Elsa's Stand

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘I bow to your expertise. Wednesday is best I think. I’ll call about a time. Have you met Jack Hargreaves?’

  ‘I have.’ She faced Jack, her expression teasing and sexy. Jack’s thoughts turned to gibberish. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Good.’ He tried to keep focus on her face but there was too much skin on offer, too much Elsa. Was she wearing a bra? If she stood a fraction closer he might be able to see down her front.

  She waited, her chest moving as she held in a laugh. The jiggling caused her top to slip a fraction. His breath caught. Just a little bit more …

  ‘I’ve been good too, Jack. Thanks for asking.’

  Jack’s face turned furnace hot. He cleared his throat. ‘Sorry.’

  A finger traced down his forearm and was gone. An electric shock of touch that only scrambled his brain further. Any second, it’d start leaking out his ears.

  Christ on a bicycle, he wanted her. Here, right now in the street in front of Angus and the post office and a whole cake stall full of gossipy women whose disapproving gazes were planted firmly on him and Elsa.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ said Angus, his voice filled with amusement. He patted Jack. ‘Good to see you again. I’ll call you about dinner.’

  Jack nodded. Embarrassment and want had destroyed his voice.

  As soon as Angus turned his back, Elsa took his hand and tugged. ‘Come along.’

  Jack followed. She may as well have had him by the privates, such was his non-existent willpower.

  They stood on the kerb as a car passed. Jack’s back prickled from the heated stares of their audience. He glanced at them and down at Elsa.

  She squeezed his fingers. ‘Don’t even think it.’

  ‘Elsa …’

  ‘It’s fine.’ She waved at the driver and stepped out, towing Jack across the road and inside the salon, where a fluoro orange-haired girl stood behind the counter.

  ‘This is Serenity,’ said Elsa. ‘She has the beauty rooms at the back. In case you’re wondering, she chooses her own hair colour. Nothing to do with me. I just apply the stuff.’

  Serenity grinned at him. ‘Nice to meet you at last, Jack. We’ve been discussing you in great detail.’

  ‘Serenity,’ warned Elsa.

  She threw up her hands. ‘What?’

  ‘Go wax your toes or something. I need to talk to Jack.’

  It was then that Jack realised Elsa still had hold of his hand. He looked at it, so delicate in his. Which was kind of funny. Elsa was anything but delicate. She was a steam train of sexy determination.

  ‘Alone, Serenity,’ said Elsa when Serenity remained behind the counter, her grin growing even broader.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she huffed, before moving to stomp off. Suddenly she stopped, her focus on the street. ‘You might want to change your mind on that.’

  Both Jack and Elsa looked. Al was marching towards the door. Across the road, at least half a dozen pairs of eyes were on the salon.

  Elsa closed her eyes. ‘Shit.’

  Jack tugged his hand free. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘Elsa,’ he said on a sigh. ‘You don’t need the hassle.’ Neither did he.

  Colour bloomed across her cheeks. She lifted her chin, her glare full of sparks, her sweet voice lowering to a growl. ‘Don’t tell me what I do or don’t need, Jack Hargreaves.’

  He opened his mouth, closed it.

  Fiery Elsa vanished as fast as she’d arrived, replaced with kind Elsa. Jack didn’t know which was scarier. Both versions made him stupid with want.

  She stepped close and stroked his arm like she had in the street. ‘Please, Jack.’

  He stared at her with his guts churning and his heart ping-ponging against his ribs, and the pull of desperate longing trying to fool him into staying. He shook his head and stared at the door as it opened.

  ‘Al,’ said Elsa, not bothering to turn around, her focus on Jack. ‘Your appointment isn’t until next week.’

  ‘Oh.’ Al closed the door, gaze low and shifty. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Ten-thirty Tuesday morning.’

  Al scratched his jaw.

  Elsa remained fixed on Jack. He swallowed. Al should leave. Jack should leave. Both seemed anchored.

  Finally Elsa turned around. ‘It must be anti-dandruff shampoo you’re after then. You’d be due for some. Serenity will look after you. I’m a bit busy. Jack needs a trim.’ She headed briskly to the barber’s chair, rested her hands on the back and looked pointedly back at Jack.

  A challenge. He could walk out the door or he could stay. Serenity arched a thin eyebrow at him. His mouth curled in one corner. Yeah, Elsa had him by the privates all right. Walking out would only make him look a coward and there weren’t too many men who enjoyed that feeling. And he was stuffed if he’d let Elsa think him one.

  Jack crossed to the chair and sat. Elsa smiled at him in the mirror, then bent close to his ear. ‘Thank you.’

  She draped a cape over him while behind them, Serenity sold Al a bottle of shampoo Jack suspected he didn’t need but had been forced into buying to save face.

  Five minutes after Al left, a sour-faced old lady clumped in, silver-topped cane punctuating every step.

  ‘Mrs. Brierly,’ said Serenity cheerfully, playing her role. She drew her finger down the appointment book. ‘Goodness, you’re early. Perhaps you have some shopping you’d like to take care of in between time?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ replied Mrs. Brierly crisply. ‘I’ll wait.’ She settled herself regally on a chair, hands atop her cane, knees and feet together, and her cold regard on Jack.

  ‘Ignore her,’ said Elsa, her breath tickling his ear.

  Jack took her advice and fixed on the reflection of Elsa’s coltish long legs instead.

  Another elderly woman from the cake stall entered, feigned delight at seeing Mrs. Brierly, shooed away Serenity and settled alongside her crony.

  Serenity skipped to the back of the salon, twinkling fingers at Jack as she passed. Next moment, heavy rock blared through the speakers. Elsa scooted her chair around in front of Jack, hiding her face from the reception area. She bit her lip, eyes sparkling, and her mouth scrunched up as though trying to hold in a giggle.

  Serenity waltzed back to the front, singing loudly.

  Jack found himself grinning.

  The moment lingered, throbbing with beat and humour, and a whole lot of like.

  Suddenly, Elsa’s expression sobered. ‘How have you been? Really?’

  ‘Not bad. Busy.’ Doing anything to keep from thinking of her. ‘You? Good Christmas?’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Elsa looked down at her scissors and back up again, her top teeth scraping her bottom lip. Jack couldn’t stop staring at the plumped flesh left behind. ‘You never called.’

  He shook his head. He’d come close, though. Many times.

  ‘I kept hoping you would. I nearly drove out to Strathroy a couple of times.’

  Jack’s gaze lifted to her eyes. Music blared, disapproval wafted, yet the moment contained only them. ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘You didn’t call.’ She shrugged a shoulder and looked away. ‘I figured that meant you wanted to be left alone.’

  He did, and at the time it had seemed for the best, for him and for Elsa. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘So,’ she said, raising her voice and bringing them back to normal. ‘Seeing as you missed out on Christmas lunch, Mum has issued a standing invitation to dinner. How does Thursday night sound?’

  Jack’s eyes flicked to the old ladies.

  Elsa’s fingers on his jaw brought his attention back to her. ‘Don’t look at them. They don’t matter.’

  He swallowed. How could such a simple touch affect him so much? The tips of her fingers were like spark plugs.

  ‘It’s just dinner, Jack.’ She smiled. ‘And a movie. Mum’s not going to let her new-found virgin get away that easily.’ For a heartbeat her gaze flitted to his
mouth. ‘Say yes?’

  ‘Okay.’

  A smile lit her face. Jack smiled back, thrilled that his acceptance had given her such pleasure, wishing he could make her light up like that all the time.

  The music came to an abrupt halt, plunging the salon into silence. Elsa blinked, then giggled as the opening riff to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” cracked through the salon.

  Which was exactly how Jack felt as Elsa finished his haircut. Thunderstruck, electric, crackling. Fire was running through his veins, hot and fast. His skin was hypersensitive, fizzing with each brush of her dress. Only his tight grip on the ends of the armrests stopped him from touching her.

  ‘There,’ she said, brushing hair from his neckline and then placing her hands on his shoulders. She smiled at him in the mirror. ‘Neat and tidy for Thursday night. Unless you want to come in for a shave in the afternoon? Go the whole hog?’

  The way Jack was feeling, going the whole hog would have nothing to do with shaving.

  He rubbed his jaw instead. ‘I think I can manage on my own.’

  Jack followed her to the counter. “Thunderstruck” had given way to nineties grunge band Nirvana’s epic hit “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” The old ladies looked like they were sucking on something far more unsavoury than teen spirit, while Serenity remained as blissful as her name, as if torturing the elderly was the best thing in the world.

  ‘Is six-thirty okay for Thursday?’ Elsa asked, as Jack tapped his credit card against the reader, thankful he was paying finally. Not paying would have only earned them more speculation and gossip, and he and Elsa had already given the town plenty. ‘Not too early?’

  Jack glanced at the ladies, both craning forwards to eavesdrop over the music. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. You’ll need an address.’ She made a note on the back of a business card and handed it over.

  ‘Thanks.’ Jack quickly tucked it away. He nodded at Serenity, then at the puckering ladies, and strode for the door.

  ‘Oh, Jack?’ Elsa skipped towards him. ‘I forgot to ask if there was anything you don’t eat. Allergies, anything like that.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Great.’ Without warning, she gripped his arm and levered herself up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘See you Thursday night.’

  Chapter Ten

  Jack shaved carefully. A cut would have Elsa teasing him. Not that he’d mind her teasing. Anything that made her smile the way she had on Monday was fine by him.

  He hadn’t stopped thinking about her in that white dress, luminous against the dark backdrop of Wirralong’s main street. The skin of her throat and shoulders like alabaster, red hair and deep blue eyes in glorious contrast.

  Fire and sky. An opal among the worthless stones of Wirralong.

  Fire and fiery. Just thinking of her defiance in the face of the town’s matrons made him want to kiss her. If they’d been alone in the salon when she’d pulled that trick at the door Jack would have. A small twist of his head and her goodbye kiss would have landed on his mouth instead of his cheek, and he’d have kept it there until they both melted to the floor.

  He’d even been turned on when she’d directed that defiance on him. It’d almost be worth telling her again what to do, just to see those sparks. That rapid flush of heat and colour on her chest and neck. A similar pattern had appeared on Simone when she was about to come. Simone wasn’t Elsa though. Not even close. His ex-lover was a good person, but life and letdown had dulled her edges, while Elsa was almost feverish with excitement and mischief. A contagion he was catching badly.

  Jack rinsed his face and checked himself in the mirror. Not as sheer as one of Elsa’s shaves but at least he hadn’t cut himself. He frowned, wondering what she saw that no one else seemed to. To Jack, his face was unremarkable. If anything, it was a bit rough, with its scar and broken nose, and washed-out blue eyes. He grimaced at the pointless effort of trying to work out anything about women. They were hard to fathom at the best of times.

  Daisy sniffed his ankles as Jack finished locking up, then perched on her haunches and regarded him with her head angled to one side.

  ‘Got a date, Daise,’ he said, fondling her soft ears.

  The dog tipped her head to the other side.

  ‘What?’ Jack stroked the chest of his freshly ironed shirt. ‘Too much?’

  He thought he looked pretty good. Casual but decent in a pair of navy chinos and a red-and-blue check shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  Daisy panted.

  ‘Everyone’s a critic.’ He gave her another pat and headed for his ute.

  The local radio station—which took its easy-listening charter to another realm—was playing James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” when he started the engine. Jack laughed. Beautiful he wasn’t. He turned it up anyway, letting the ballad wash over him as he drove into town, mind full of Elsa.

  It wasn’t until he got to the bottle shop that nerves really hit. There were too many labels to choose from, and he didn’t know if Elsa or her mum preferred red or white wine. Perhaps flowers would have been better, or chocolates. A quick glance at his watch revealed it was too late to change now. Red wine it would be. At least it didn’t need to be cold.

  As with many rural towns whose economic fortunes had seesawed over the years, Wirralong had experienced haphazard growth. The well-preserved centre was testament to the wealth that gold had bought, while the tiny workers’ cottages of the eastern outskirts reflected the downturn of the pre-war years, when the rush was over and the town became more reliant on small industry, like milling and tanning.

  Elsa’s parents lived in a part of town that had developed during the wool boom era of the fifties, when Australia rode high on the backs of millions of sheep and money was again plentiful. A quietly middle-class area with large blocks and wide, well-lit streets. The sort of area nice girls came from and a son of Fraser Greene didn’t belong, but right now wanted to. Badly.

  He parked across the street from Elsa’s home and stared at it for a moment. It was a sprawling, older style bungalow, painted off-white with a dark tile roof, large, columned verandah, and a neat, well-watered garden behind a painted brick and iron fence. Two hatchbacks were parked in front of a detached double garage, one white, one red. He bet Elsa’s was the red one.

  He was still staring when the front door opened and Elsa stepped from the shadowed verandah and out into the sunshine. Spotting him, she grinned and waved. Jack fetched the bottle and alighted, wishing he had Daisy with him for a last reassuring pat.

  She was looking girl-next-door stunning in a pair of skinny jeans with the cuffs rolled up and matched with a wide brown belt, flat, brown leather sandals, and a blousy, hippie-style yellow top with a dangly string tie at the neck that she’d left undone. Her hair was down, flowing over her shoulders but with two tresses from over her ears drawn back in twists and tied with a yellow daisy-shaped hairclip at the back of her head. It reminded him of a song Dimitry used to sometimes play on his old record player. A ballad from the sixties about San Francisco and wearing flowers in your hair. The grizzled miner would get a distant look on his face and talk about getting there, meeting the gentle free-loving people from the song, once he struck it rich. Jack would have to google it when he got home.

  There was no trace of the make-up she normally wore. Just natural Elsa, shiny and bright with warmth and humour, and making his heart feel too fat for his chest.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You look great.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She presented her cheek, then tapped it when he hesitated.

  Jack’s kiss was so fast it was borderline rude, but he was too afraid of doing something dumb if he got too close, like kissing the smug laughter right out of her mouth.

  She was grinning when he straightened, and Jack hid a sigh. He was in for a long, tortuous night if this was the game Elsa intended on playing.

  ‘Come and meet Mum. It’s just the three of us tonight. Dad’s at his usual cricket meeting and the t
wins are at a mate’s place.’

  ‘Twins?’

  ‘My younger brothers, Sam and Tim.’ Elsa kept talking as she led him inside. ‘Normally they’re at uni in Melbourne but they’ve come home to annoy us for the summer holidays. That’s Dad’s lounge.’ She indicated a manly looking room, heavy with timber shelves stacked with books, and a leather lounge suite. ‘Dad hides here when Mum’s in movie mode.’

  ‘He doesn’t watch too?’

  ‘Sometimes. There’s a limit to how many times you can sit through The Maltese Falcon though. Dad prefers reading. And teasing Mum about how much better the books are.’

  ‘He’s right.’

  ‘Oh, and like you’d know?’ She slanted flirtatiously forwards and wiggled her eyebrows at him. ‘Virgin.’

  Jack would have made a smart-arsed comment back except Elsa whirled around and distracted him with her tight, denim-clad bum.

  He trailed her through the house, Elsa rattling off the rooms—the master bedroom, her brothers’ old room, a white, clearly renovated bathroom.

  ‘The main living area’s at the back, in the extension. This is my room.’ She leaned on the jamb, hand curled to her chest and looking oddly embarrassed. ‘I used to share a flat with a friend, but when I bought the salon I moved back home to save money. It was only meant to be temporary but …’ She made a fluttery gesture. ‘Fortunately, thanks to Wirra, things are better now. Depending on how things go, I might look around for somewhere mid-year. Then again, maybe not. I like it here. It’s easy and Mum and Dad are cool, and we mostly keep out of each other’s way.’

  Elsa wandered on but Jack paused to peer inside. Like the others, it was a well-appointed room with a mirror fronted built-in robe, plain white walls and polished timber floorboards. Elsa’s bed was thick with plump pillows that matched the blue-and-white flowery doona, curtains and fluffy floor rug. A desk occupied one corner, a closed laptop on top, and what looked like ledgers set to the side. The salon’s accounts Jack supposed. A low bookshelf stretched down the other wall, the top shelves loaded with photo frames and knick-knacks, the bottom shelf stacked with magazines.