Humph! Obviously stealing him from Malibu wasn’t enough for Amy. She had to have a little dig at her too.
“You’re so–ooo right. Malibu’s in the same position. She’s got a Chelsea footballer absolutely gaga for her. He’s bought her a ring with a rock the size of a cannonball.”
“When are they getting married?” she asked putting her ring-finger hand in her trouser pocket.
“Well, the baby pops out in about six weeks. And then they’ll set the date.”
“Oh, is she having a baby?”
Oops. Me and my big mouth. Best play along now. Use it to my advantage.
“Uh-huh. Well, when it comes to babies you don’t really hang about when you’re with the right person.”
“So true. I’ve already stopped taking the pill.”
“Gr–rrreat,” I said. And it was probably mean of me but my next line was: “Now let me show you to the Tanarama booth.”
I did warn her not to put the setting on high but she insisted. And when she stepped out, six minutes later, if I’d given her a spiky green wig, Sainsbury’s would have stacked her on the carrots aisle.
“Aaaaaaaaaagh!” she screamed.
I offered her the full works as compensation – some products, a free manicure and wax. But somehow, I don’t think she’ll be coming back.
Don’t mess with the Bennets, biatch.
1.30 p.m.
A decent day has now become perfect! Stephen called when I went out to get a sandwich – and he didn’t dump me!
“Sorry about last night, Boss Lady. I was tired and disappointed with myself.”
“It’s OK, baby. I understand,” I said.
“How’s it going at the salon?”
“Never a dull moment,” I told him, thinking about Amy. “Oh, and I’ve had an idea, for a little competition. It’s called Salon Idol. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“OK. But I already like the title so I’m sure it’ll be good.”
He believes in me. This is why I love him. *sigh*
Wish I could believe in him 100% too, instead of being paranoid about him dumping me or cheating on me. But it’s so hard after what Robbie did.
Anyway, he’s going to pick me up from work and take me out for dinner.
7 p.m.
Today I turned away a total of five people who wanted to use the Tanarama booth. Meaning I kissed goodbye to £150 . Apologized to them big time and offered £5 off if they come back on Friday.
Thankfully, my other big earner went well: three of Isabel’s clients bought some products and a couple of Lara’s did too. In fact, that earned Lara some bonus points for the Salon Idol competition. It now looks like this:
Lara: 4 waxes, 1 manicure, 1 manicure/pedicure = 7 points. Plus two bonus points for convincing clients to buy products. Today’s grand total: 9 points.
Courtney: 3 waxes, 2 manicures, 1 manicure/pedicure = 7 points. But she agreed to give Jo Robinson a manicure, even though she turned up thirty minutes late, and won’t finish till seven fifteen, so I’m going to give her two bonus points – one for the manicure and one for being dedicated enough to work past seven.
This means both beauticians are tied at 9–9.
11 p.m.
Stephen caused a massive stir when he arrived at the salon tonight. I was at the reception desk, sort of looking out for him, when he parked outside at five minutes past seven. He was in a car he’s test-driving – a BMW X6. BMW’s Netherfield branch said he can use it for a month before he decides whether he wants to buy one. (Apparently they suck up to all the footballers at the club.) It’s a great car but, must say, when he stepped out of it, Stephen looked even better. He was wearing dark blue jeans, a Polo Ralph Lauren black V-neck over a checked shirt, and a Ralph Lauren Puffa jacket. And he just happened to have a beautiful bunch of flowers in his hand.
Courtney was at the closest nail bar to the door, manicuring Jo Robinson, and I couldn’t help feeling a teensy-weensy bit smug when I heard Jo excitedly whisper, “Who’s that guy?” and Courtney, just as excited, whisper back, “I don’t know but I think he’s coming in.” Seconds later, Stephen strode into the salon and fixed his eyes on me as if Courtney and Jo were invisible.
“Hey gorgeous,” he said with a huge smile on his face.
I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a peck on those luscious lips.
“These,” he said, presenting me with the flowers as we broke away, “are for putting up with me last night.”
I could see Courtney and Jo were a bit embarrassed about lusting after someone that turned out to be my boyfriend, so I decided to introduce them to show I was fine with it because (a) they didn’t know he was my boyfriend at the time and (b) he is fit and they’re only human.
“Babe, this is Courtney and this is Jo.”
“Hi ladies,” he said.
“And girls, this is my boyfriend, Stephen.”
“Hi,” they replied in unison. Then Courtney was head down, back to manicuring again.
I was riding high, thinking, Who needs Zoe Westwick tips? when Isabel walked out of the waxing room. She may be the oldest beautician but not only is she gorgeous, she also has the best figure ever (lucky cow) – and Stephen looked at her a little longer than necessary, in my opinion.
“This is Isabel,” I said, as she put on her coat.
“Hi,” they both went. And I swear Stephen’s smile at Isabel was way bigger than the one he’d given me. I’m seriously brewing about it. But as we’ve only just made up, I’ve decided not to say anything – YET.
Mum was proper impressed with the flowers. We dropped them off on the way to the restaurant.
“Ooh, they’re nice, love. Aren’t they, my hunky monkey?”
Mum and Alan were eating dinner.
“Oh yeah. Almost as gorgeous as you, Ally Wally.”
Ugh! I cannot leave that house quick enough. So–ooo glad I’m staying at Stephen’s tonight. Even packed a slinky little La Senza number – Isabel, schmizabel.
Dinner was amazeballs! It was at a restaurant called Docklands’ Finest, right by Stephen’s hotel, and because he’d booked a table by the window, the River Thames was our backdrop.
Over starters, he talked about wanting to move out of the hotel.
“The club have said they’re fine to keep paying the room bill for another five months, but nothing beats having your own place,” he told me. “So I called a few estate agents today. Hopefully something will turn up.” He wants an apartment rather than a big house like some of the other lads. “A house is for when you’ve got kids to fill it with.”
Ah yes, Ewan and Kirsty, I thought.
As we waited for our main course, Stephen asked me to name my top three films. Titanic came first (obviously), and second place was a close-run thing between Inception and Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet.
“Did anything without Leonardo DiCaprio in it stand a chance?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“What are yours – Transformers 1, 2, and 3?”
“Naw. Megan’s not in the third one.”
“Oh yeah, forgot.”
“It’s actually Star Wars. All six of them.”
“Star Wars is my…” Was going to say “worst nightmare” but then remembered the way he’d smiled at Isabel. Maybe it was time to ramp things up a bit. “…fourth favourite film,” I bluffed.
OK. So, I used a Zoe Westwick tip. But I don’t feel guilty about it because it worked purrfectly.
“Naw way. Is that the first film or one from the series?” he asked, chuffed to discover our “shared interest”.
“Um… All of them,” I told him, and then we went on to have a good chat about the merits of each film. Well, he chatted – I listened, nodded and said a v. enthusiastic “Oh yeah” in the right places.
All righty then, he’s out of the bathroom; now it’s all mine. Time to turn things up another notch by changing into my La Senza number.
Tuesday 24 February – 3 a.m.
Wide awake. Just had an ace dream turn into a nightmare.
It began with my very own fairy-tale wedding. The venue: A castle in Scotland. The groom: Stephen – who was looking dapper in a white shirt and red kilt. Perfecto!
My dress was ivory, strapless and skintight. Even better – it looked like I’d dropped two dress sizes, down to an eight. Yippee! Would have been the best dream ever if my stupid brain hadn’t gone into hijack mode as we were standing at the altar.
There we were, ready to take our vows, and the vicar only went and asked us both to say “I love you” instead of the usual “I do”. Well, of course I said it in a shot. But Stephen just stood there, as if his lips were glued together.
“Go on!” I screeched. “Just bloody well say it!”
And of course, with my kind of luck, screaming that in my dream wasn’t good enough. OH NO. I had to scream it out loud. And I mean loud enough to wake him up.
“Yer all right, gorgeous?” he asked, after giving my arm a gentle shake.
“Huh? Yeah, I, er … must have been having a bad dream.”
“Aw. Ne’er mind,” he said, looking sorry for me. He even kissed me on the forehead before he closed his eyes and dropped off again.
Would love to be sleeping too, but still so angry about him humiliating me at the altar like that.
8.35 a.m.
“Hmm. That’s a sign,” said Kellie. I’d called her on my way to the salon because I had a theory about my dream and, yep, we were on the exact same page. “I think it means you shouldn’t mention you love him yet.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Or maybe you could say it in a jokey way instead, and see his reaction. Like with Jack, we were on the phone talking and he said something that made me laugh, and I just finished the call with, ‘Laters. Love ya, you big freak.’”
“‘Love ya, you big freak’?!” I repeated in disbelief. “Are you winding me up?”
“Nope. What can I say? We’re still together – so it worked.”
“For you.”
“Well, I suppose I knew it would because it worked before on Jamal and Tony … and Lucas.”
“You big, one-chat-up-line tart.”
“That’s me,” she chirped. “Oops. Battery’s dying. I’ll pop in at lunchtime, OK?”
She hung up before I could tell her about the way Stephen had smiled at Isabel and my epic fight back with a little help from La Senza last night, and then a major overhaul of my work look this morning. I’d got out of bed at stupid o’clock to recreate the big and bouncy hairstyle that was so underappreciated in Shoreditch (tricky to do with hotel hairdryer). I also applied some sultry make-up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of my shirt. The shirt didn’t look right due to my lack of boobage (left my padded bra and “chicken fillets” at home). Managed to solve boob crisis with v. cunning temporary fix: toilet tissue stuffed into my bra. I was all done by seven-thirty. Then I kissed his mouth to wake him up.
“Wow,” Stephen gasped when he opened his eyes. “Where’re you going?”
“Nowhere. Just work,” I remarked casually.
“Looks like you’re taking this Salon Factor competition seriously. Thought you were Cheryl Cole for a second!”
Normally, the flattery would have worked but I couldn’t help thinking, Bet you wouldn’t leave Cheryl Cole hanging at the altar.
Still, I did smile and say, “Thank you, baby. And it’s Salon Idol, not Factor.”
“Aw, my mistake. I’ll have to take yer out tonight to make up for it now.”
Woo-hoo!
8.45 a.m.
Great. Here I am, having made a mammoth effort this morning, and my Spanish, or should I say “Catalonian”, competition waltzes in with her hair tied back and wearing zero make-up, and still looks stunning. I’m not asking for much – I just want life to be fair!
Still, on the plus side, it’s only day two of Salon Idol and both Courtney and Lara have each earned an extra point for getting in before eight-fifty. This leaves them tied at ten points. Was tempted to award Courtney a bonus, though, for complimenting my hair. Only problem is, she said it was “fabulicious”.
1.30 p.m.
Halfway through lunchbreak. And I’m already zonked. Need a beautician to open the salon for me asap, so have decided to reduce the winning score. Forget fifty points – the first beautician to reach thirty will be crowned Salon Idol.
Was hoping to take a little power nap in the break but, unfortunately, Malibu texted earlier about coming in for her vajazzle. When I said we were fully booked today, she texted back: OK, then, will come during lunch.
Snuck into the kitchenette for a sneaky nap anyway, but Kellie walked in just as my eyelids were dropping.
“Ooh. What’s with the hair?” she said.
“Thought I’d make a little effort,” I chirped before giving my “do” a theatrical flick. “What d’you think?”
“Well, it’s, er … um…”
“Thanks, Kel. Your face tells me all I need to know. You don’t like it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I just don’t think it’s very daytime.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, I think it looks supercali,” said Courtney, popping her head around the white screen that divides the kitchenette from the rest of the salon. She had a couple of empty glasses in her hand and walked towards the sink saying, “Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing.”
“That’s OK,” I told her.
“Am I losing my street cred?” asked Kellie. “What’s supercali?”
Courtney put the glasses in the sink and turned to deliver a tone-deaf version of Mary Poppins singing “Supercali-fragilistic-expiali—”
“Thanks, Courtney,” I cut in, cringing.
“Pleasure-rooney,” she replied and walked back into the salon area.
“How random is she?” Kellie said as soon as Courtney was gone.
“Leave her alone. She’s really nice when you get to know her.” Thought it was only right to defend Courtney, seeing as she’d stuck up for me.
“Well, like I was saying. Your hair – it’s more a going-out look, isn’t it? Nobody has the time to get that glammed up in the morning, unless they’re a breakfast TV presenter or a stupid WAG.”
My eyes fixed on hers. They said: I’m seeing a footballer, you numpty.
“But not you of course, Rem. I mean a WAG WAG. You know, like the ones you introduced me to at Netherfield Park. All they do is preen themselves, shop and rinse their men for money. You’re nothing like them.”
“Try telling that to James,” I sneered.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“Besides,” she continued, “you’re far from stupid. You’re running your own business – you’ve got to be smart to do that.”
She was doing her best to dig her way out of a hole.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I sighed, unconvinced. Decided then and there to award Courtney a bonus point for complimenting my hair, even if she does use ridiculous adjectives that are blooming annoying. She deserves the point. End of.
So, counting treatments done this morning, the competition looks like this:
SALON IDOL
1.45 p.m.
Humph! Fifteen minutes till lunch break is over and Malibu still isn’t here. Will give her a call.
1.55 p.m.
Methinks I’ve messed up. Big time.
When I phoned Malibu to ask where she was, she whispered, “Can’t come now. I have to meet Lance.”
I was at the reception desk, and Isabel and Courtney were near by doing manicures, so I hissed, “Lance?! Are you crazy? You’re not still in love with him, are you?” as discreetly as I could.
“No chance.”
“Good because you’ll never believe who—”
“But someone’s told the local bike that the baby’s due in six weeks! She counted back, went and had it out with him, and now he’s bloody demanding to know whether or not it’s his.”
/> Oops.
“I’ve been tucked away in Surrey, minding my own business. I come back once for your salon opening and look what happens – some idiot works out how far gone I must be and opens their big mouth. Bloody hate west London sometimes.”
“Yeah,” I found myself agreeing.
“I’ll call and fill you in after I’ve met him, OK?”
“OK. And Mal…” Thought about it but no, there was no point in confessing that I was the idiot she was looking for. Nothing would have been gained. “Hope everything works out.”
4 p.m.
Have spent the time between clients watching Isabel as she’s doing a manicure. I can see why Stephen gawped at her. It’s her eyes. They’re big and brown like the heroines in manga cartoons.
“No. No. No. Barthelona is actualee Catalonia,” she’s telling her client.
She needs to get over herself, though.
Still, I’ve decided it’s best to keep her away from Stephen for a while. So, I’ll get him to pick me up from home tonight instead of the salon. Will send him a text now.
7.35 p.m.
Home a little later than I wanted to be because Lara wanted a quick chat when I was locking up.
“Remy, I’ve been thinking. The nail-varnish rack shouldn’t be behind the reception desk like that. Every time a customer wants to choose a colour, we have to walk all the way round it.”
Don’t want to be a Feminazi-type boss – would prefer to be a touchy-feely one. But Lara makes it difficult.
“I like the nail varnishes behind the reception desk because it’s harder for someone to steal them,” I told her.
“But no one’s really going to steal nail varnishes,” she scoffed.
“You’d. Be. Surprised.”
“OK,” she sighed. “If you say so.”
Would normally have stewed over it all the way home but had more important things to think about – like Malibu.
Say You Love Me, Stevie C Page 4
