Silver Bastard
Page 40
“You got time to give me a haircut tonight?” Blake asked about a mile outside Callup.
“Sure,” I told him. I’d been cutting his hair for a while now. I might not have a license yet, but a simple trim like his was easy enough to do.
“That’d be great. I’m on at seven at the Moose, but I’m hoping to pick up Danielle in time for us to grab some dinner before our shifts start.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“You got plans for tonight?”
“Nope, just going to relax at home. Maybe drink some wine and sit out on the roof with a book or something.”
“What about Joe? You could give him a call.”
“It’s been a busy week,” I said, dodging the question. “Lots of things happening. I’m ready for some time alone.”
Usually I spent my Friday nights hanging out with friends. Tonight I was really looking forward to doing nothing. I knew that eventually I’d be working most weekends, but until Danielle and I were up to speed Teresa didn’t want us both on shift during the busiest nights.
Maybe I’d use the time to count and roll all my coins. I threw all my change from tips into a big glass jug that I broke into whenever I truly hit bottom. If Mom finally left Teeny, I’d need it. Not that it would be enough . . . money was going to be a big problem.
Don’t get too excited, I warned myself firmly. She never leaves him. Maybe she never will.
Thankfully, Blake dropped the conversation about Joe, parking behind my place in comfortable silence. We went upstairs and I pulled one of my mismatched wooden chairs into the center of the living room. The floor was faded, scuffed hardwood and I loved every inch of it—the easy sweep-up after haircuts was just one of many advantages.
“Okay,” I told him. “Get your ass over to the sink and let’s get you washed up.”
“I’m going to grab a beer, that okay?”
“Sure, get one for me,” I told him as I ducked into the bathroom to grab some shampoo.
“Just one,” he warned. “Don’t want you cutting off my ear.”
I heard the pop of a beer cap coming off. Then he handed me a brown bottle. Taking a deep swig, I flipped on the hot water, which always took forever.
Blake pulled off his shirt and leaned over the basin, pretending to flinch when I started rinsing his hair.
“You’re such a baby,” I told him. “Stop whining, or I really will snip your ears.”
“Were you always a bitch like this? I remember you being nicer.”
“I’m taking lessons from Danielle.”
Blake laughed, and minutes later I had him washed and ready to go, wrapping a towel around his head to sop up the water. He flipped it expertly into a girl-style wrap around his head, then struck a “sexy” pose for me.
“How do I look?” he asked. “Fabulous?”
I shook my head and took another drink of beer.
“Sit your fabulous ass down in the chair. Otherwise you won’t have enough time for dinner.”
While he made himself comfortable, I turned on my little stereo. I’d bought it the day after Thanksgiving last year in Coeur d’Alene with Regina, when it was marked down to forty bucks. It had pretty good sound, though. Way better than you’d expect for the price.
“Okay, we doing the usual?” I asked, coming over to stand behind him, draping a second towel around his shoulders. It didn’t cover as much as a cape would, but I didn’t charge like a salon, either. Outside I heard the roar of bike pipes. Puck. Great. Why did he have to move in next to me?
“Yeah,” Blake said. “You know me—keep it simple.”
Simple it was. He liked his hair short, so short that he didn’t have to worry about it at all, which made my life easy. A few snips to shape the top, then the trimmer did most of the work for me. Ten minutes later we’d finished our beers and the cut, and Blake was back on his feet, brushing the loose hairs off his chest.
He stretched and looked at me, smiling.
“You know, if I wasn’t batshit crazy over Danielle I’d be all over you, Becca,” he said. I blinked, startled.
“What?”
“I think sometimes you don’t realize how special you are,” he said, casually grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Joe’s a decent guy, and he’d take good care of you. Maybe he’s not your one and only, but don’t ever settle, okay? You’re better than that.”
I gaped at him as he gave me a quick hug, opening his wallet to pull out a ten-dollar bill. It wasn’t much, but he always liked to leave me something. It’d be a big help, too. My power bill was due soon and I was still short.
“You don’t need to pay me,” I reminded him. “You always drive. I should be paying you for the gas.”
Blake rolled his eyes.
“I can’t let you drive,” he said, his voice soft with a hint of humor. “You know how I feel about women drivers. Not only that, you’re cheap. Costs me twice that much in town.”
“Wow, you almost got out the door without fucking up,” I said, flipping him off. He laughed and threw me a little salute as the door closed behind him.
Huh.
I’d been friends with Blake for close to a year now, but he still managed to surprise me.
—
I drank another beer as I swept up hair trimmings, then took a shower to wash off the day’s grime. I followed the shower with a pair of loose cotton pants and a tank top. I hadn’t been kidding about wanting to relax. Not even my Singer tempted me at this point . . .
“Sure,” I told him. I’d been cutting his hair for a while now. I might not have a license yet, but a simple trim like his was easy enough to do.
“That’d be great. I’m on at seven at the Moose, but I’m hoping to pick up Danielle in time for us to grab some dinner before our shifts start.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“You got plans for tonight?”
“Nope, just going to relax at home. Maybe drink some wine and sit out on the roof with a book or something.”
“What about Joe? You could give him a call.”
“It’s been a busy week,” I said, dodging the question. “Lots of things happening. I’m ready for some time alone.”
Usually I spent my Friday nights hanging out with friends. Tonight I was really looking forward to doing nothing. I knew that eventually I’d be working most weekends, but until Danielle and I were up to speed Teresa didn’t want us both on shift during the busiest nights.
Maybe I’d use the time to count and roll all my coins. I threw all my change from tips into a big glass jug that I broke into whenever I truly hit bottom. If Mom finally left Teeny, I’d need it. Not that it would be enough . . . money was going to be a big problem.
Don’t get too excited, I warned myself firmly. She never leaves him. Maybe she never will.
Thankfully, Blake dropped the conversation about Joe, parking behind my place in comfortable silence. We went upstairs and I pulled one of my mismatched wooden chairs into the center of the living room. The floor was faded, scuffed hardwood and I loved every inch of it—the easy sweep-up after haircuts was just one of many advantages.
“Okay,” I told him. “Get your ass over to the sink and let’s get you washed up.”
“I’m going to grab a beer, that okay?”
“Sure, get one for me,” I told him as I ducked into the bathroom to grab some shampoo.
“Just one,” he warned. “Don’t want you cutting off my ear.”
I heard the pop of a beer cap coming off. Then he handed me a brown bottle. Taking a deep swig, I flipped on the hot water, which always took forever.
Blake pulled off his shirt and leaned over the basin, pretending to flinch when I started rinsing his hair.
“You’re such a baby,” I told him. “Stop whining, or I really will snip your ears.”
“Were you always a bitch like this? I remember you being nicer.”
“I’m taking lessons from Danielle.”
Blake laughed, and minutes later I had him washed and ready to go, wrapping a towel around his head to sop up the water. He flipped it expertly into a girl-style wrap around his head, then struck a “sexy” pose for me.
“How do I look?” he asked. “Fabulous?”
I shook my head and took another drink of beer.
“Sit your fabulous ass down in the chair. Otherwise you won’t have enough time for dinner.”
While he made himself comfortable, I turned on my little stereo. I’d bought it the day after Thanksgiving last year in Coeur d’Alene with Regina, when it was marked down to forty bucks. It had pretty good sound, though. Way better than you’d expect for the price.
“Okay, we doing the usual?” I asked, coming over to stand behind him, draping a second towel around his shoulders. It didn’t cover as much as a cape would, but I didn’t charge like a salon, either. Outside I heard the roar of bike pipes. Puck. Great. Why did he have to move in next to me?
“Yeah,” Blake said. “You know me—keep it simple.”
Simple it was. He liked his hair short, so short that he didn’t have to worry about it at all, which made my life easy. A few snips to shape the top, then the trimmer did most of the work for me. Ten minutes later we’d finished our beers and the cut, and Blake was back on his feet, brushing the loose hairs off his chest.
He stretched and looked at me, smiling.
“You know, if I wasn’t batshit crazy over Danielle I’d be all over you, Becca,” he said. I blinked, startled.
“What?”
“I think sometimes you don’t realize how special you are,” he said, casually grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Joe’s a decent guy, and he’d take good care of you. Maybe he’s not your one and only, but don’t ever settle, okay? You’re better than that.”
I gaped at him as he gave me a quick hug, opening his wallet to pull out a ten-dollar bill. It wasn’t much, but he always liked to leave me something. It’d be a big help, too. My power bill was due soon and I was still short.
“You don’t need to pay me,” I reminded him. “You always drive. I should be paying you for the gas.”
Blake rolled his eyes.
“I can’t let you drive,” he said, his voice soft with a hint of humor. “You know how I feel about women drivers. Not only that, you’re cheap. Costs me twice that much in town.”
“Wow, you almost got out the door without fucking up,” I said, flipping him off. He laughed and threw me a little salute as the door closed behind him.
Huh.
I’d been friends with Blake for close to a year now, but he still managed to surprise me.
—
I drank another beer as I swept up hair trimmings, then took a shower to wash off the day’s grime. I followed the shower with a pair of loose cotton pants and a tank top. I hadn’t been kidding about wanting to relax. Not even my Singer tempted me at this point . . .
