Kiki gasps and claps a hand to her mouth. Wow, if that’s her reaction, it must be sensational.
Silently, she hands me a round tortoiseshell-edged mirror.
‘It looks brill!’ she exclaims, finding her voice.
Silently, I stare at my reflection. Yes, brill as in Brillo pad—I look like a fucking poodle.
16
SEBASTIAN
Icheckmyappearancein a shop window outsidePopTraxand bite back a laugh.Sebastian Burns, you have no shame.I look ab-solute-ly fucking stupid. But Jade needs my support to acclimatise, and this is the only thing I can think of to offer her my friendly familiar face in a subtle way. Though when she sees me, I doubt she’s going to think I’m being anything but subtle. Well, I have to blend in with the times, and my hair and outfit shouldn’t cause anyone but her to look twice.
I’m cursing this profession as my balance isn’t the greatest, and I almost come a cropper in the hallway but manage to clutch the office doorway just in time. As expected, no one even glances up as I propel myself through it. It’s midmorning, and everyone’s pecking away furiously at their typewriters to make the noon deadline. The arrival of a roller skating courier is nothing special, even if the roller skating itself is laughable.
My eyes scan the desks as I sail past, searching for a pair of cornflower-blue ones the colour of a summer sky. Ah, there’s my girl, at the back in the corner, frowning as she peers atsomething on her typewriter. But what the devil has she done to her hair?
I’m so busy gawking at Jade’s poufy do that I’m not paying attention to where I’m going. One of my wheels catches the edge of a stack of papers, and I trip but manage to do a forward roll at the last minute, landing on my back with an ‘Ooof!’
I’m lying there on the floor, seeing Tweety Birds circling above my head, when someone offers a hand. ‘Hey, you OK, man?’
The guy uses his foot as an anchor against one of my skates and hauls me to my feet. I teeter there, catching my breath. Now that the drama is over, the typewriters start clacking again.
Except for one at the back.
Jade is staring at me open-mouthed. Her cheeks are beetroot red as her eyes traverse my body slowly, lingering on my tight shiny red Lycra shorts (that leave nothing to the imagination), fitted white tank (that shows off my tanned biceps), and bleached-blond mullet. I pop my gum. ‘Yeah, thanks, mate. You really should tidy up in here. Bit of a health hazard.’
The guy, who I assume is Ash Delaney, looks me up and down with a slight sneer, as if he doesn’t like what he sees.
Yeah, I’m your competition, fuckwit.
‘You’re new. What happened to Roger?’ he asks.
I pop my gum again. ‘On holiday in Ibiza. Gotta delivery for’— I make a show of pulling an invoice out of my neon-green bumbag and checking the name—‘Ash Delaney.’
‘That’s me. I’m expecting a batch of demo tapes.’
Shrugging off my cross-body messenger bag, I delve into it and hand him a package. ‘Hopefully, I didn’t crush them. But if you’re going to leave paper lying around, well...’ I shrug.
The tapes are actually fine. I just want him to vamoose so I can chat to Jade, who is still gawping at me like she’s seen an alien. She can talk. Her hair is wild; someone’s been dabbling in a DIY perm and is now suffering the consequences.
Ash walks off to his desk, ripping open the package, and I take the chance to roll towards Jade. I give a slight wave and plop my butt down on the edge of her desk, narrowly missing a holder full of sharp pencils.
I pop my gum. ‘Well, hello there.’
‘Get off my desk!’ she hisses with a quick glance at Ash. But he has his back turned.
‘What? Ashamed to know me?’ I kick my green roller skate and place a hand on the desk. Leaning towards her, I make my bicep flex in a comedic way.
Jade hunches down. ‘Kill me now,’ she groans, and I chuckle.
‘Worry not, Jadey lady. I’m here to give you moral support.’ My eyes flick to her poodle hair. ‘Though I see you’re already trying your hardest to fit in with the era.’
She clenches her fists. ‘If you say anything mean about my hair, I swear...’
‘It looks good,’ I say hastily. ‘You have the sort of face that suits straight or curly hair. Anyway, I can talk.’ I gesture to my blond mullet, which is not doing me any favours.
‘Humph, that’s true. Your other hair is much nicer.’