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Authors: Talli Roland
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EIGHT
The average woman spends sixty minutes primping for a date.
The average male, ten.
‘ WATCH IT!’ MATTIE YELPED AS a dollop of red splashed her cheek. Her head was pounding and the cloying smell of the hair dye wasn’t helping.
She was so not in the mood for this. The useless pipsqueak who’d rung her yesterday had neglected to mention that before the photo shoot, she’d be subjected to a torturous makeover by a long-haired Fabio-wannabe with a rather dodgy Italian accent. She’d tried to call Nate several times to complain but the idiot hadn’t answered the phone and before she knew what was happening, Fabio had smeared her dark bob with a foul fire-engine red dye.
‘ Good idea, just blind me so I don’t have to look at this hideous colour,’ Mattie grumbled, wiping the goo from her face.
‘ It’s fab-u-lous! You gonna look great. ’ Mattie stared as Fabio lobbed another lump of colour onto her head. Did she detect a hint of a Liverpool accent? Probably wasn’t even Italian, she snorted. Barely human, in fact.
Just remember why you’re doing this. Two hundred thousand! Two hundred thousand! It was her mantra now.
‘ N ow we just letta sit for thirty minuti. I’ll be back to check on youse.’ Fabio disappeared behind a curtain in the back where she could hear – and smell – him eating some kind of fishy sandwich.
Mattie looked around the small space for something to read but the room was bare. It wasn’t even a real salon – apart from the battered old chair she was perched on, there was just one basin. Surely SiniStar could have plumped for a proper hairdresser, not one who’d trained at the Sluts R Us academy. Only prostitutes had the colour she was going to end up with.
‘ How we doing, eh ?’ Fabio finally reappeared, poking and prodding at her hair. His breath reeked and the heavy gold medallions around his neck clunked her in the face as he leaned over.
‘ Great,’ Mattie grunted, following him over to the basin where he doused her hair in cold water, ignoring her protests.
‘ Gorgeous, darlink . Gorgeous!’
Mattie rolled her eyes. The accent was morphing into Hungarian. ‘Give me a mirror,’ she demanded as he plonked her back in the chair again.
Fabio smiled. ‘No, no. No!’ He waggled a playful finger in her face. ‘You’re not done yet. Next – extensions. We givva you gorgeous longa hair. You gonna love it!’
‘ I don’t want long hair,’ Mattie argued. She liked her hair the way it was – short, tidy and no fuss. She hadn’t had long hair since . . . well, ever. Her mother had always kept her hair short, and Mattie had pretty much maintained the same style. Bobs never went out of fashion, anyway.
‘ Sorry ! Production says extensions, we do ex-ten-sions.’ Now he sounded more French than Italian.
‘ I think you got your accents mixed up, ’ Mattie said snarkily, but Fabio had already disappeared. For the next few hours Mattie sat like a concrete block as the minions buzzed around her, braiding revolting-looking clumps of hair to her head. She was going to kill Nate. No, not kill. Torture. Lock him in a closet with no food or drink. Mattie had read somewhere that the combination of starvation and dehydration was the most painful death to endure. And Nate had enough extra flesh to last for days. At least he’d die skinny, she sniggered to herself.
‘ There, we done-a! Now we just do some-a make-up and you ready for your photo shoot!’
Mattie grimaced. ‘Great. Thanks. Not that I had any say in the matter.’
Fabio flicked his curls back. ‘Maybe this make you ‘appy.’ He patted her knee, blowing fishy fumes over her. ‘I think this make-a you happy.’
Mattie shrugged his hand off. ‘I am happy, you faux-Italian. I don’t need extensions to make me happy.’
Fabio held up his hands and backed away, his rings glistening in the light. ‘Yeah, you’re a proper ray of sunshine, innit?’ The Italian accent had
The average woman spends sixty minutes primping for a date.
The average male, ten.
‘ WATCH IT!’ MATTIE YELPED AS a dollop of red splashed her cheek. Her head was pounding and the cloying smell of the hair dye wasn’t helping.
She was so not in the mood for this. The useless pipsqueak who’d rung her yesterday had neglected to mention that before the photo shoot, she’d be subjected to a torturous makeover by a long-haired Fabio-wannabe with a rather dodgy Italian accent. She’d tried to call Nate several times to complain but the idiot hadn’t answered the phone and before she knew what was happening, Fabio had smeared her dark bob with a foul fire-engine red dye.
‘ Good idea, just blind me so I don’t have to look at this hideous colour,’ Mattie grumbled, wiping the goo from her face.
‘ It’s fab-u-lous! You gonna look great. ’ Mattie stared as Fabio lobbed another lump of colour onto her head. Did she detect a hint of a Liverpool accent? Probably wasn’t even Italian, she snorted. Barely human, in fact.
Just remember why you’re doing this. Two hundred thousand! Two hundred thousand! It was her mantra now.
‘ N ow we just letta sit for thirty minuti. I’ll be back to check on youse.’ Fabio disappeared behind a curtain in the back where she could hear – and smell – him eating some kind of fishy sandwich.
Mattie looked around the small space for something to read but the room was bare. It wasn’t even a real salon – apart from the battered old chair she was perched on, there was just one basin. Surely SiniStar could have plumped for a proper hairdresser, not one who’d trained at the Sluts R Us academy. Only prostitutes had the colour she was going to end up with.
‘ How we doing, eh ?’ Fabio finally reappeared, poking and prodding at her hair. His breath reeked and the heavy gold medallions around his neck clunked her in the face as he leaned over.
‘ Great,’ Mattie grunted, following him over to the basin where he doused her hair in cold water, ignoring her protests.
‘ Gorgeous, darlink . Gorgeous!’
Mattie rolled her eyes. The accent was morphing into Hungarian. ‘Give me a mirror,’ she demanded as he plonked her back in the chair again.
Fabio smiled. ‘No, no. No!’ He waggled a playful finger in her face. ‘You’re not done yet. Next – extensions. We givva you gorgeous longa hair. You gonna love it!’
‘ I don’t want long hair,’ Mattie argued. She liked her hair the way it was – short, tidy and no fuss. She hadn’t had long hair since . . . well, ever. Her mother had always kept her hair short, and Mattie had pretty much maintained the same style. Bobs never went out of fashion, anyway.
‘ Sorry ! Production says extensions, we do ex-ten-sions.’ Now he sounded more French than Italian.
‘ I think you got your accents mixed up, ’ Mattie said snarkily, but Fabio had already disappeared. For the next few hours Mattie sat like a concrete block as the minions buzzed around her, braiding revolting-looking clumps of hair to her head. She was going to kill Nate. No, not kill. Torture. Lock him in a closet with no food or drink. Mattie had read somewhere that the combination of starvation and dehydration was the most painful death to endure. And Nate had enough extra flesh to last for days. At least he’d die skinny, she sniggered to herself.
‘ There, we done-a! Now we just do some-a make-up and you ready for your photo shoot!’
Mattie grimaced. ‘Great. Thanks. Not that I had any say in the matter.’
Fabio flicked his curls back. ‘Maybe this make you ‘appy.’ He patted her knee, blowing fishy fumes over her. ‘I think this make-a you happy.’
Mattie shrugged his hand off. ‘I am happy, you faux-Italian. I don’t need extensions to make me happy.’
Fabio held up his hands and backed away, his rings glistening in the light. ‘Yeah, you’re a proper ray of sunshine, innit?’ The Italian accent had
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