CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Six

DAHLIA

The hairdresser was a taxi ride from the hotel. I'd asked in the hotel where the best place was within range and this was it: an expensive salon for wealthy tourists.

Melissa and I went in and I greeted the manager while she hung back. He guided us to our seats and introduced us to the ladies who would be doing our new looks. One spoke good English, the other didn’t seem to get anything, but they could talk to each other.

“What would you like?” asked the English speaker.

“I, er...” I cleared my throat. “We’re like to swap hairstyles,” I said.

She frowned at me confused.

“I want my hair to look like hers,” I said, pointing at Melissa, “and she wants hers to look like mine.”

The hairdresser frowned. “So...” She pointed at Melissa.

“She wants blond curly hair, exactly like mine,” I said.

“Blond,” said Melissa, smiling, embarrassed.

The hairdresser nodded, still frowning.

“And I want mine straight and brown, with a fringe. Exactly like hers.”

“Brown,” said Melissa.

The hairdresser looked from one to the other of us. “Exactly the same?”

“As close as you can get it,” I said. Melissa’s hair wasn’t as long as mine at the front obviously and didn’t have quite the same length, but it wouldn’t be too far off.

Looking mystified, the English-speaker explained what we wanted to the other girl. The other girl looked incredulous and said a rapid garble of Greek back at her that made Melissa and I share a smile. They batted back and forth a few times until the Greek-speaker shrugged, muttering to herself, then turned to Melissa and gave her a big and totally fake smile.

Then they got to work.

We settled into our chairs while they started on the cut. Before they began they took a photo, from each side, of both of us on the one girl’s phone. Then they got going.

It took a long time.

And all that time, my nerves jangled away, telling me I was being crazy, but it was too late to listen to them. As my girl snipped away at the front of my hair I realised that it had already been put in process. It was too late to back out now. I’d started my transformation.

And it wasn’t the half-hearted switches we’d made up to now or even the rather more determined overeating I’d been doing. This was going to be methodical and steady and it was going to happen over a long period. I relaxed into my chair, imagining really becoming her in every way; though I knew that was too far over the top, even for me. But it was a lovely fantasy, even if I still couldn’t quite fathom why.

They straightened my hair, cutting away some of the length and levelling it at the bottom in a line at the height of my chin. Seeing them start to do that was really horrifying but I gripped tightly to the arms of my chair and tried not to run screaming from the salon.

After forty five minutes they were done with the cutting for both of us. Melissa’s hair didn’t have enough length to really look like mine but her girl had done a good job of shaping it in that direction and it looked a lot more glamorous; less mumsy. Like mine now was. My hair looked like that of a middle-aged housewife; or a secretary... or a cleaner.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered to myself. It really was amazing.

And it was only half way there.

We had a short break while they got ready to do the dyeing and Melissa and I came together, giggling at how different we looked already. We were just like school friends; silly girls playing dress-up at a sleepover. I felt kind of drunk, even though I wasn’t; it was that kind of slightly out-of-body experience.

They got started on the dye jobs, eliminating my highlighting and, of course, greatly lightening Melissa’s hair. This wasn’t some scrappy hairdressers at the back of Barton high street – this was a high-end fashion salon. It was the best money could buy in this country and they were clearly very good. That was what was needed. As I was returning to my natural darker shade I wouldn’t need the same amount of upkeep on my hair but Melissa would need more regular repeat visits. That was fine. That was all part of the persona she was taking on. A cheap place would do for me next time.

I sat there imagining that, smiling deliciously, as they carried on working.

After another age they finished off drying our hair. They referred to the original pictures, made a couple of last minute adjustments, then stood back, nodding and smiling.

I looked at Melissa. She looked at me.

Her hair was blond and magnificent. Yes, it wasn’t as long as mine had been but it would grow in soon enough and it did look great. Really great.

As for mine, it was identical to how Melissa’s had been.

It was thick and dark, coming down to form a bob below my ears, a dense fringe running along just above my eye line.

I fingered it in disbelief and uneasy wonder. I’d never had a hairstyle like this in my life. I never would have. It looked kind of awful; turning me into someone ordinary – especially with my more filled out face. This was not the look of a fashion model; not anymore. It was the first really big step on this process we were embarking on. It meant there was no going back.

We stood up and paid our way and silently left the salon.

Outside we waited on the pavement, not speaking to one another for a long while. Eventually, when we did make eye contact, it was difficult. We both felt uncomfortable. Perhaps we were acknowledging just how weird this all was in a way we couldn’t articulate.

It was a long time again before either of us spoke and it was Melissa in the end who did so.

“Well,” she said. “That’s that then.”

“Yeah. I guess it is,” I replied.

“So now... Now it’s time for the next part,” she said.

I nodded, more nervous than I thought I would be.

“Next we put on our new clothes.”

I nodded.

“And then we swap names. For the whole rest of the time we’re staying abroad.”

She smiled at me and I smiled back but I was shitting myself. It was happening too fast. It was going to be over and done within the hour. I was going to become Melissa.

It was all happening way too fast.