The Sunday Tribune - Spectrum

This was great. This was far and away the best thing that had ever happened to me. This was my lucky break. If I made an impact in that audition tomorrow, I would break through and then there would be no stopping me. As I drove into the parking lot at the ministry, I forced myself to slow down, to take a couple of deep breaths and remember that I was a civil servant. A person who wore grey suits and went to work carrying a black briefcase with important documents of the ministry. A responsible young woman who looked into the state of unemployment in the country and figured out ways of dealing with it. Another brick in the wall. As I walked through the hushed corridors of power, I remembered who I was, I calmed down. All day long as I signed files and looked at reports and dictated memos, I forced myself not to remember. The deadpan face of a classic civil servant, the face that mustn’t reveal anything, was firmly in place.

That however, was only till five o’clock rolled around. I snapped my briefcase shut right on the dot at five.

"But madam the bureau’s files."

"Tomorrow, Mr Dahl." I said to my personal assistant who has been personal assistant to many an under secretary.

"But the files," Mr Dahl lives for the ministry, "you must see them they are urgent".

"Tomorrow Dahl, Goodnight," I said striding out of the office, leaving the poor man feeling decidedly let down.

Never mind, I thought, for I needed to get away to think about this whole Simon thing out, to get myself ready for the audition.

"Ah just the person I was looking for!" my boss hailed me as I walked double time trying to leave the corridors as fast as possible. Great, I thought, just what I needed. He was probably going to ask me about tomorrow’s leave application.

"Good evening sir," I said politely.

"Good work on that new literacy programme," he beamed.

Much as I liked my work being appreciated, I wished he’d found some other time to do it. The audition kept on swirling in my mind, even as I answered questions on autopilot. And then to make matters worse I found myself focusing on my boss’s pate. For there growing on the shiny, bald expanse was a solitary black hair. Right in the middle, a triumphant symbol of perseverance in the face of terrible odds. Or so it seemed to me.

I tried to drag my eyes away from it, it was rude to stare, but it couldn’t be helped. "Yes, Sir — we must ensure the recommendations are implemented correctly," I said.

No sir, we mustn’t be steam-rolled by them," I vowed. But all the while it wasn’t the state policy that held my attention. Oh no. I wondered if my boss got up every morning and combed it.

When I finally got away half-an-hour later, I let out a sigh of relief. I really ought to be ashamed of myself, Mr Bond was a thoroughly nice man, a gem of a boss and there I had stood for a good half hour, laughing, yes I told myself admit it, laughing at him.

Sure that my guardian angel must have deserted me long ago, disgusted at the wickedness of my ways, I started my car and headed home. Which only goes to show I had a lot on my mind, because ordinarily I wouldn’t have forgotten about my appointment with Emile. As it was I only remembered as I was about to turn into the drive. Goodness gracious I had almost missed it altogether!

Reversing and driving off immediately ensured that I got to the salon just in time. Racing up the three flights of stairs I burst into the salon.

"Made it!" I said panting, my cardiovascular status isn’t what it used to be.

"Emile is ready,"smiled Rhea, the owner of the salon.

"Great," I said, still catching my breath, "let’s get started!"

Emile van Claude is an artist. He is adored by women all over the world. He loves women and making them look good is what he does best. He is five feet tall, has an oily black moustache and a French accent.

"Mademoiselle," he said bending over my hand as Rhea introduced us,

"Je suis charmant."

"Monsieur," I gushed, "I have been looking forward to this."

Emile van Claude was an artist. He took only seven appointments in a day. He was here only for a week. Rhea, bless her, had ensured I got one.

"Bien!Tres bien!" he said as he seated me and turned my head this way and that.

"The cheek bones" "he mused putting my hair up.

"We will go with the steps, yes?" he let them down and fluffed them out.

"Whatever monsieur thinks will look best." I was smug in the knowledge that a hair stylist of international repute was about to cut my hair. He cut the hair of movie stars and royalty, no less.

"Ah mademoiselle is too kind but fear not Emile will work his magic. Now how we say — you just sit back and relax."

And sit back and relax I did. No use in disturbing the master. Besides I had a lot of thinking to do. Christopher Simon, I really wished I had more time to get ready for that audition. Soon I was far and away, standing there auditioning for the part of Maria in the stage version of Sound of Music. I would walk like that, inundated with emotion my voice would rise and fall, I would sing, I would speak from the heart. When I had finished nobody would clap and for a moment there would be absolute silence. Then they would all rise in their seats, tumultuous applause would follow. The part would be mine.

The snip-snip of scissors made no impression on my ears which were tuned to the applause, I was blind to the mirror. All I could hear and see was the applause, the adulation and the colour. No more dreary ministry walls. There would be colour and excitement and artistic expression. Here I would soar. This was my true calling and I would rise to heights only yet imagined. Then one day when I had made a name for myself, I would give up my job at the ministry.......Terribly sorry, I would say, but the demands of my artistic career make it impossible to continue to do justice to the ministry. I am terribly sorry....

Voila mademoiselle!!! Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!???" Emile van Claude had finished his masterpiece and was demanding my attention. It was a good ten seconds before he got it.

Parfait! he said kissing his fingers in that charming Gallic way as he pointed to image in the mirror.

Expectant and excited I peered into the mirror.

"My hair!!!" I gasped.

Magnifique!! exclaimed the master.

My hair!! I repeated in anguish because there seemed hardly any left.

"Rhea. Rhea ma amie come here. Is it not zee perfection?"

"Oooh Emile how lovely!!" she gushed.

"My hair," I said shamefaced now because I was unable to appreciate great art and beauty when I saw it. All I could see were the remnants of my curls on the floor. It was the shortest, most absurd hair style I had ever worn in my life. The back was still long and then the length got progressively shorter so that instead of softly framing my face my hair stood out jauntily at ear level. Almost at 90 degrees. Like the twin wings of a biplane.

"What is it called?" I asked weakly, clutching at straws.

"Mademoiselle, it is called Steepes de Emille."

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. All their talk of how it brought out those wonderful cheekbones and how it emphasized the loveliness of my eyes sailed over my head. Shock made me weak. Good lord, I couldn’t go to office looking like this. And the audition.....

I think the only thing that kept me from beaning Emile van Claude over the head was the fact that I belonged to the ministry and if I were to bean him on the head it would no doubt lead to an international dispute between our two countries. And did not behove me.

No doubt if I tried long enough and thought hard enough I would come up with a suitable plan to avenge the great wrong that had been done to me, but as of now I was helpless. Besides he really believed he had done a fabulous job.

And just for the record I paid five times as much as I would for a normal haircut because international standards were applicable where the great man was concerned. He was still charming, and he was still Gallic and he now looked upon me as his piece de resistance, but I did not like him. No sirree, I wanted to bean him, I wanted to give him one in the beezer. I got out of there as quickly as possible.

Look, I told myself, you’re probably just over reacting. It probably does look wonderful and change is good. Change is good. That was a comforting thought and I clung to it as I drove home. One look in the hall mirror set me straight on that account. As far as my new coiffure went change was definitely not good. From where I was standing my new look made me look like a disreputable ruffian. Maybe Christopher Simon would caste me in his play but only as the boot polish boy. No hold on, if you looked carefully you could see that what I really looked like was a biplane with two wings. Hell all I needed now was flight.

As you can see, I was not in the cheeriest of moods. I berated myself for being such a prize ass, for daydreaming while someone cut my hair. You deserve, I said, you deserve it and you know it! Parisians!! I fumed. That damn Parisian!

I went to my audition the next afternoon. My hair stood up even more jauntily after what should have been a good night’s sleep but in reality was a through session of tossing and turning. I avoided looking at people. I wished they would avoid looking at me. I wished I were invisible.

"Hey! What happened?" Gina met me just outside Simon’s office.

"New hairdo!" I smiled and touched my hair nonchalantly.

"What is it called?" I could see she was having a hard time controlling her mirth.

"This," I flung over my shoulder as I walked in for the audition, "is called The Gift of Wings."

The audition went well. After a while I forgot about my hair and the way I looked, I just remembered the lines and the fact that I was Maria. Nobody gave me a standing ovation, but people did applaud. Christopher Simon kept his usual deadpan expression. I didn’t ask if I got the part. Quite frankly I didn’t really care. The list would be out in a week’s time besides I had given it all I had. I went back to my work at the ministry.

A week has passed and I have a letter from Mr. Simon stating the terms and conditions of my contract. I still have to sign it and get back to him. Meanwhile life is busy enough at the ministry. I believe that you find out a lot about yourself when you go through adversity. I’ve found a way to test if people really are your friends. If they like you just as well after you have a hair cut like mine, well then they really must like you. In fact I have been doing a lot of thinking on these and other matters lately. If you want to know more or meet me before I am swept up to the world stage in my debut role, come and find me at the ministry. I am easy to spot. I am the girl with the gift of wings.