London
4-58 p.m.
April 18th
Mason arrived at the hair salon two minutes early and was shown to his seat straight away. They were cleaning up and had obviously considered that shaving his hair short would only take a moment. The receptionist looked startled at his appearance. The story had got around the salon and so his description had been fixed in her mind.
“Who butchered your hair like this?” The hair dresser asked.
She was an attractive Asian girl in a standard black skirt and white blouse, a foot shorter than him, slim at the waist and rounded in a fulsome, but not heavy way, around the her backside. His eyes followed the contours of her body, flat stomach and small rounded breasts, up to the smooth dark skin of her neck and her hair which was spiky and swept around and under her chin in places, showing her high cheek bones. He looked at her face and thought it slightly Eurasian. Behind the dark eye make up he saw professional disdain in her eyes and her dislike of the job she was going to have to do. She looked at her watch and sucked on her teeth. She looked over at the receptionist.
“Tara I can’t do this quickly. If you leave the keys I’ll lock up.”
“Are you sure Aliesha?”
“Yes.” She turned back to Mason pulling at his hair gently in various places as she spoke. He mentally stored her name.
“I’ll clip the back and sides shorter and try and give it some sort of style, but they’ve cut the top and front too short and that’s the worst part to have done. What’s your natural colour?”
“Black.”
“I suggest we wash it and dye it black. It’ll cost, but you won’t look middle aged any more. I take it you aren’t middle aged?”
“No.” Mason said smiling.
For the first time she looked into his eyes via the mirror. He smiled in a wry, lop sided way. She smiled back with a little warmth, appraising his face, thinking it handsome and mulling over the confident cat like animal way he had walked over.
“I heard the story. Not your stag night?”
“No my friend’s.”
“Come this way. I’ll wash your hair.”
She covered him with a robe, which tied at the back, and he was a little surprised when her hand smoothed the crumpled material across his back with an all too tender touch. He mused that perhaps it was his build or his eyes that had created a mild attraction. It had been said by other women that he had an animal magnetism. He sat in the chair and rested his head back. The warm water coursed through his hair and tingled his scalp, a tingling which increased in intensity as she lightly massaged her fingers over his scalp. She spoke gently in a soft teasing voice.
“You a naughty boy then?”
“Yes.” Mason sighed the word out.
“Like to get out and cut loose?” She pursued.
“Not all the time and I don’t get that drunk often, in fact I can’t remember the last time that happened.”
She made him sit up with a light push of her hand and dried his hair lightly with a towel.
“That’s good, can’t have you winding up bald.” She took him back to the seat, mixed up the dye and wearing plastic gloves applied it to his hair.
“It’ll be ten minutes before it takes to the right darkness. Can I get you a coffee?”
“Have you got anything stronger?”
“I’d have thought you’d had enough.” She caught his eye in the mirror.
“Well I was planning on a night out and a drink before hand always goes down well.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know really. Is there anywhere good around here?” Mason asked catching her eye in the mirror.
“I usually go to the Underworld. That’s good if you like to dance and there’s a friendly atmosphere.”
“What’s the action like there?”
“Oh you are a naughty boy aren’t you?” She looked at her watch. “Time to rinse, back to the basin.”
He sat down and tipped back his head her hands gently caressed his scalp.
“Not too hot?” She asked.
“No fine. So what’s the action like?”
She leaned over close to his face. “It depends on what you’re looking for?”
Back in the chair she clipped away at his hair. He kept his gaze steadily on her face. She caught his eye from time to time and in her look he saw the decision making process building its way to a conclusion. When she was done they went to the reception desk. He paid and told her to put on a big tip.
“It’s nearly half five. I’ve kept you.”
“Couldn’t send you out looking like that, you’d definitely miss out on the action.” She looked at the card before she handed it back. “Mr Townshend. M is for?”
“Marc, with a C.”
He took the card.
“Thanks. Where’s that club?”
“It’s on the high street in Camden”
“I’ll give it a try.”
She handed him the receipt and he felt her fingers brush his hand. He looked in her eyes and she gently bit her lip, putting her head to one side.
“I would if I were you. I’ve a feeling you’re going to find that action you’re looking for.”
“Bye Aliesha. Thanks for the lovely hair cut.”
He said no more. He picked up his plastic bag with the kitchen clothes and without a look back walked to Baker Street. He felt good. It was going to be a good night and the girl looked like a sure thing. Even if she wasn’t a sure thing he knew the club he was going to start the night out at.