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Steve really didn’t like how she kept mentioning hairdressers.
She grinned, stunning Steve by how much she reminded him of their mother. The last time he’d seen Ruby, she’d had mousy long hair. Now, it was cut short with hints of gold and blonde flattering her face and showing off her delicate ears and slender neck. His sister had turned into a woman, a very pretty one – if he looked at her objectively – and he’d never really seen the transformation. His mother had regularly sent updates, photos, but those had stopped when she’d died, and even they were nothing like seeing the real thing.
With eight years between them, he’d always been Ruby’s really big brother. She’d been only twelve when he’d left home to find fame and stardom. A slight, skinny girl. Now, she had womanly curves, confidence, and a cheeky sense of humour – God, he was going to find it hard to meet her boyfriend and not give him the third degree. She didn’t talk to Steve like she was on eggshells either – in fact she was bossing him about. She acted normal around him exactly how a sister should. His celebrity status meant nothing to her. It felt fantastic. He was breathing again, relaxing. He could fart and it wouldn’t make front page news. He realised Ruby was one of the few people in his life he could trust.
She pulled up onto her small driveway and they both got out. He gazed up at the house.
“It’s not much, just a two-bed end terrace, but it does me,” Ruby said, opening the front door.
“Why don’t you stay at Mum’s – your home?” He looked around, frowning. The stairs were immediately in front of them, a small hallway with just enough floor space to dump shoes and her bag. He remembered something mentioned in an email about her moving out of the family home, but at the time he’d been too busy to persuade her not to. He hated the idea of selling it, so he’d employed contractors to oversee the maintenance of the house, through Marie, and the furniture had gone into storage, the house remaining empty.
“Because it was too big for just me to rattle around in, and besides…” Her voice faltered and she ran up the stairs. He followed, lugging his case and holdall.
“Besides, what? I’d pay the bills, Ruby, if it got too much. That’s why I sent you money.”
“It wasn’t that, Steve. There were too many memories of Mum. I found it too upsetting.” She didn’t look him in the eye, but showed him to the room at the front of the house. “This is my spare room, you can sleep here. I cleared it out last night.”
He wouldn’t push her about the house, their family home, for now. Instead he studied his new home, a pale-yellow box room, containing a futon along the side wall – at least it was a double – and on the other, a small desk where Ruby’s computer sat, and a wardrobe. His bathroom back in LA was bigger than this, but he would make do. His heart lightened at the sight of family photographs in different frames hung on the wall in a higgledy-piggledy fashion.
Mum, and occasionally Dad; Ruby, growing up slowly, some with her teenage friends. Steve was in some of them, but he noticed, like his father, he wasn’t in as many as Mum and Ruby. His presence was missing. His father couldn’t be helped, he’d been dead twenty-odd years. As for Steve…
“Right, I’ll let you get settled in. I keep the duvet and pillows in the wardrobe.” Ruby pointed to the pine wardrobe. “I’ll go and put the kettle on.” She thudded back down the stairs, and Steve stowed his case between the wardrobe and desk where it fitted neatly. He opened the wardrobe, and there were pillows and a duvet, and clean sheets on the shelf above the rail. Only a couple of items were hung up – coats mainly. There was enough room for him to hang his clothes. He’d unpack and pull the futon out tonight. He looked out the window, seeing the street below – still raining. It looked a quiet neighbourhood, similar style houses to Ruby’s lining the street. At least Ruby hadn’t moved out of the area, had stayed around Westbury-on-Trim where they’d both grown up.
Checking he had his wallet, phone and his sunglasses inside his leather jacket, he headed back down the stairs to the smell of toast.
“Jam or marmalade?” Ruby called out.
“Marmalade, please.” No pancakes and bacon with maple syrup here.
Ruby’s kitchen was small, so he took a seat at her dining table. The lounge-diner was a good size, for someone living on their own. Behind the three-seater sofa, a wall of books and CDs stood in a large shelving unit. Ruby had always had her nose in a book from an early age, but when he’d left home, she’d just been finding music, much to Mum’s annoyance.
He could fit this whole house in his living room. He hadn’t lived in his apartment quite a year yet, but it was amazing how he’d got used to the space.
He was having a wake-up call to normality.
He remembered how, as his money poured in from the increasing film work, and the fame too, he’d instantly needed a more secure apartment. Being famous had its drawbacks. When your face is plastered over a movie screen, and then glossy magazines, women fall in love with your character, or you. It could get a bit scary in public – as he was starting to find out. He’d thought he was used to female attention – and had a rude awakening. It very soon became apparent he needed a bodyguard, to stop the girls from hurling themselves at him.
Hopefully, now in England, he’d left the crazies behind.
Hopefully.
Ruby plonked a plate of marmalade on toast in front of him, and a cup of black coffee. She came out with the sugar bowl and milk jug. He frowned.
“You don’t have to do anything special for me.”
“Don’t get too excited, it’s instant.” Ruby held her hand up in defence, noticing Steve’s look of distaste. “Hey, you sprung this on me. If you’d called, I’d have got stuff in special, proper coffee, even baked a cake.”
Steve poured some milk into his coffee mug, and took a sip. It was wet and warm at least.
“But I wasn’t sure how you liked it, or what you were used to. You’re not some weird celebrity with silly OCDs now, are you? You don’t have to wash your hands every time you touch something?”
He laughed, putting the mug down. “No, but I always wash my hands after using the bathroom.”
“You never used to! Not as a teenager, anyway.”
“Please don’t tell the press.”
“It’ll cost you.”
Then, there was an awkward silence, as though their joking had run out of fizz. Like they didn’t really know what to say to one another. Strangers.
“God, I’ve missed you,” she said, as if reading Steve’s mind, wanting to remove their silence. Ruby threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her back, surprised by her sudden outburst.
“I’ve missed you too, Roo.”
She smiled. “Right, enough of the soppiness, we need to get you transformed.” She let go of him. There was a brief change in her expression as she regained composure, and then she finished her own toast.
“Is this really going to work?” He wasn’t liking the word transformed.
“Yes, I’m positive. As long as you stick to the rules, and keep your head down, it should be fine.” Steve frowned as she spoke. “It worked for Clark Kent, it can work for you.”
“This is how I’m going to find my Lois, huh?”
“Absolutely.” Then, she looked him up and down, hand to her chin, contemplatively. “Hmmm…take your watch off.”
“What?”
“It looks expensive. I don’t doubt it is expensive. So take it off. You’re hardly going to blend in wearing a watch that costs more than most people’s wages. This is about changing your image. We’ll buy another one later.”
Steve did as he was told and removed his Jaeger-LeCoultre watch, sighing heavily. Luckily, he’d pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and his leather jacket, trying to make sure he didn’t stand out.
“And you better lose the designer stubble.”
“Hey, I can’t help the shadow. Something Dad passed on to me.”
“Well, you’re going to have to shave regularly – not once every five days.”
“I could do with a shower,” he hinted.
“Okay, grab a towel from the airing cupboard, I’ll clear this lot up – and make sure you shave,” she said sternly.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Steve quickly finished his toast and took his coffee with him. When he returned thirty minutes later, clean-shaven, Ruby had cleared the breakfast things and had her hands in the sink, washing up. Her tiny kitchen had no space for a dishwasher it seemed. He dumped his dirty mug into the washing up bowl and she cleaned it, putting it on the draining board with the rest of the things. Drying her hands, she gave Steve another look up and down.
“Okay, you’ll do for now. Let’s go shopping.”
He couldn’t remember Ruby being so bossy. He was starting to think it wasn’t a good thing.
Chapter 3 (#ue7247201-776d-595b-9703-19c513a70a76)
The first thing Ruby did was park up in the high street and took Steve to a cash point. “Take as much out as you can. The less you use your credit card the better – it’s got your name on it, I assume.”
“Yeah…”
“Right, well, we don’t need someone questioning anything, so use cash.”
When had she got so bright, so street-wise, so mistrustful? Had she watched too many thriller movies? Next she’d be donning dark glasses and constantly looking over her shoulder.
“How much am I going to need?” he said, pulling out his wallet.
Ruby put her hand on her hip, and looked again at Steve, speculatively. He could almost see the cogs turning as she worked it out. “Well, you’re going to need a new wardrobe, haircut, and you can buy me lunch.” She grinned, flashing her straight, white teeth. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one with the persuasive smile?
Once he’d withdrawn his maximum cash limit, from two credit cards, Ruby grabbed his arm, and they walked down the quiet high street. Steve secured his favourite, well-worn LA baseball cap on his head. He found that if he kept his nose to the ground the cap hid his face well.
“First things first, let’s fix your hair before we head over to Cribbs.”
“I like my hair.”
“Yes, but it looks very Steve Mason,” she said, lowering her voice when she got to his name. “We need to change your image from gorgeous actor to mediocre man.”
Steve frowned warily.
“It’s nice, bit longer than the last time I saw you. Maybe we need a short back and sides.”
“But I’ve got a film in three months.”
“It’s hair! It’ll grow back. Trust me.”
“Why don’t we get a bowl and just cut round that,” Steve said dryly.
“Don’t tempt me. But we do need to keep you semi-respectable otherwise you won’t attract anyone.” She dragged him towards a hairdressers. She walked inside then stopped. He’d seen it too. He tugged the cap down further over his face. A coffee table laden with glossy magazines, old issues – one with Steve Mason on the front page with Erica Kealey. Giving Steve an apologetic smile, Ruby pulled on his arm and they walked back out before anyone noticed, and continued further down the high street – Steve more sombre than Ruby – to a barbershop. Men only. No glossy magazines, and if there were, it would be cars, cars, cars. And the odd issue of Nuts.
Did he really have to cut his hair? He’d grown it for his last movie, where he needed to play the smooth hero. It was around the nape of his neck, and if un-gelled like today, it had a mad unkempt look.
“Isn’t there somewhere more…designer?” Steve swallowed, looking up at the barber’s sign over the door – specifying cheap cuts.Would they make a mess of his beautiful hair? He liked his hair – just the way it was. He had a particular barber he visited in LA who he trusted, who cut his hair the way Steve preferred. It cost him but he didn’t care.
“There’s nothing wrong with this place.” Ruby grabbed his arm.
“And you know this because…?”
“Friends come here all the time.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Male friends. It’s got a good reputation, honest. But anyway, we’re not really here to get you a good haircut. Just a haircut. The worse it looks, actually, the better.”
Steve’s mouth fell open. How would looking bad help him find the woman of his dreams? But before he could reply, Ruby tugged him into the barbers, and smiled at the young man behind the desk.
“Haircut for my brother, please. Nice and short, and maybe spiky on top. Nothing too fashionable.” Ruby’s expression was stern, and the young man in his early twenties with pristine, gelled black hair looked at her as if she was mad. Ruby might as well have asked for the clippers to do the job herself. Then, the man gave an inquisitive glance towards Steve. Would he recognise him, or not believe his luck? Sometimes people could be too gobsmacked or embarrassed to ask.
Steve rolled his eyes, not wanting to let the guy dwell on who he was. The quicker he was in and out of this place the better. He hoped.
“Do as she says, otherwise we’ll both be paying for it.” Pulling the baseball cap off, he slumped into a chair, faced the mirror, and the man placed a gown around him. Remembering the happy photograph he’d just seen of himself and Erica smiling blissfully, reminded Steve why he was doing this. Ruby was right; the hair would grow back. It was a small price to pay if he did find true love.
Very quickly, Steve watched the hair he’d grown slowly come off. It wasn’t long as in trailing down his back, but it had a mature length to it. The natural wave was starting to show now it had some length. Slicked back or left a little unkempt, he had a good head of hair. It was cut and styled with scissors rather than, as the young barber was currently doing, using clippers. He was getting a ‘short, back and sides’ like his own father used to order when he was a boy.
The barber worked in silence. Usually there would have been banter, but with Ruby standing there, her arms crossed and expression firm, he probably didn’t dare make light conversation. Steve kept quiet too, for fear of giving the game away and he watched his transforming image in despair.
With every buzz of the clippers, Steve felt sickened. A couple of years ago someone in the industry had advised Steve to grow his hair, and by doing so he’d been surprised that instantly he seemed to become popular in Hollywood. He’d lost his boyish looks and become rougher, a harder looking, mature man. Something the filmmakers wanted. The roles he was offered changed, or the ones he went for, he got. No longer the supporting role, he’d become the leading hero.
And he’d always liked how Erica used to run her hands through it while they made love…
“Oh, and thin it out a little, so it’s not so thick,” Ruby added, hovering over the poor guy who clipped and cut his way through Steve’s light-brown hair. “I was wondering if you should have some highlights—”
“Highlights?”
The barber jumped back at Steve’s outburst, apologising for nearly cutting Steve’s ear.
“But it’s lightening up as he’s using the thinning scissors on it. Relax, Bro.” She nudged Steve, and he gave her his best-unimpressed smile. He noticed she hadn’t called him Steve once in front of the barber or the other salon workers.
Once the barber had finished, he stood behind Steve with a mirror so that he could see the back of his head. Steve looked at his reflection properly for the first time throughout the ordeal. His slightly longer, wavy crop was gone and in its place a shorter, choppier style that did indeed transform him. Whether it was the sort of transformation he wanted he wasn’t entirely sure.
He paid for his haircut, plus some hair wax Ruby insisted he purchase, tipped the guy (he deserved it for tolerating Ruby) and they walked out. Weirdly, his head felt lighter by the lack of hair. He could also feel the bitter cold wind around his neck and ears more so. At least it had stopped raining. He went to put his hand through his hair and quickly stopped as soon as he felt the gel.
“You do actually look younger,” Ruby said. They headed back towards her car.
Steve scowled. Was this really going to be worth it? Would he really find his not-so-perfect woman in three months? “Man, I had it like this about three years ago when I was in a sitcom.”
“Man, I had it like this about three years ago when I was in a sitcom,” Ruby mimicked his accent.
“Shut up.”
“Shudd-up,” Ruby did it again and giggled, but Steve scowled.
Steve could not help glancing in shop windows as they walked, catching his reflection, his new look.
“Your hair will grow back. You didn’t actually have that much cut off. It’s only about an inch in places, two maybe on top.” Ruby sighed. “The way you’re looking at me it’s as if I asked you to have a number one all over.”
“I can’t believe I paid eight bucks—”
“Pounds—”
“For a haircut,” Steve continued, ignoring Ruby’s correction.
“Oh, how the other half live,” she said. “Having a cheap haircut makes you normal. Now stop complaining. Let’s buy you some clothes. You can’t go around in your designer gear. You’re looking too trendy.”
“I like some of my designer gear.”
“You can’t wear it, or if you do, tell people it’s fake.”
Crammed back into Ruby’s car – Steve really was contemplating buying her something bigger, possibly today – she drove them to the Mall at Cribbs Causeway on the M5. Two floors of wall-to-wall high street shops, with a light and airy feel from the glass rooftop. It was unbelievable that when he’d left for LA, fifteen years ago, this building had just opened. He’d only seen the development phase. Steve admired the tall palm trees as he walked past the shops, reminding him of California, where they could grow that tall without being under glass.
