Wild Fiction

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‘Any chair will do, I don’t have any favourites.’ Genevieve took a minute to look around the salon. A young girl, who looked like she was just out of school, was tending to an elderly lady with pearl grey hair. They were smiling at each other in the mirror. Genevieve removed her scarf and handed it to Gunther who thanked her. The radio was playing Barcelona by Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé, The 1992 Olympic Games theme song, which had just been re-released. Genevieve sang a few words in her head. She had every album that Queen or Freddie Mercury had ever produced. She knew the words to every song. Within two beats of hearing one of their songs on the radio, she could name it and the year it had come out. When Freddie died on 24 November 1991, she had locked herself into her room for two weeks. There she had cried and played his songs repeatedly. When she emerged, emaciated and pale, she was taken straight to hospital.
‘The moment that you stepped into the room you took my breath away,’ Genevieve mouthed the words while in her head she pretended to be Freddie. He was she and they were standing in front of the fountains at the top of Las Ramblas in Barcelona, the fountains spraying high above their heads. Their legs and arms spread, they were singing for their lives.
‘Are you going to have the usual?’ Gunther asked snapping her out of her reverie. His smile was a permanent feature on his face. The words worked their way around his large teeth and out of his mouth without distorting his smile.
‘Yes, get on with it,’ Genevieve snapped back at him.
‘Very good, very good. Sit back and relax and we’ll start with a good shampoo and scalp massage.’
The tinkling of the bell at the door made Gunther look up. Genevieve glanced in the mirror and saw an attractive blonde wearing blue skin tight jeans and a black T-shirt enter the salon. The new girl stopped in front of the cash register and put her hands on her hips.
‘Excuse me for a minute,’ Gunther said wringing his hands. His smile dropped at the edge of his mouth ever so slightly.
‘How can I help you?’ Gunther asked walking up to Rebecca.
‘I’d like my hair done.’
‘What would you like done to it, ma’am?’
‘Well... whatever it is that you do in here. You must have some options. What can you do?’
Not only beautiful but bolshy as well, thought Genevieve. She needs to be taken down a peg or two.

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