nonsense approach to hair cutting. But the payment from Alicia came through and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to treat myself. With the money in my account, I finally told Gabe about it and he was more than happy to accompany me.

  ‘Erm…’ I hesitate, remembering that the hair stylist, Malcolm, is waiting for an answer. How do I want my hair? I take in my reflection. My hair is just… hair. It hangs at the side of my face in two frizzy curtains. It has no shape or style. Or shade for that matter. It’s just a godgiven mousy brown. If I’m feeling fancy, I occasionally curl tendrils and let them fall around my face, but most of the time, I just bung it into a scruffy bun and get on with my day.

  ‘What about a bob or something?’ Gabe suggests. He stands next to me, his hand to his chin as though he’s about to start stroking an imaginary beard. He looks like he’s appraising an artefact in a museum as he takes in my reflection.

  ‘No.’ Malcolm shakes his head. He pulls my hair back from my face. ‘It wouldn’t work. Her face is too round.’

  ‘How about darker? With bangs? An edgy block fringe?’ Gabe suggests.

  ‘I’m not so sure.’ Malcolm pulls a face. ‘With wavy hair, fringes can be a nightmare.’ He plucks at my hair while silently appraising it. Eventually, he lets go of my hair and takes a step back, assessing me.

  ‘Um, how about something short?’ I suggest. ‘I’ve always quite liked short hair. Pixie cuts.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The hairdresser looks reluctant. ‘That’s a bold move.’

  I shrug.

  ‘Yeah Polly, a pixie cut?’ Gabe raises an eyebrow.

  ‘I feel like a change.’

  ‘Well, once you do that, there’s no going back. There’s no quick fix. It takes a long time to grow back,’ Malcolm warns. ‘You have to be sure.’

  ‘I know, but I’m willing to risk it,’ I say, with an air of confidence that belies the tremor of anxiety in my stomach. My hair has always been troublesome. Maybe Malcolm’s right, this could be a big mistake that I’ll end up having to patiently endure for months until my hair finally grows out. But the thing is, I don’t want to look how I always look. I want to try something bold and different, even if it does end up being a mistake. I’m willing to risk it.

  ‘Yeah, just cut it. I’m ready,’ I insist, taking Malcolm’s nervous expression head on and fixing him with a confident look.

  ‘Seriously?’ Gabe raises an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know if you should, Polly.’

  ‘I want to. I’m ready for a change,’ I insist. Gabe eyes me uneasily and Malcolm is still looking on edge. It’s quite fun watching them squirm. Maybe I should ask for a mohawk.

  ‘If you want to go short, are you sure you don’t want something shoulder-length or maybe around here?’ Malcolm asks, placing his hands by my jawline.

  ‘I thought you said my face was too round for a bob?’ I remind him, taking in his nervous expression. For a cutting-edge salon, he certainly seems timid. ‘Honestly,’ I say, in a firm voice, ‘I’m sure.’

  He meets my gaze and I can see he realises that I’m not messing around.

  ‘Okay!’ he says, forcing a wide, slightly tense, smile. ‘Pixie cut it is.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘Oh my God, Polly. If this isn’t a quarter-life crisis, I don’t know what is,’ Gabe sighs exasperatedly.

  ‘It’s not a quarter-life crisis,’ I tut. ‘It’s just a new look. Why do people get so over dramatic about cutting hair? It’s not like I’m splashing out forty grand on a Mercedes? It’s just a haircut.’

  ‘Yeah, but if it looks awful, there’s no going back. You’d have to wear a wig or something,’ Gabe points out, looking stricken, as though wearing a wig is the worst possible fate that could befall me.

  ‘Coming from the man who wears wigs every Friday night,’ I remind him.

  ‘Well, yeah.’ Gabe rolls his eyes. ‘But it’s not like I’d be seen dead in any of those wigs at work or in daily life.’

  Malcolm shoots Gabe a curious look.

  ‘I’m a drag queen,’ Gabe explains matter-of-factly. ‘Only on Friday nights though,’ he adds. ‘The rest of the week, I work in HR.’

  Malcolm seems fascinated by this nugget of information and he and Gabe launch into a detailed conversation on everything from the best and worst gay clubs to the best budget wigs offering both breathability and secure fastening. I interject every now and then
to be polite, but I’m more interested in what I’m seeing in the mirror. Malcolm is gradually snipping away at my hair, taking it from just below the shoulders to ear-length. As they talk about wig caps, he begins snipping even higher, and with a few clean cuts, he’s taken my hair up to ear length. It’s not been shaped yet, but there’s definitely no going back at this point. My hair is short. And the weird thing is that I can already tell that I like it. It’s like I can suddenly see my face. My eyes pop. My lips are there. There’s no crappy frizzy hair distracting from my features.

  ‘You’re really doing this,’ Gabe says, suddenly focusing on me as Malcolm chops away at my hair.

  ‘Yep. No going back now.’ I grin.

  My eyes look twice their usual size without being flanked by waves of hair and even though it’s still just a shabby mess, I can already tell I’m going to like it.

  Malcolm’s eyes laser in on my reflection in the mirror and I can tell he’s beginning to warm to the idea of the pixie cut. Gabe makes another comment about some gay club in Brooklyn but Malcolm mumbles a half-hearted answer. It’s clear he’s focusing on me now. He leans close to my head and makes delicate snips around my hairline. Gabe plucks a magazine left on the seat next to mine.

  ‘I’m just gonna…’ He gestures with the magazine to a bench in reception.

  Malcolm nods distractedly.

  Gabe gives my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Good luck,’ he says.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply, making eye contact with him in the mirror. I smile, but I make a deliberate effort not to move my head in case it screws up Malcolm’s handiwork.

  ‘Right, see you in a bit,’ Gabe says. He wanders off and from the corner of my eye, I can just about make out him sitting in a corner in reception, flicking through the magazine on his lap.

  Malcolm and I lapse into a companionable silence as he snips away. He’s frowning and leaning close, his face etched with concentration. The more he snips away, the more confident I feel that I’ve made the right decision. A pixie cut may have seemed like a bold move, but bold is good. Fortune favours the bold, doesn’t it? That’s the kind of sentiment I’d imagine Eve would agree with. I almost wish I could just take a picture of my hair now and send it to her. Although of course, I can’t. I’m a random woman who she doesn’t even know.

  ‘This is going to look great on you,’ Malcolm says, in a deeper tone, and I can tell he means it. He’s getting serious. He genuinely likes my hair. Maybe for once I can have a look. Cool hair that gives an edgy finish to my outfits. The kind of trendy hair that people in Olly Corrigan’s office have. Maybe I can be that type of person.

  Malcolm keeps snipping with that intense concentration and I can’t believe how with every chunk of hair that’s falling to the floor, that I’m actually looking better. Long hair is generally considered to be covetable and glamourous, yet, the more hair I lose, the better I’m feeling.

  ‘Right…’ Malcolm makes a couple more snips. ‘I’m pretty much done here. I’ll blow dry it and then I might make a few more adjustments.’

  ‘Great,’ I reply as he reaches for a hairdryer and round comb and begins blow-drying and sculpting my hair into shape.

  ‘Oh my God, I love it,’ I say, over the sound of the hairdryer, as I drink in my reflection. It’s cute and young-looking. It looks trendy.

  Malcolm turns off the hairdryer.

  ‘I can’t believe it! It’s so cool!’ I turn my head, taking my reflection in from all angles.

  ‘Yeah, it really suits you,’ Malcolm notes, with a hint of surprise in his voice. ‘It’s really good on you.’

  I turn and call Gabe over. He’s engrossed in a celeb gossip magazine and looks up with a dazed air, before his eyes land on me. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he tosses the magazine aside and gets up to come over.

  ‘Wow!’ he gawps. ‘Who are you and what have you done with Polly?’

  I grin. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It looks amazing!’ Gabe enthuses and I can tell he means it. I haven’t seen him look this excited since he saw Lady Gaga opening a new Topshop store in Time Square.

  ‘It’s so cool, right?’ I say.

  Gabe walks around my hair, taking in a 360-degree view of my new look.

  ‘It’s incredible. You look amazing. Like a model!’ Gabe insists. He might be pushing it with the model comment, but it does look nice. ‘It really lights up your eyes.’

  ‘Thanks. Malcolm’s done an amazing job.’ I meet Malcolm’s gaze in the mirror.

  ‘I’m so glad you like it. It was a good idea,’ he says, squirting some serum onto his hand, which he proceeds to run through my hair, giving it a final gloss.

  Gabe praises Malcolm’s handiwork too. I can tell Malcolm likes the final result, but it’s clear that even though this new cut might be transformative for me, it’s all in a day’s work for him. Paulina’s might have been cheap and cheerful and got rid of my split ends, but I can see now why Gabe’s a regular here.

  ‘So, you’re all done,’ Malcolm says, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking at me in the mirror.

  ‘Thank you! I absolutely love it!’ I grin at him. This may be a cool swanky salon where people skulk about in fedoras, but I have no chill and I’m not even going to attempt to hide my glee.

  ‘Awesome.’ Malcolm grins back. I get up and he helps me out of my hairdresser robe, before directing me to reception, where one of the fedora-wearing girls is waiting with a card machine and a whopping bill. After paying – and trying not to think about how much I’m paying – Gabe and I head back out onto the street and breathe in the New York air, which smells refreshingly unlike hairspray.

  ‘So, sexy, what now?’ Gabe asks.

  ‘Sexy? Is that my new nickname?’ I joke.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Cool, I’ll take it.’

  Gabe smiles. ‘Come on, let’s get you a fabulous dress to go with that fabulous hair.’ He steps out into the street and hails down a cab, sticking his arm out until one of them slows down and signals that it’s coming over.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I look between him and the cab which is drawing to a halt.

  ‘Oh come on, today is not the day for subway travel and penny pinching. You just splashed out $320 on your hair.’

  ‘Shhh!’ I hiss, trying to live by the principle that if I don’t say it out loud, it didn’t really happen.

  Gabe rolls his eyes. ‘Just relax. Have a bit of fun today. It’s on Alicia. Let your hair down,’ Gabe comments, before cracking up with laughter. ‘Oh wait, you can’t!’

  We get into the cab, giggling away, high on the rush of spending money and living it up. I know Gabe’s had disposable income for a while, and even though he’ll happily take me out for the odd meal here and there, it doesn’t feel quite as fun and relaxed as it does today. It’s always been a treat, and even though it’s sweet and I appreciate it, it still highlights the disparity between us, creating a certain awkwardness. But today, we’re on the same level. We can both blow a bit of cash, we can have fun without me feeling guilty over the fact’s that Gabe’s the one picking up the bill. It’s freeing to just be having carefree fun. I know Alicia’s payment won’t last forever and I’m certainly not going to blow the whole lot, but I can at least afford one good day and a new look.

  Even the cab driver admires my new hair as he weaves through the traffic and takes us to Macy’s.

  ‘You look great. Like a movie star,’ he says, no doubt vying for a tip.

  ‘Haha, hardly,’ I laugh. I know he’s just being nice, but I can’t help but feel complimented. It’s not often you get told you look like a model and a movie star in one day.

  I take out my pressed powder from my handbag and study my reflection in the small mirror, drinking it in. I love my new look, but more than that, I love that I was bold enough to go for it. I feel excited, thinking of what other previously unchartered territories might be in my grasp.

  We arrive at Barneys and pay our driver, tipping him g
enerously, before dashing into the store and heading to the nearest display of dresses. Dresses aren’t my usual thing, but I can’t exactly rock up to Derek’s party to end all parties in jeans and a shirt. I flick through the display, and grab half a dozen pretty dresses, from flapper style slips and vintage numbers to sleek sleeveless skater dresses.

  Gabe glances over and takes one of the vintage dresses draped over my arm. He looks it up and down. ‘This looks like a vintage school uniform, not a party frock.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Well, my school certainly wasn’t that cool.’

  ‘Okay, fine. Maybe it’s a bit better than a school uniform but not by much. It hardly screams glamourous New York matchmaker.’

  I laugh. ‘Firstly, is there such a thing? And secondly, I don’t exactly need to be glamourous. Like I said, I’m not really interested in dating the clients.’

  ‘Not even Brandon?’ Gabe asks, giving me a knowing look as he rifles through the dresses on a nearby rack.

  ‘Nope, not even Brandon,’ I insist.

  ‘Seriously? But he’s Brandon Fox,’ Gabe reminds me pleadingly.

  ‘Yeah I know. He’s brilliant. He’s such a brilliant man but he’s really into the woman I set him up with, Eve. Plus. he’s just too perfect, you know.’ I put the vintage school uniform dress back on the rail and rummage through to find something different.

  ‘What do you mean too perfect?’ Gabe places a wholly inappropriate patent leather strappy dress back on the rail and eyes me curiously.

  ‘He’s just so handsome and clever and successful and efficient that it’s almost off-putting,’ I explain, and as I say the words out loud, I realise they’re true. They’re not just some line I’m telling myself in order to feel better about the fact that I’m clearly not Brandon’s type. They’re genuine. I do find Brandon’s efficiency a bit off-putting. He’s just a bit too slick. He’s charming, kind, and the work he did with Alicia was incredible, and yet I just don’t fancy him anymore.

  ‘It’s a bit like God,’ I announce as I flick past another uniform-style dress. Gabe looks over quizzically. ‘You admire him, but you don’t exactly want to tap him.’