‘Amy?’
‘Hmm? Look, I want to drop the topic, okay?’
‘It’s officially dropped. Does your gentleman drive something that looks like silver sex on wheels?’
‘Yeah. It’s an Aston Martin I think.’ Bobby pins sprayed everywhere when she realised what Myf was saying. ‘Oh bugger. Is he here?’
‘If he’s a sexy, built guy in a suit, I’d say yes.’
Amy followed Myf’s gaze to Ben, who was prowling around his car to approach the door. He was early! ‘Bugger! Can you stall him? I really have to pee and I haven’t fixed my make-up yet. Keep him busy for a second or two, please?’ She frantically scooped up her make-up bag and sprinted as fast as she could to the bathroom at the back of the salon.
‘Sure,’ Myf said in a laughter-filled voice as the bathroom door slammed.
Ben pulled up outside Babyface, experiencing an unfamiliar sense of anticipation. Checking through the barbershop window and seeing it was empty, he pushed open the door of the salon next door.
The first thing that struck him was the scent he’d noticed on his first visit. It was stronger this side. A combination of chocolate cake and vanilla, mixed with the various faintly floral, ammonia and acetone smells characteristic of the female beauty industry. The second thing he noticed was the décor, which managed to be blatantly contrived, yet comfortable at the same time.
The pale pink walls contrasted with the white enamel skirting boards, shelves and window frames. The wall closest to him featured a giant poster promoting the movie
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
, with Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell displaying maximum leg; the opposite wall held three ornate gilt mirrors arranged a metre or so apart. Each mirror had a plush rose-pink leather chair facing it. The back of the room was completely sectioned off with a white screen featuring large polka dots.
The overall effect should have been cloying but it wasn’t; it conveyed the same level of welcome and comfort as the barber shop. In fact, the only thing that
wasn’t
comforting was the distinct absence of the proprietor. Instead, he was greeted by a whippet-thin redhead wearing the ugliest green dress Ben had ever seen. She was curled up in one of the chairs, looking him up and down with a bemused smile.
‘Anyone home?’ He clasped his hands behind his back and wandered down to the back of the shop to inspect the area behind the screen, which contained a small room, ostensibly for those beauty treatments not fit for company, a small kitchen and another door, which was currently closed.
‘I am. Amy will be back in a few seconds,’ the redhead announced in a low, surprisingly strong voice. She had a more clipped, refined Australian accent than Amy’s. It spoke of money, and lots of it, somewhere in the family tree. ‘I’m Myf.’
‘Myf?’ Ben raised a brow.
‘Short for Myfanwy. Before you ask, Mum’s Welsh. I’m Amy’s friend. You’re Ben, right?’ Her gaze was steady and Ben got the distinct impression his every movement was being thoroughly judged. Interesting.
‘The man himself. Do you work here?’ Ben examined a row of nail polishes mounted on a narrow white shelf set above a white spindle-legged table with two chairs either side. He wondered why any woman would want pea-soup-green nails.
‘Only as backup. Normally I’m an artist and yoga teacher, but both are too much fun to call jobs.’ Myf gave him such a warm smile that Ben found himself wandering over and parking himself in the chair next to hers.
‘An artist? Are we talking empty white rooms with used underwear scattered around, great steaming piles of excrement turned into sculpture, or the more palatable stuff you hang on walls?’ He propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and spun it around to face her.
Myf laughed. It was a rich, welcome sound. ‘I do the wall stuff. I haven’t advanced to any installation work yet.’
‘Perish the thought.’ Ben feigned a shudder.
‘Ben?’ Amy’s voice was faintly muffled, coming from behind the mystery door at the back of the salon.
‘At your service.’
‘Just give me a few seconds.’ There was the sound of something heavy thumping a wall and a muffled ‘Oomph.’
‘You alright, love?’ Myf called out.
‘I’m okay. Just give me a sec. I’m sorry, Ben. I’m running a bit late.’
‘No problem at all. I’ll just entertain myself out here with Myf and some of your quality educational reading material.’ Ben winked at Myf before perusing a nearby shelf and selecting a magazine that advertised
Sex Tips to Send Your Man Wild
.
‘Quality?’ Myf let out a low chuckle.
‘Of course,’ Ben murmured. He flicked past countless outlandish advertisements for shoes, perfume and, if he wasn’t mistaken, anorexia, until he found what was he was looking for.
‘For example,’ he said loud enough for Amy to hear. ‘Did you know, and I have to tell you I didn’t, that men like having toothpaste rubbed on their privates? Now this is definitely news to me. According to this article—’ His words were stopped mid-sentence by Myf’s shocked laughter and Amy’s shriek from the back of the salon.
‘What!’
‘Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just reading out loud.’
‘Where are you taking her to dinner?’ Myf asked in a low voice, leaning towards him, her eyes sparkling.
‘I was thinking Christie’s on the Beach in Cottesloe,’ he whispered back. ‘Good choice?’ He raised his brows before saying much louder, ‘Oh, no,
no.
I can’t say I agree with this. It sounds horrifically painful.’
‘What? Excuse me?’ There was another thump. ‘Oh damn.’
‘Perfect choice.’ Laughter twinkled in Myf’s eyes. ‘She’ll love it. You’re paying.’
‘Excellent, and of course, worked my fingers to the bone to come up with the cash,’ Ben replied, just as the mystery door behind the screen opened and he heard the clicking of heels. Enjoying himself, he deliberately kept his eyes on the magazine as he turned the page to be confronted with some rather fascinating illustrations of sexual positions the magazine promised would send one’s man insane with lust. He snorted at the first improbable contortion and inhaled the scent of apples and bubblegum. ‘Now this
is
fascinating. I’ve never tried this one. I’ve always worried I’d damage a vital piece of equipment.’ He tapped the page pointedly.
The magazine was ripped from his hands with a crackle of glossy paper and he looked up, fully intending on making a joke but simply stared instead.
The Kewpie doll had curves–curves wrapped up in an impossibly cute blue and white pinstriped dress in a style last seen on a screaming teenager at an early Elvis concert. It curved down from a high boat-neck collar and capped sleeves to a tiny waist cinched with a dark blue ribbon tied in a bow before flaring out to a full circle skirt that fell just below the knee. Ben couldn’t be sure from the front, but he was almost positive she was wearing French stockings. Her dark blue patent leather Mary Janes instantly kickstarted a few naughty schoolgirl fantasies he hadn’t visited for a number of years.
‘You look . . . fascinating.’ He was aware that it might not be the most appropriate of compliments.
‘Gee, thanks. You look nice too,’ Amy replied pertly.
Ben was aware of Myf next to him, hiding a smile behind her coffee cup.
‘Thank you, I do try, although I can’t possibly compare . . .’ He looked Amy’s ensemble up and down again, resting finally on the loose curls framing her face. She was wearing fuchsia lipstick, the same colour she’d worn when he’d visited the barber shop on Monday. He was developing a penchant for fuchsia. ‘For starters, I look hideous in blue and dresses have never suited me.’ He was gratified to see a dimple appear in her cheek. Satisfied, he pushed himself to his feet. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Amy said, then turned to her friend. ‘Are you alright locking up with your key, petal?’
‘Not a problem.’ Myf pushed to her feet and held out a hand to Ben. ‘Nice meeting you, Ben.’
He took her hand in his and clasped it warmly. He liked this woman. She knew how to play along. ‘The pleasure was mine. I look forward to viewing your work.’ He turned back to Amy and gestured to the door with a flourish. ‘Madam, your chariot awaits.’
‘Are you comfortable? Impressed? Overawed? You’re supposed to be.’ Ben wore a devilish smile as he slid into the black leather driver’s seat, buckled up and smoothly pulled out into evening peak hour traffic. The car purred with restraint. Amy had the feeling it would truly roar if he allowed it. Not that she was in any state of mind to contemplate the fact. Right now she was doing her best not to touch anything.
‘I wouldn’t say impressed so much as scared to death. This car probably costs more than my house.’ She gingerly leaned down to make sure her heels weren’t digging holes in the carpet at her feet.
‘It’s alright.’ Ben shrugged. ‘Gets me from A to B.’ A faint smile played around his mouth.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Amy decided that she couldn’t do much damage if she stayed very, very still.
‘Never. And just in case you were wondering, I won’t let you drive it even if you offer me exotic sexual favours designed to make my hair stand on end.’ He said the words so casually that it took a few seconds for them to register.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re excused. Just so you know, I’ve made reservations for Christie’s on the Beach. You’ve heard of it? Yes? No? I hear it’s good.’
‘Christie’s. Wow. Um. Okay. You don’t have to take me there. We can go somewhere . . . more casual if you like.’ She just stopped herself from saying ‘cheaper’ just in time.
‘When I’m looking so debonair? No. Definitely not. I’m told the view is excellent. Not that I’ll be looking at it that much.’ He slid her an appreciative sideways glance.
‘The view is nice,’ Amy said wistfully, ignoring the compliment. She loved the beach.
‘Mind you,’ Ben mused, ‘places with a good location usually have dire food. London’s atrocious for it. Many’s the time I’ve gone to a restaurant in an excellent location expecting it to be amazing and . . .’ He made a raspberry noise, comically out of character to his polished appearance. ‘Shit.’
‘Serious?’ Amy laughed despite her worries. ‘I’ve never been to London so I wouldn’t know.’
‘Oh?’ Ben darted her a look that told her she might as well have admitted she had two heads. ‘Well, that’s probably wise of you. Hideous place. Crowded, overpriced and full of Australians. A bit like here really.’
‘You don’t like Australians?’ Amy leaned against the door, regarding him with narrowed eyes.
‘Oh, I like you all just fine. As long as you don’t talk much.’ He grinned when she snorted.
‘You mustn’t mind us that much if you’re staying here.’
‘I don’t. I love this city. It’s winter now and it’s raining less than it does in the summer back home.’ Ben turned off towards Cottesloe and they began driving along the ocean, huge mansions on one side, an endless expanse of sea and a vivid red sunset on the other.
‘How long have you been here in Perth?’
Ben shrugged. ‘A few months. My house is near here actually.’
Amy turned to study the mansions they were driving past. Cottesloe was a notoriously affluent suburb. Damn. She was definitely out of her depth and taking on water.
‘You’re quiet. I get the impression you’re not often quiet.’ Ben’s clipped words cut through her panic, bringing her back to earth.
‘What? No. I’m just blown away by the sheer sexiness of your car.’
‘Oh?’ Ben chuckled. ‘Well, that’s understandable. Embrace the shock and awe while I find us a parking place.’
Amy ran a finger over some polished walnut panelling. ‘Do you do this often?’
‘What?’
‘Ask ladies you’ve offended out to dinner.’
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he pulled into an empty space. ‘Offended? Not frequently, no. Usually they’re far too busy consulting with their lawyers. I can honestly say you’re my first dinner date offendee. Or at least the first one to accept an invitation. In fact, I do believe you should feel honoured.’
Amy pursed her lips, fighting a smile. ‘Should I? Are you going to be nice tonight?’
He turned the engine off. ‘Of course not. That wouldn’t be in the spirit of the thing at all. Although I
do
owe you, so we might be able to bend the rules.’
‘You owe me?’ Amy’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline.
‘Yes. You inspired me. As a result I’ve been amazingly productive.’
‘At being a dentist, you mean?’
‘What else? I pulled out millions of teeth. Productive teeth. Fantastic teeth.’ His white, toothy grin flashed in the dusky half-light. ‘How was your day playing the female Sweeney Todd?’
‘Busy. Exhausting,’ Amy answered honestly and gazed over Ben’s shoulder. The car park faced the ocean and was full of surfers stripping off their wetsuits and getting changed after catching some waves.
‘Oh?’ Ben regarded her with a faint frown. ‘Tell me about it. Or better yet, don’t. Wait and we’ll have a little bit of social lubrication first so I can fully enjoy all the gory details. I’m all ears. And teeth.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Never more so. I have lots of teeth.’ He shrugged. ‘Pointy ones. But you might be a little more interesting.’
Amy laughed, giving in and deciding to enjoy herself. She’d find a way to resuscitate her credit card later. ‘Alright, then. Lead the way.’
Chapter 4
‘You know, I think any man who isn’t an Olympic athlete or a lifeguard should be banned from wearing those. They’re an abomination.’
Amy followed Ben’s gaze out the restaurant window, taking a moment to focus. The fading red sunset over the sea and white sand of Cottesloe Beach was spectacular tonight. She chuckled when she saw the object of his criticism, an intrepid senior citizen walking towards the water wearing a pair of faded red Speedos that left nothing to the imagination. Not that there was much to see, given how cold it was outside.
‘What? You mean you don’t have a pair?’
‘Perish the thought.’
Amy grinned and reached for a wonderfully warm bread roll, slathering it with butter. ‘You know what they call Speedos here?’
‘No. Do tell?’ Ben raised an eyebrow.
‘Budgie smugglers.’