Davo's Little Something (4 page)

Wayne only lived about two blocks from Davo in a spacious modern home unit he co-owned with a friend of his: David, a women's fashion designer. The main reason Davo got his hair done at Vermillions was that apart from Wayne being an old friend and one of the best hairdressers in Sydney, he also cut Davo's hair for free. Besides being an arbiter of fashion, Wayne was also an excellent cook and wine buff who liked nothing better than to entertain his friends with quiet tasteful dinner parties back at his home unit. As a result he relied on Davo for all the best cuts of meat. Steaks that would literally melt in your mouth or beautiful fillets of pork without a gram of fat on them. Veal steak cut wafer thin etc.

Davo had often been over to Wayne's for some of these gourmet meals and had met most of his and David's friends. Although Davo was completely heterosexual—slightly
chauvinistic if anything—the company at Wayne's never bothered or offended him in the least. They were all pretty much like Wayne; well-groomed, friendly, young professional men. They discreetly did their thing and Davo did his. In fact compared to some of the yobbos Dave used to come across in hotels, arguing over pool tables and pouring schooners down their throats till they were mindless and legless, Davo found them quite a pleasant contrast. It was also Wayne and David who had given Davo the most comfort and on more than one occasion a bit of a shoulder to cry on when he was in the doldrums after Sue had left him.

Wayne was just finishing off a perm, waving a blow dryer with a large diffuser attached over some wealthy looking matron's exquisitely coiffured hair, when Davo strolled in the door of the salon.

‘G'day, Wayne. How's things?' he grinned, standing there with his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans.

‘Ahh Mr Davis. Good afternoon.' Wayne smiled back at Davo's reflection in the metal-framed wall mirror before him. ‘Right on time for your appointment. Would you care to take a seat and I'll be with you in just a few moments,' he added with exaggerated politeness.

‘Yeah righto.' Davo smiled and nodded to the four reduniformed girls hovering around the three ladies seated alongside the one Wayne was working on, then plonked himself down on one of several chrome-backed, red corduroy chairs next to a large, smoked glass coffee table covered in glossy magazines. A number of healthy looking potted palms and shiny green indoor plants contrasted nicely with the predominantly red decor of the salon—which was why it was called Vermillions. Being the manager, Wayne didn't wear a red uniform like the girls and he contrasted noticeably too, in a smart doublebreasted white shirt and baggy, black trousers with matching calf length boots; every now and again the light would catch and sparkle on a small diamond stud in his left ear. The girls, with their weird multi-coloured hairstyles, shaved on the sides, spiky on top and long in the front and back, with everything hanging off their ears from chains to rings to tiny plastic insects, were another contrast again. Davo could never figure out
whether they reminded him of something from outer space or his old man's wedding photos, when dad was a bodgie and the old girl was a widgie.

‘Been doing a little carpentry have we Mr Davis?' asked Wayne, glancing into the mirror at the sawdust on Davo's boots.

‘Huh? Oh yeah.' Davo self-consciously tucked his feet back under the seat as the others realised what Wayne was referring to. ‘I ah . . .just been making my mother a rocking-chair.'

‘It must be marvellous for her to have a son as wonderful as you.'

‘Yeah. She keeps telling me that all the time.'

Wayne smiled. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?'

‘Yeah, I wouldn't mind one to tell you the truth.'

‘Julie.' Wayne turned to the youngest red-uniformed girl who was vacuuming some hair up off the carpet. ‘Would you make Bob a cup of coffee. One sugar, plenty of milk.'

While he was sitting there waiting for Wayne to finish with the woman he was working on, Davo started thumbing idly through the magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table.
Passion
,
Stiletto
,
Capello Australia
, finally settling on the latest copy of
Hair Illustration For Men
.

‘See anything there you like?' asked Wayne, a cheeky smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

‘Yeah. Number 89 doesn't look too bad.'

‘Number 89.' Wayne held the blow dryer away from the woman's hair and paused for a moment. ‘Ah yes. A bit of Spandau Ballet. Short on the sides, slightly bobbed at the back and a long thick wave across the front. Oh yes, that's very fashionable in Italy and parts of Europe this year. Are you thinking of visiting Italy this year, Mr Davis?'

‘No,' replied Davo, without looking up from the magazine. ‘But I might duck over and see me uncle Enrico out Leichhardt on Monday.'

Wayne finished the woman and escorted her over to the cash register, just in front of where Davo was sitting. The woman was beaming. The hairstyle Wayne had created and the subtle tinting he'd added were absolutely stunning. They'd want to be too thought Davo, as Wayne rang up $55.00 on the till. The woman never batted an eyelid as she handed the good-looking
young hairdresser three twenty dollar bills and waved away the change.

When the woman had left the shop Wayne stepped over in front of Davo with his hands on his hips. ‘Righto mister bloody Davis. Are you ready to get your noggin shaved?'

Davo finished his coffee in a gulp then followed Wayne across the salon and sat down at one of the shampoo basins. A small plastic cape was draped around his shoulders and as he edged the nape of his neck against the basin Wayne turned on a small hand-held shower.

‘Good Lord, Robert,' he said, running his slender, wellmanicured fingers through Davo's greasy, matted locks. ‘How long since you've washed your hair? It's like an unravelled army jumper.' There were flecks of sawdust in it, tiny pieces of meat, fat and bone dust, and the rest was thick and waxy from where Davo had been running his hands through it at work.

‘I dunno,' replied Davo, looking back up through his eyebrows at Wayne. ‘Last June I think. When was the Queen's Birthday weekend?'

Wayne gave Davo a light clip across the back of his head. ‘Now don't try and be clever, Bob.'

‘I didn't mean you, Wayne. I meant the one over in England. You know—Charlie's old lady.'

‘Mmhh.' Wayne tapped the shower nozzle against the side of the basin for a moment. ‘You know, it's a shame to waste this water. Julie, run over to Woolies and get me a packet of mixed vegetables. I'll make us a couple of gallons of soup.' ‘Leave me alone will you Wayne,' pleaded Davo, as Wayne began wetting his hair again. ‘It's bad enough working in that rotten butcher shop as it is.'

As Wayne began gently massaging shampoo into his hair Davo closed his eyes and settled back further into the basin. Despite feeling a little embarrassed and quite out of place, sitting in a swish salon in his bloodstained working gear, surrounded by bemused women, Davo enjoyed it all the same. Besides not costing him anything it was a luxurious spoil, and left the local barber, with his ten-year-old sporting magazines, Brylcreem and limp shaving brush for dead. Wayne certainly
had that technique as he softly, soothingly massaged the warm water and shampoo into his scalp; Davo could understand why all the women adored him. In less than two minutes he was completely relaxed, almost asleep.

The next thing he knew Wayne had rinsed him, towelled him and was leading him over to the chair the woman had vacated previously.

‘Righto,' said Wayne, as he sat Davo down and draped a larger plastic cape across his shoulders. ‘One number 89 coming up.'

‘Now take it easy, Wayne,' protested Davo. ‘Don't go crazy. Just give me a plain, ordinary haircut.'

‘Oh, don't be such a bloody square, Bob.'

‘I'm not. I just don't want to come out of here looking like Boy George.' Davo nodded his head towards the exotic, tittering girls working there. ‘Or Lene Lovitch.'

‘What do you want to look like? Lang Hancock?'

‘No. Just normal thanks.'

‘Alright,' sighed Wayne. ‘Hold the Spandau Ballet. One Goodooga RSL special coming up.'

Davo relaxed and closed his eyes again. Soon the rhythmic clicking of Wayne's thin scissors along with the chattering of the other girls and the customers and the whining hum of the blow dryers seemed to be coming from far away. Davo nodded his head forward slightly and the next thing he was sound asleep. ‘Righto, come on wake up, Bob. You're finished.'

Davo brought his head up and started blinking. Wayne was gently shaking his shoulder with an odd sort of grin on his face.

‘Well what do you think?'

Davo blinked into the mirror. His hair seemed a little shorter than usual with a bit of a wave in the front but to all appearances it looked great.

‘Yeah. That looks pretty good. Thanks, Wayne.' The grin on Wayne's face started to get bigger and Davo thought he could detect a bit of a concealed snigger coming from the girls and the other customers alongside him. Suddenly he felt he could smell, if not exactly a rat, as least a very large mouse. ‘What's ... the joke?' he asked suspiciously.

Wayne burst into laughter along with the others in the salon. He picked up a large mirror and held it with both hands at the back of Davo's head. When Davo looked at the reflection his jaw dropped slightly and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

His hair was neat, tidy and squared off alright but hanging down the back was an extension of hair about an inch wide and about three inches long. Not only that—Wayne had tinted it black with a coppery, orange stripe.

‘Ohh Jesus, Wayne,' Davo almost yelled. ‘What have you done to me?'

‘Now come on, Bob. It's time you started getting with it a bit mate. You can't keep getting around looking like something that works on the door at Easts Leagues Club. Anyway it's only a little extension. That's all.'

‘Yeah, but it looks like a . . . bloody rat's tail,' protested Davo.

‘It looks good, Bob. Truly,' said one of the giggling girls.

‘It does too,' said another.

‘My son's got one of those,' said one of the customers. ‘And I think they look great.'

‘Yeah I dunno.' Davo scowled slightly at the reflection in the mirror Wayne was still holding behind him, but the more he looked at it the more he began to like it. In fact it looked quite good actually, not at all ostentatious, because Wayne had tinted it in perfectly with the natural brown of his own hair. The only thing that gave him any trepidation was what the others would say back at work—but bugger them anyway. ‘Yeah, I s'pose it ain't that bad,' he said, slowly nodding his head.

‘You've got a beautiful hairstyle, in one of the best salons in Sydney and all you can say is—yeah I s'pose it ain't that bad.' Wayne put the mirror down and unclipped the red plastic apron from around Davo's neck. ‘Honestly.'

Davo stood up, turned slightly and grinned sheepishly into the mirror for a side view. ‘No, it's alright actually.' He started shuffling towards the front of the salon where he noticed another two women were sitting reading the magazines on the coffee table. ‘In fact I like it to tell you the truth.' Davo was about
to thank Wayne and leave when his hairdresser friend took him by the arm.

‘I meant to ask you. What are you doing tomorrow night?' Davo looked at Wayne for a second and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nothing I don't suppose. Why?'

‘How would you like to go and see Santana at the Entertainment Centre tomorrow night? Mondo Rock are the support group.'

Santana and Mondo Rock were two of Davo's favourite groups and he had nearly all their albums. He'd been trying to get tickets for weeks but every concert was booked out except for a few seats right up the back.

‘Would I what. What's the story?'

‘Well, David got two free tickets from a friend on a radio station, they're right down the front too. Anyway he's just come down with the flu and can't go, so I thought you might like to.' Wayne smiled. ‘It'll make up for me ruining your hair.' ‘Yeah righto, grouse. You've got me.'

‘Alright fine. How about you ring me tonight and we'll make the arrangements,'

‘Okay. I'll give you a buzz about seven.' Davo took a quick glance at his watch. ‘Anyway, I'd better get back to work. Thanks for the haircut.'

‘You're welcome.' Wayne smiled as Davo gave the girls in the salon a wink and a bit of a wave then disappeared into the crowd of shoppers. He turned to one of the women seated patiently waiting her turn. ‘Mrs Rabbinwitz,' he beamed. ‘How are you today?' Oozing charm Wayne escorted the smiling, diamond and gold dripping woman to the same shampoo basin Davo had used.

Davo still had about fifteen minutes before he had to go back to work so he got some coffee and donuts in the Mall outside David Jones and sat there eating them watching the people—mainly the girls—walking past.

Christ what about this bloody rat's tail he thought to himself, with a bit of a chuckle. Trust bloody Wayne to do something like that while I was asleep. Still, it doesn't look that bad I suppose. He unconsciously ran his fingers through it then quickly snatched them away as if he thought some one might be
watching him. That Santana concert's going to be sensational tomorrow night too. Mondo Rock as well. And seats right up the front. Davo took a bit of donut and shook his head as if he still couldn't believe his luck. He's a bloody good bloke Wayne. There's no two ways about it. In fact it gives me the shits at times the way the others at work bag him just because he's gay. Christ he'd buy and sell the lot of them ten times over. Oh well. He finished his coffee and donuts and started heading back to work.

‘Oohh, doesn't she look lovely,' was the first thing Dutchy said when he walked into the shop.