The Playing Fields

Chapter 11

At the corner of the street, the rain began sprinkling down and Nigel picked up his pace, cutting across the lawn of the corner house and waving cheerily to the angry wrapping on the living room window. Waiting in a circle of dry cement beneath an overhanging tree, he popped the umbrella and dashed across the road behind a passing car, angling his steps to the intersection at Main Street. A sudden flash of light, followed by a thunderous clap, sent him darting into a doorway as the rain began pounding down in finger-sized drops. Pedestrians scurried for the closest shelter, dodging and skipping the quickly forming puddles of splattering rain. He pulled back against the shop window, holding the umbrella like a shield, suddenly aware of a tapping on the glass behind him. It was Darlene, beckoning him inside out of the storm.

"Ya'll got yourself trapped in one of our summer showers, I see." Her smile was friendly and warm as she opened the door for him.

"Yes, I thought I could get to the theatre before it started coming down." He shook the umbrella out the door and leaned it against the front counter. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Just returning your courtesy from the other night." She said.

"Well I'm grateful." He wiped a damp hand through his hair. "So, is this where you work? What was it- the Fawn Do?"

"That's it," she was still smiling brightly. "Could I interest you in some of our services? A hair styling? A manicure?"

Nigel laughed, looking around at some of the clients, plugged into huge, hive shaped domes, buffing nails and reading magazines. "Have I fallen into some kind of snare by accepting your courtesy?"

She put a fist under her chin and paced back and forth in front of him. "A slight trim wouldn't be out of line."

His eyes sought the closest mirror and he twisted his head about, surprised at how much his hair had grown since leaving England. "Is it that bad?"

"Give me ten minutes and I think I can save it," she took his arm and urged him toward one of the chairs.

"Uh, I don't really have the time–"

"Ten minutes Nigel, I promise." Darlene helped him take a seat and whipped a sheet around him, fastening it snuggly about his neck.

Within two minutes, Nigel's eyes were closed and he was luxuriating in the sensual massage of her strong fingers.

"I must say," his voice sounded guttural, "you don't get this where I come from."

"It's a styling conditioner." Her fingers did small circles on his temples and he moaned softly.

Within the promised ten minutes, Darlene had swept the cloth away, whisked his shoulders and was holding a mirror up to the back of his head.

"Well?"

"I'm impressed. Very impressed, it doesn't even look freshly cut."

She giggled, resting a soft hand on his shoulder. "That's the whole idea with men, Nigel. You don't want to walk around with whitewalls do you?"

"Whitewalls?"

"You know," she mimed a clipping action around the top of his ear.

"Oh! Yes- no, that's exactly what we get back home."

"So, are you pleased?"

"Exceptionally. Now what do I owe you." He got out of the chair and reached into his pocket.

"How about a coffee sometime... together."

"Oh no, I can't- I mean, a coffee sure, but I must pay–"