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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Life Experience
- Published: 02/06/2016
Barber Shop Quartet
A swirl of the cape and it covered him. Then the tissue firmly inserted in his collar gap. He could smell perfume heavy and feminine.
"What would you like?"
"Just a trim, please."
"On the ears or off?”
"Just on please."
There were three blondes in the small black and white liveried gents' hairdressers. He took two of them to be brassy, though the one that attended to him was much more up market. Maybe the owner he conjectured. He wondered briefly why they should be dressed in such tight black tops and trousers. Not that he minded. No, quite the opposite.
He kept quiet, trying to avoid his own eyes in the mirror opposite. His blonde seemed so full of confidence in the way she moved his head up and down, this way and that. The firm movements of her hands on his hair. He felt unaccustomedly uneasy.
The two others rabbited.
"Did you go to the disco at 'Bernie’s' last night ?"
"Yeh, it was a bit dead though. There was talent about but we would have been better off staying at the Black Swan for a 'lockey in'."
"'We', oh, so you went with Jim did you?”
"Agh, now that would be telling wouldn't it."
Snip, snip, some of the short hairs were dropping down the back of his shirt despite the cloth to stop them. They irritated the skin at the back of his neck as if they were steel pins.
"I know that you're joking. There's nothing goes for long in this place before gossip starts."
"And it's never started in here, is it?”
Squawky, grating laughter.
“No, of course it was Jim."
"Oh, dam it; I thought we could get our teeth into something a bit juicier to get us through the morning."
"Do you want any more off the back?”
"Oh, no.... no that's fine thank you."
Why did he feel embarrassed and clumsy? If he had gone to his usual gents barber he would be relaxed and into politics or sport right now. Not like this, emasculated by the small quiet blonde.
She turned and bent to pick up the hairdryer from the floor cupboard behind him. He tried as hard as he could not to look at the reflection of her bottom in the mirror in front of him. He failed and tried to work out if the smooth fit allowed for any underwear. He decided it didn't.
She fired up the hairdryer and began to tease out his hair with a stiff brush. Coaxing more height. Then she put it down and tap, tapped the new style into shape. Cocking her head and studying it in the mirror.
“You’re very quiet - not like you're friends."
"Well, I'm thinking most of the time, the little wheels just keep on turning; where are you from?"
"Just down the road it's a small village - just a few houses."
"Are there many people?"
“About 30."
The others burst into laughter.
"And we thought it was quiet round here."
As she reached over him she brought the front of her tight black top close to his face. Into his personal keep clear zone.
"I do have an office in London- but I hate the place."
He shrank away from possible contact. But he could not escape the perfume mixed with the even more seductive smell of a warm woman.
He looked at her face in the mirror wall. Not a stare mind you, though just long enough. He had to see if he could pick up any slight inflexion that showed intent. He saw absolutely none. Though he now realised that she was magnetically attractive to him. He could not believe this was happening to him, was it the fragrances? He had heard that it sometimes happened like this if there was some link with features or mannerisms of your own mother. It was all going too quickly for him to ponder.
She was day dreaming, seemingly unaware, or so he thought, of the reaction she was having on her client other than shortening his hair.
"I think that if I could choose where I could live then it would be one of those apartments in Knightsbridge - right opposite Harrods. Then I could just pop in any time I liked. I could just have a look round and a coffee. Wouldn’t need to buy anything, just soak it all up.”
"Yes, I can see the attraction to that."
His haircut was nearly complete. He began to wish that it wasn't. He looked again across at the mirror. As if by telepathy her eyes moved to meet his through the glass. All it took was a millisecond for the silent transfer of information between them. The brassy blondes never noticed a thing. But the look passed a million words.
She offered him a clean white tissue which he hurried round his collar. Those tiny sharp hairs never went.
He fumbled with his wallet which seemed suddenly not to want to leave its warm pocket.
"Keep the change. Oh, what's your name - for next time?"
"Joy."
"Oh, thanks Joy, by for now, I'll see you next time."
He hurried out - the door closing mechanism squeaked.
"That's the first time he's been in here isn't it?”
"Yes, it is. But I tell you one thing - I doubt he'll come back."
"How do you know ?"
"Oh, I know all right."
“What do you think Joy?"
"We'll just have to wait and see."
In the street he ruffled his hair with both hands. Destroying the newness.
One minute later the shop phone rang.
"Can I speak to Joy please?”
"You are doing."
"Knightsbridge is the next stop on the tube from my office, would you like to come down some time and take a lookabout? I’d be pleased to buy you that coffee in Harrods.”
There was a slight pause.
"Yes."
Fizzy, sparkling silence.
Barber shop Quartet.(Ossie Durrans)
Barber Shop Quartet
A swirl of the cape and it covered him. Then the tissue firmly inserted in his collar gap. He could smell perfume heavy and feminine.
"What would you like?"
"Just a trim, please."
"On the ears or off?”
"Just on please."
There were three blondes in the small black and white liveried gents' hairdressers. He took two of them to be brassy, though the one that attended to him was much more up market. Maybe the owner he conjectured. He wondered briefly why they should be dressed in such tight black tops and trousers. Not that he minded. No, quite the opposite.
He kept quiet, trying to avoid his own eyes in the mirror opposite. His blonde seemed so full of confidence in the way she moved his head up and down, this way and that. The firm movements of her hands on his hair. He felt unaccustomedly uneasy.
The two others rabbited.
"Did you go to the disco at 'Bernie’s' last night ?"
"Yeh, it was a bit dead though. There was talent about but we would have been better off staying at the Black Swan for a 'lockey in'."
"'We', oh, so you went with Jim did you?”
"Agh, now that would be telling wouldn't it."
Snip, snip, some of the short hairs were dropping down the back of his shirt despite the cloth to stop them. They irritated the skin at the back of his neck as if they were steel pins.
"I know that you're joking. There's nothing goes for long in this place before gossip starts."
"And it's never started in here, is it?”
Squawky, grating laughter.
“No, of course it was Jim."
"Oh, dam it; I thought we could get our teeth into something a bit juicier to get us through the morning."
"Do you want any more off the back?”
"Oh, no.... no that's fine thank you."
Why did he feel embarrassed and clumsy? If he had gone to his usual gents barber he would be relaxed and into politics or sport right now. Not like this, emasculated by the small quiet blonde.
She turned and bent to pick up the hairdryer from the floor cupboard behind him. He tried as hard as he could not to look at the reflection of her bottom in the mirror in front of him. He failed and tried to work out if the smooth fit allowed for any underwear. He decided it didn't.
She fired up the hairdryer and began to tease out his hair with a stiff brush. Coaxing more height. Then she put it down and tap, tapped the new style into shape. Cocking her head and studying it in the mirror.
“You’re very quiet - not like you're friends."
"Well, I'm thinking most of the time, the little wheels just keep on turning; where are you from?"
"Just down the road it's a small village - just a few houses."
"Are there many people?"
“About 30."
The others burst into laughter.
"And we thought it was quiet round here."
As she reached over him she brought the front of her tight black top close to his face. Into his personal keep clear zone.
"I do have an office in London- but I hate the place."
He shrank away from possible contact. But he could not escape the perfume mixed with the even more seductive smell of a warm woman.
He looked at her face in the mirror wall. Not a stare mind you, though just long enough. He had to see if he could pick up any slight inflexion that showed intent. He saw absolutely none. Though he now realised that she was magnetically attractive to him. He could not believe this was happening to him, was it the fragrances? He had heard that it sometimes happened like this if there was some link with features or mannerisms of your own mother. It was all going too quickly for him to ponder.
She was day dreaming, seemingly unaware, or so he thought, of the reaction she was having on her client other than shortening his hair.
"I think that if I could choose where I could live then it would be one of those apartments in Knightsbridge - right opposite Harrods. Then I could just pop in any time I liked. I could just have a look round and a coffee. Wouldn’t need to buy anything, just soak it all up.”
"Yes, I can see the attraction to that."
His haircut was nearly complete. He began to wish that it wasn't. He looked again across at the mirror. As if by telepathy her eyes moved to meet his through the glass. All it took was a millisecond for the silent transfer of information between them. The brassy blondes never noticed a thing. But the look passed a million words.
She offered him a clean white tissue which he hurried round his collar. Those tiny sharp hairs never went.
He fumbled with his wallet which seemed suddenly not to want to leave its warm pocket.
"Keep the change. Oh, what's your name - for next time?"
"Joy."
"Oh, thanks Joy, by for now, I'll see you next time."
He hurried out - the door closing mechanism squeaked.
"That's the first time he's been in here isn't it?”
"Yes, it is. But I tell you one thing - I doubt he'll come back."
"How do you know ?"
"Oh, I know all right."
“What do you think Joy?"
"We'll just have to wait and see."
In the street he ruffled his hair with both hands. Destroying the newness.
One minute later the shop phone rang.
"Can I speak to Joy please?”
"You are doing."
"Knightsbridge is the next stop on the tube from my office, would you like to come down some time and take a lookabout? I’d be pleased to buy you that coffee in Harrods.”
There was a slight pause.
"Yes."
Fizzy, sparkling silence.
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