Chapter 7

Peach Gathered Waist Blouse, $580
Natural Leather Peep Toe Pump, $750
Grey Tailor Pants, $630
White Suede Bag and Matching Purse, $1,180

… $1,180 for a handbag and a matching purse! Amazing. I think I can get at least 5 sets of reasonably good quality and fashionable bags and purses with that price! And the price tags aren’t even in Ringgit! How many people will actually buy these stuffs? And for people who do, how often do you think they will want to be spotted in public wearing the same Peach Gathered Waist Blouse?

I guess you can probably tell by now that I’m not the runway fashion sort of girl. For one thing, it’s impossible to become a runway girl when living on the kind of salary that I have. If I get myself a pair of heels for $750 (whatever currency that may be), my car will be running on water, and you’ll see me chewing on leafs and dry barks. Hmm, yummm.

Also, I don’t believe in having to spend a million dollars in order look a million dollars. It’s all in the S.O.S. – “Sense of Style”. If you have it, you have it. If you don’t, well, too bad, babe.

When you walk on the streets, do you want people saying “She’s wearing the latest Gucci jeans”, or, “She’s so Gucci!”? Think about it. You are wearing the clothes, not the clothes wearing you. Ha! Spoken like a professional!

“For someone who’s about to surrender herself over to my pampering hands, you look awfully stressed.”

The voice comes from behind me. I look up from the magazine spread I’m reading and meet the gaze of my hairdresser in the mirror’s reflection. I smile my apologies.

“Hey Sam, sorry, I was just thinking about something.”

“Not about work, I hope. You know my rules; only happy thoughts allowed in my salon.”

“I don’t think she’s thinking about work. But she could be thinking about someone from work.”

Both Sam and I turn to look at Kaelyn, who is seated at the next station, her head decorated in shampoo suds. I shoot her a scowl. That girl talks too much. I can see interest and curiosity dawning on Sam’s face, but I say nothing.

Samuel Hansen, 35 years old, but looks more like 28 (or even 26, on his good days – darn it!). The mixed heritage is a bonus, of course. His mom is Chinese-Portuguese. His dad is English-Japanese-Spanish. Sam speaks over 8 different languages, not counting the dialects; it’s quite amazing to listen to him sometimes. And some of the girls would sigh and go all starry eyes when he serenades them with Spanish songs, even though they were actually only nursery rhymes.

Sam has jet black hair that never misbehaves, and eyes an odd mysterious shade of grey. He is tall, just an inch shy of 6 feet, though he swears he’s the shortest among his siblings. His tan is always even, and his skincare collection is probably more complicated than mine and Kaelyn’s combined together. Dressing wise, needless to say, he is always trendy and stylish. Sam always manages to look like he has thrown the look together carelessly, without much thought. He looks like he gets up in the morning and, wham, gorgeous male in the making. In short, he is the perfect example of today’s Metrosexual man.

Kaelyn, like the other girls, used to drool all over him. But I find myself wondering, how do you have a relationship with a man who spends more time in the bathroom than you do? However, having said that, no one can be exactly sure if Sam is really plain, straight heterosexual. And I know he likes to keep us all guessing.

Now, Sam runs his fingers through my limp, lifeless tresses, and he is frowning. I know what he will say even before he starts shaking his head.

“Baby Doll, what have you been doing with your hair?”

“Nothing,” I reply.

He purse his lips as he takes a step back, still staring at my hair. “Well, maybe that’s the problem.”

Beside us, Kaelyn giggles but hide her face behind the magazine she is reading.

After a while, Sam says, “Don’t worry, Baby Doll, I’ll­­­­ make you beautiful again.”

That’s what I like about visiting Sam. It’s not just the posh set up of his salon, which is sleek but warm and open; or the plush arm chairs where you can curl up and get comfortable; or the great coffee they serve you instead of the standard lukewarm Chinese tea. Sam doesn’t overwhelm you with all the designer-talk or tries to make you feel like you’ve been living in some backward village where they’ve just discovered 2-in-1 shampoos. He definitely doesn’t overload you with all the must-haves of beauty products or talk you into signing up for a 10 session treatment course you don’t really need. Sam’s honest and sincere, and takes his job seriously. He shows you, rather than tell you, that you can trust him.

I sit back and prepare to let him do his magic.

But just as I close my eyes, my phone starts ringing. I should have turned the damn thing off. Please don’t let it be the office! I start chanting in my head as I reach for my bag. Please, please, please don’t let it be –

– Ean. It’s Ean.

“Hey, you,” he says immediately when I answer.

“Hey,” I reply, mimicking his casual tone.

“You busy?”

“I’m at the hair salon.”

“Ah,” he says knowingly, “is that a major makeover, or just a little modification?”

I have to smile at his words. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, if you ask me, you are gorgeous just the way you are.”

Ah – right… Now, how do one reply to that?!

I decide on a light-hearted response. After all, Ean’s forever flirting. I should be used to it by now. Never take the guy seriously, that’s what Mrs. Tay in HR always says. “Well, if you ask me, being gorgeous is not good enough.”

Ean laughs. “So what else do you need?”

“Why, brains of course! Ean Aw, don’t you know anything? Intelligence, wit and throw in some boldness – that’s the way to go!”

He laughs again, and it sounds good. “Obviously I don’t know enough. That’s why I need you, my intelligent Princess, to guide me. This world is too complicated for me!”

I ignore the flutter in my stomach. It means nothing, his words. Nothing.

“You don’t need me.”

“I need you,” Sam comes up from behind and speaks into the phone. He flashes me a playful grin when I wave at him to go away.

“Who was that?” Ean ask on the other end.

“Er, that was Sam, my –“

I didn’t get to finish my sentence. Sam fishes the phone out of my hold, and says to Ean, in his perfect British accent, “This is Samuel. I’m afraid Lady Tutu will be unavailable for the rest of the day. Thank you for calling, and have a nice day.”

Then he ends the call.

The reflection in the mirror shows a girl (me) with a turban wrap on her head and mouth open wide in totally speechlessness. Kaelyn, however, throws her head back and starts laughing, disregarding the foils in her hair which Sam’s assistant is fixing on.

“There you go,” Sam says as he returns the phone into my bag, “no more interruption.” Then he notices the shock on my face. “Ooops, sorry Baby Doll, was that someone important?”

Ah…

“No, no one important, Sam darling,” my busy body best friend comes to my rescue, or not. “Just the man.”

“Oh? Hm,” Sam puts his hands on my shoulders and lean forward so his head is level with mine. He winks at me in the mirror. “I thought I am the only man in your life, Baby Doll.”

The world is going mad; from out of no where I have two good looking men outrageously flirting with me. And I have no idea what to do with them.

“Ean’s just a colleague,” I finally manage to say, through gritted teeth, while throwing a dark glare in Kaelyn’s direction.

“And he’s married,” Kaelyn helpfully adds. Oh, I can just kill her sometimes!

“He’s separated.” I should keep my mouth shut, really I should.

“Oh please, everyone separates and gets back together again these days. It’s the trend!” My friend should shut up too.

I ignore Kaelyn. She gives me these lectures every other day. I seem to have formed some sort of opinion about Ean, and it doesn’t seem good. She’s not even met the guy yet! Probably just being protective. Kaelyn can be such a mother hen sometimes.

Sam starts working his scissors through my locks. His hands moving in a rhythm only he is in tune to. He has this look on his face when he is in total concentration, another one of those looks which gets the girls swooning. When he’s in this mode, he’s totally oblivious to whatever that goes on around him. I’m just thankful that he’s stop teasing me.

I close my eyes and lean back into the seat. It’s pampering time!