Stilettos & Stubble

by Amanda Egan

  Chapter Three

  I’d stayed up until gone two in the morning working on my manuscript and determined to type the words, THE END. I’d finally done it and I looked proudly over my total word count of 82,314. My heroine had nabbed her man and all the loose ends were tied up. Through all her dramas and conflicts, she’d remained perfect and unruffled - how could Marco ever have resisted her? My final chapter saw her walking down the aisle towards a teary-eyed groom with the guests erupting into tumultuous applause.

  On a final read through, the thought occurred to me that it might be a bit corny - a bit too Barbara Cartland. But she’d done alright from dodgy romances, hadn’t she? Why shouldn’t I?

  Nevertheless, I deleted a few ‘throbbing manhoods’ and a couple of ‘delighted sighs’, logged into my Hotmail and sent it off to Mia. She’d be honest with me and tell me if I should begin to approach agents.

  I wouldn’t start investing in ‘Cartlandesque’ feather boas or a chaise longue until I knew if my writing career was set for success or failure. And besides, my bank account wasn’t up to it.

  So I was facing yet another morning of trawling the web for vacancies and dreading what the day held for me - an interview at two o’clock for a desperate last ditch attempt as a receptionist in a local hairdressing salon and then a date with Mia’s mystery man. I could cry off but I knew that Mia and James would give me a bollocking. It was easier just to go along with it and keep the peace.

  I dressed in a smart black trouser suit, ready for my interview, laying out a dressy top to replace the white shirt for dinner that night. Mia would no doubt send endless texts, begging me to wear a dress but she wouldn’t win me over - the trousers were well cut and made my legs look good, the top was slightly fitted and with a bit of sparkle. It was the closest thing to feminine that I was likely to get.

  I studied myself in the mirror after I’d applied a hasty coat of mascara and lip gloss. Did I look too straight and boring to greet the customers in a trendy hair salon? The answer was a very clear ‘Yes’! I’d seen the girls who worked in there and they all wore leggings or tiny mini skirts with biker boots and little crop tops. I looked like I should be doing the accounts for the Women’s Institute - not only were my clothes wrong but my hair was just too safe. Oh, it was healthy enough, and a good strong shade of glossy chestnut brown, but the chin length bob just hung there doing its own thing. No matter how many products I plied it with or how hard I tried to blow dry it into some action, it just remained defiant and flopped.

  With a final ineffectual flick of my hair and a squirt of equally useless hairspray, I puckered my lips and blew myself a kiss. Going through my usual pre-interview pep talk, I smiled brightly at myself and stood tall with my shoulders back. ‘Go get ‘em girl! This could be the one!’

  But the smile switched off and the shoulders slumped again as I grabbed my bag and left the flat.

  Would I ever find my dream job and would my dream man ever find me?

  *****

  At least Eduardo, the owner of ‘Funky Fringes’, was honest and to the point.

  ‘Oh, lovie, you’re a darling girl but I just don’t think this is the job for you, is it?’

  He must have sensed my disappointment, or maybe I was wearing my state of constant rejection like a cloak for all to see, because the minute the words which declared me unemployable once more had left his lips, he dropped to my side and patted my knee.

  ‘Let me make you a coffee, my love. You look like you could do with one.’

  His kindness touched me. Rejection was usually cruel and never involved a lovely frothy cappuccino and a friendly face. As he faffed around at the state-of-the-art coffee machine in the salon’s back office, I sunk into my chair and sighed.

  ‘Here, get that down you. Everything seems better after a shot of the old caffeine.’ He handed me my coffee and pulled up a chair next to me. ‘The thing is, lovie, this job is probably best suited to a school leaver, one who’ll move from reception to training as a hairdresser. You wouldn’t have found much job satisfaction here and then you’d have moved on. I’m making sense aren’t I?’

  I didn’t dare tell him I was so desperate I was almost at the stage where I’d accept a job cleaning men’s urinals, because there was no point. His mind was made up and I had my pride - I wouldn’t be begging.

  Suddenly a look passed across his leather tanned face and he began to jog up and down on the spot like an excited child. ‘I know! I feel really bad for not offering you the job but I’ve got a huge gap in my diary this afternoon, let me give you a little makeover. Give your locks a bit of a seeing to. It might be just the thing you need to help you nab the next job you go for.’

  He obviously saw my uncertainty because he took my coffee cup and placed it on the side. ‘Come on! What have you got to lose? It’s on the house. It’s not every day I offer my services for free.’

  And like a lamb to the slaughter, I found myself being draped in a satin robe and led to a sink in the salon.

  As the shampoo was massaged into my weary scalp, I closed my eyes to him saying ‘Let Eduardo work his magic on you, my love.’

  *****

  Eduardo’s ‘magic’ found me back at home in front of my bedroom mirror in a state of shock. I had precisely an hour before I was due to meet Mia and Co and nothing I’d attempted to rectify the catastrophe before me had made me look any better.

  I’d been permed. Badly. So badly I looked like the only thing missing was a blue rinse. I resembled an OAP proudly spruced up after her weekly shampoo and set. My fringe was in a row of bouncy little curls and the rest was following suit in perfect granny fashion.

  I don’t know what he’d been thinking because he really did seem incredibly proud of his handiwork. He’d said it accentuated my cheek bones and gave me an ‘edgy look’. Edgy if I was thinking of a night at a geriatric bingo club or a coach trip to Skegness, but not for a twenty-eight year old in search of love and a career.

  I looked in the mirror and felt my eyes well up. I looked ridiculous, there was no getting away from it, and no amount of fiddling, straightening or coaxing was going to make any difference.

  I’d tried to call Mia to get out of dinner but she wasn’t answering the home phone and her mobile was going into Voicemail.

  There was only one thing for it. A hat.

  *****

  ‘Just take the bloody thing off and let me have a look, Perce. It can’t be that bad.’

  We were in the ladies’ loos at ‘The Bay Leaf’ and Mia was desperately trying to coax me to do the big reveal. I held on firmly to the rim of my hat, resolutely refusing to remove it.

  ‘Perce! Come on! Please let me see it. I might be able to help.’ Mia put her hands on her hips and went into ‘mummy mode’. ‘I’m a whiz with a comb and a bit of spray, you know I am. Now get it off, this minute.’

  I sighed, finally resigning myself to the fact that she wasn’t going to give up and raised my hands to lift the black velvet cloche.

  Her sharp intake of breath said it all. ‘Oh my! Lordy, Lordy, Perce! It’s … it’s different, isn’t it?’ Mia was nothing if not tactful, and she would do anything to avoid hurting my feelings, but it was quite clear that this situation called for a little more sensitivity than usual. She’d have needed an Oscar to truly disguise her feelings.

  Taking the hat from me she replaced it on my slightly flattened curls and fiddled with the edges. ‘Let’s go for a slightly more jaunty angle, eh?’ she said cheerfully, making it more than apparent that she agreed with the cover-up option too. ‘There!’ She stood back and admired the end result - which to me looked just as dopey as it did before. ‘Now just top up your lip gloss and add a touch of blusher and we’ll get back out there. It’s going really well with you and Tom isn’t it? He’s a nice bloke, isn’t he?’

  I nodded miserably, touching up my make up as instructed. ‘He’s a laugh, yes Mia, but he’s not for me. Neither of us is getting ‘the spark’ so don’t start turn
ing this into ‘Love Story’.’ I knew I had to manage her expectations quickly or she’d be in Selfridges buying another wedding outfit and planning my hen night.

  And he really was a laugh. The dinner had been fun so far, despite my head gear and Tom had laughed with me and not at me when I’d told him about my dodgy coiffure executed by the well-meaning Eduardo.

  The fact that it wasn’t a coupling made in heaven had been more than evident from the outset, when he stood to shake my hand in greeting. He was a great looking man … with a perfect view of my cleavage - because at around 5’ 6” that was roughly where his eye-level hit. Heaven knows what James had been thinking when he’d suggested the foursome to Mia but, despite that, my ‘date’ was a great conversationalist and the meal was going well. He hadn’t given me the ‘Oh my God, what a freak’ look once and I suspected it was because he’d been on the receiving end of it himself from women in the past for being so short. In a way, we had lots in common.

  ‘So he’s a little on the short side,’ Mia whispered to me as we headed back to our table. ‘That doesn’t mean it’s a definite no-go. Give it a chance! I think he’s really keen you know, Perce.’

  He wasn’t keen, he was just a nice bloke and it was turning into a pleasant enough evening. He stood and pulled my chair out for me as we returned to our table, his manners impeccable.

  ‘Shall we order another bottle of wine?’ James asked. ‘Seems a shame to get back to the baby sitter before midnight. We might as well make the most of it, eh Mia?’

  Mia nodded in agreement and then leant across the table to Tom. ‘So, tell me Tom. How come there’s no one special in your life?’

  She was a total lightweight when it came to alcohol, and had been since she’d had her babies. The wine had loosened her tongue and I needed to steer her off the conversation and onto something else before she started asking how many bridesmaids we thought we might have at our wedding.

  Tom smiled and fiddled with his serviette. ‘Just not found the right one yet, I guess. But we live in constant hope, don’t we Percy?’

  ‘We do indeed,’ I nodded. ‘We can’t all be as fortunate as you two, you know. Childhood sweethearts don’t realise how lucky they are.’

  Tom sipped at his wine and laughed. ‘I’d planned on marrying a girl called Tracy Watson when we were in the fourth year at primary school. The trouble was, by the time we left for secondary school she was head and shoulders above me and I had to stand on a step to kiss her at our leavers’ disco. Not terribly romantic!’

  Mia tipped her head to one side and looked sad - wine had the ability to make her maudlin too. ‘Oh that’s so mean. Did she dump you because of that? What a bitch!’

  ‘No. Rumour has it that she’s now a lesbian living in Nottingham, so it was pretty much doomed from the start.’ Tom lightened the mood and topped up my wine glass. ‘I’m an old romantic at heart though, so I just keep telling myself that the right one’s out there for me somewhere and it’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘That’s exactly how you feel, isn’t it Perce?’ James was signalling for the waiter to bring the bill and I knew exactly what he was up to. He’d ordered the wine but had no intention of staying with Mia to drink it. We were being set up.

  The bill sorted, he made a great show of stretching and yawning, while Mia fussed with her pashmina and handbag saying, ‘Well, perhaps we should get off and let the baby sitter get home. Don’t rush, you two. Stay and enjoy your evening.’

  As they left the restaurant, Tom and I burst out laughing.

  ‘Subtle, eh?’ I looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Don’t panic, I don’t have designs on you. They do this to me all the time. You’re quite safe.’

  ‘I’m used to it too.’ He undid his tie and visibly relaxed. ‘I’ve got some friends I deliberately avoid seeing because I got so sick of them setting me up with dodgy dates.’ He flinched, realising what he’d said. ‘Not that I meant you’re dodgy, of course. It’s just that we both know that there’s no …’ He struggled looking for a word that wouldn’t offend.

  ‘There’s no spark,’ I finished for him. ‘That’s exactly what I told Mia in the loo when she was trying to sort out my pathetic hair. But would she listen? No, not Mrs Matchmaker.’

  ‘Well I have to say, you’re the first lady I’ve dined with who’s kept her hat on all night so I think we should at least drink to that!’

  I made to raise my glass and heard my mobile signal a text. The screen flashed up ‘Mia’ and the message read,

  ‘I really think Tom could be the one. Bet he asks you back to his place! xxx’

  I handed the mobile to Tom with a smile and a shake of my head. ‘I think you’d better grab a couple of double brandies. After the day I’ve had, I think we should get pissed.’

  *****

  It turned into quite a night. After our brandies we moved on to a cocktail bar where we began sampling most drinks on the extensive menu and shared our dating horror stories. It almost turned into a bit of a game, with us both trying to outdo the other.

  Neither of us failed to notice the looks of surprise we got from the other drinkers. What was the lady-giant doing with the little guy? And, more importantly, what could he possibly see in her? But we didn’t care. We were having a hoot and it was refreshing to be out with a guy whilst knowing full well it was going nowhere.

  So at roughly three o’clock, and as we hit cocktail number seven, he leant across the bar and slurred at me. ‘Take the hat off, Percy. Giz us a look.’

  I giggled and sipped my drink through the straw, avoiding a poke in the eye from the paper umbrella. ‘OK.’ I hiccupped. ‘But if you laugh, I’ll cry.’ I removed my hat and shook my curls, smiling brightly.

  I didn’t know if a miracle had occurred in the time I’d been wearing the hat or the sweat I’d broken into had made things settle down a little, or maybe if he was just a bloody good liar, but he looked at me and smiled. ‘Ah, that’s not as horrific as you made out, you dozy cow. And you’ve got a really pretty face, you know. I reckon you need to stop putting yourself down.’

  He may well have continued talking, I have no idea, because I ran to the loo to check myself out. The sight that greeted me was incredibly pissed but it looked happy enough and the curls definitely had less guts to them. My eyes were sparkly and I looked alive and vibrant. A night on the town had done me a power of good, that much was clear, and I had Tom to thank for it. I topped up the lippie again, removing some streaks of eyeliner from under my eyes and ran my fingers through my new hair. OK, it was far from perfect but my positive attitude meant that I was more capable of dealing with it.

  I hummed to myself as I made my way back to Tom. He was right, I wasn’t a bad looking woman and the time had come for a change. I kissed him on the cheek and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. ‘Thanks!’ I grinned at him as he frowned and sipped his lime green cocktail.

  ‘What was that for?’ he asked as I struggled to get myself back on my bar stool.

  ‘That my friend, was for making me see the light. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life and I’m not gonna sit around and wait for things to happen any longer.’ I stopped myself from spouting any more corny clichés and called the barman over to mix me a new drink. ‘Let’s drink to the new me ‘cos tomorrow she’s making an appearance and she intends to make the world sit up and take notice.’

  We clinked our glasses together, slopping sickly liquid all over the bar and toasting the ‘new me’.

  Tom grinned and then winced as he cautiously tested his latest drink. ‘Well I wish you all the luck in the world with launching your new life but I’d put it off until the day after tomorrow if I were you.’

  ‘Why?’ I questioned him. ‘What’s wrong with starting tomorrow?’

  ‘Because, oh lovely Percy, I reckon it’s going to be reserved for a couple of humdinger hangovers.’

  Chapter Four

  Oh my! I’d never known a hangover like it.

  When
I finally woke, at about midday, I could barely lift my pounding head from the pillow but I knew I needed to make it to the bathroom to get some water and pain killers. I turned gingerly onto my side and attempted to shuffle out of bed, every part of my body aching.

  There, miraculously resting on my bedside cabinet was a huge glass of water, a blister pack of paracetamol and a note.

  ‘Cheers for letting me doss on your sofa, Percy. Hope you don’t feel as rough as I do. Good luck with the transformation. Be great to catch up again some time.

  Tom’

  Never had I been so grateful for such a simple gesture. I downed a couple of tablets and glugged at the water, flopping back on my bed. As I lay there listening to my thumping head, I realised that my miracle makeover would indeed have to wait another day.