One Fine Day. Teresa Morgan F.
“Hmmm…take your watch off.”
“What?”
“It looks expensive. I don’t doubt it is expensive. So take it off. You’re hardly going to blend in wearing a watch that costs more than most people’s wages. This is about changing your image. We’ll buy another one later.”
Steve did as he was told and removed his Jaeger-LeCoultre watch, sighing heavily. Luckily, he’d pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and his leather jacket, trying to make sure he didn’t stand out.
“And you better lose the designer stubble.”
“Hey, I can’t help the shadow. Something Dad passed on to me.”
“Well, you’re going to have to shave regularly – not once every five days.”
“I could do with a shower,” he hinted.
“Okay, grab a towel from the airing cupboard, I’ll clear this lot up – and make sure you shave,” she said sternly.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Steve quickly finished his toast and took his coffee with him. When he returned thirty minutes later, clean-shaven, Ruby had cleared the breakfast things and had her hands in the sink, washing up. Her tiny kitchen had no space for a dishwasher it seemed. He dumped his dirty mug into the washing up bowl and she cleaned it, putting it on the draining board with the rest of the things. Drying her hands, she gave Steve another look up and down.
“Okay, you’ll do for now. Let’s go shopping.”
He couldn’t remember Ruby being so bossy. He was starting to think it wasn’t a good thing.
The first thing Ruby did was park up in the high street and took Steve to a cash point. “Take as much out as you can. The less you use your credit card the better – it’s got your name on it, I assume.”
“Yeah…”
“Right, well, we don’t need someone questioning anything, so use cash.”
When had she got so bright, so street-wise, so mistrustful? Had she watched too many thriller movies? Next she’d be donning dark glasses and constantly looking over her shoulder.
“How much am I going to need?” he said, pulling out his wallet.
Ruby put her hand on her hip, and looked again at Steve, speculatively. He could almost see the cogs turning as she worked it out. “Well, you’re going to need a new wardrobe, haircut, and you can buy me lunch.” She grinned, flashing her straight, white teeth. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one with the persuasive smile?
Once he’d withdrawn his maximum cash limit, from two credit cards, Ruby grabbed his arm, and they walked down the quiet high street. Steve secured his favourite, well-worn LA baseball cap on his head. He found that if he kept his nose to the ground the cap hid his face well.
“First things first, let’s fix your hair before we head over to Cribbs.”
“I like my hair.”
“Yes, but it looks very Steve Mason,” she said, lowering her voice when she got to his name. “We need to change your image from gorgeous actor to mediocre man.”
Steve frowned warily.
“It’s nice, bit longer than the last time I saw you. Maybe we need a short back and sides.”
“But I’ve got a film in three months.”
“It’s hair! It’ll grow back. Trust me.”
“Why don’t we get a bowl and just cut round that,” Steve said dryly.
“Don’t tempt me. But we do need to keep you semi-respectable otherwise you won’t attract anyone.” She dragged him towards a hairdressers. She walked inside then stopped. He’d seen it too. He tugged the cap down further over his face. A coffee table laden with glossy magazines, old issues – one with Steve Mason on the front page with Erica Kealey. Giving Steve an apologetic smile, Ruby pulled on his arm and they walked back out before anyone noticed, and continued further down the high street – Steve more sombre than Ruby – to a barbershop. Men only. No glossy magazines, and if there were, it would be cars, cars, cars. And the odd issue of Nuts.
Did he really have to cut his hair? He’d grown it for his last movie, where he needed to play the smooth hero. It was around the nape of his neck, and if un-gelled like today, it had a mad unkempt look.
“Isn’t there somewhere more…designer?” Steve swallowed, looking up at the barber’s sign over the door – specifying cheap cuts. Would they make a mess of his beautiful hair? He liked his hair – just the way it was. He had a particular barber he visited in LA who he trusted, who cut his hair the way Steve preferred. It cost him but he didn’t care.
“There’s nothing wrong with this place.” Ruby grabbed his arm.
“And you know this because…?”
“Friends come here all the time.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Male friends. It’s got a good reputation, honest. But anyway, we’re not really here to get you a good haircut. Just a haircut. The worse it looks, actually, the better.”
Steve’s mouth fell open. How would looking bad help him find the woman of his dreams? But before he could reply, Ruby tugged him into the barbers, and smiled at the young man behind the desk.
“Haircut for my brother, please. Nice and short, and maybe spiky on top. Nothing too fashionable.” Ruby’s expression was stern, and the young man in his early twenties with pristine, gelled black hair looked at her as if she was mad. Ruby might as well have asked for the clippers to do the job herself. Then, the man gave an inquisitive glance towards Steve. Would he recognise him, or not believe his luck? Sometimes people could be too gobsmacked or embarrassed to ask.
Steve rolled his eyes, not wanting to let the guy dwell on who he was. The quicker he was in and out of this place the better. He hoped.
“Do as she says, otherwise we’ll both be paying for it.” Pulling the baseball cap off, he slumped into a chair, faced the mirror, and the man placed a gown around him. Remembering the happy photograph he’d just seen of himself and Erica smiling blissfully, reminded Steve why he was doing this. Ruby was right; the hair would grow back. It was a small price to pay if he did find true love.
Very quickly, Steve watched the hair he’d grown slowly come off. It wasn’t long as in trailing down his back, but it had a mature length to it. The natural wave was starting to show now it had some length. Slicked back or left a little unkempt, he had a good head of hair. It was cut and styled with scissors rather than, as the young barber was currently doing, using clippers. He was getting a ‘short, back and sides’ like his own father used to order when he was a boy.
The barber worked in silence. Usually there would have been banter, but with Ruby standing there, her arms crossed and expression firm, he probably didn’t dare make light conversation. Steve kept quiet too, for fear of giving the game away and he watched his transforming image in despair.
With every buzz of the clippers, Steve felt sickened. A couple of years ago someone in the industry had advised Steve to grow his hair, and by doing so he’d been surprised that instantly he seemed to become popular in Hollywood. He’d lost his boyish looks and become rougher, a harder looking, mature man. Something the filmmakers wanted. The roles he was offered changed, or the ones he went for, he got. No longer the supporting role, he’d become the leading hero.
And he’d always liked how Erica used to run her hands through it while they made love…
“Oh, and thin it out a little, so it’s not so thick,” Ruby added, hovering over the poor guy who clipped and cut his way