Yesterday, we wrote about Giovanni, the Italian stallion, and how he was blazingly insulted by his client Tamara. She had so belittled him, that he no longer knew who or what he was. A hairdressing client had actually criticised his skills! It was too much! His career was ruined! He had tried his hardest and failed!
Life in the salons was over. How could he face the world? What would he talk about with his friends in Soho at night?
He sat down on the bedroom floor, his head cupped in his rubber gloved hands. He had failed to remove them when he left Tamara in the bathroom.
‘Thata bitch! I never never go near her again! I never wanna know or see disa woman!’
Tamara came out of the bathroom, her hair a radiant blend of ginger and golden-blonde.
‘Why are you sitting here?’ she looked down at him.
He was sobbing, pulling the hairs from his head. ‘Why you so insult me, what I ever do to you, you destroying my life, I never go backa to the salon again!’ he was really upset, or at least appeared so.
Tamara looked at him, ‘I only said: stick to building websites, how was that insulting?
She knew Marcus would extract the maximum from this theatrical performance as Giovanni, the Italian hairdresser, if she played along for a while, gave him room to express himself. She was sure it would end soon. She looked carefully at him.
‘Giovanni, can I say something, something important?’
‘No leave me alona, I must face my life alona. Go away, go away!’ he sobbed again, running his hands through his tangled hair.
Tamara, turned to go into the study. She left him half sobbing, half giggling, on the bedroom floor. She sat down at her computer and called out to him:
‘Marcus!’
‘Who is this Marcus, I am Giovanni the great hairdresser, leava me alona.’
‘Okay’ she said, ‘I just wanted to tell you are still wearing the rubber gloves with the highlighting cream all over them’
‘Shit!’ Marcus was back.
Tamara was relieved. She went back to the bedroom. He was staring into the mirror.
‘Look at my hair!’ he screamed, ‘I’m half blonde!’
Tamara just laughed………..
Life in the salons was over. How could he face the world? What would he talk about with his friends in Soho at night?
He sat down on the bedroom floor, his head cupped in his rubber gloved hands. He had failed to remove them when he left Tamara in the bathroom.
‘Thata bitch! I never never go near her again! I never wanna know or see disa woman!’
Tamara came out of the bathroom, her hair a radiant blend of ginger and golden-blonde.
‘Why are you sitting here?’ she looked down at him.
He was sobbing, pulling the hairs from his head. ‘Why you so insult me, what I ever do to you, you destroying my life, I never go backa to the salon again!’ he was really upset, or at least appeared so.
Tamara looked at him, ‘I only said: stick to building websites, how was that insulting?
She knew Marcus would extract the maximum from this theatrical performance as Giovanni, the Italian hairdresser, if she played along for a while, gave him room to express himself. She was sure it would end soon. She looked carefully at him.
‘Giovanni, can I say something, something important?’
‘No leave me alona, I must face my life alona. Go away, go away!’ he sobbed again, running his hands through his tangled hair.
Tamara, turned to go into the study. She left him half sobbing, half giggling, on the bedroom floor. She sat down at her computer and called out to him:
‘Marcus!’
‘Who is this Marcus, I am Giovanni the great hairdresser, leava me alona.’
‘Okay’ she said, ‘I just wanted to tell you are still wearing the rubber gloves with the highlighting cream all over them’
‘Shit!’ Marcus was back.
Tamara was relieved. She went back to the bedroom. He was staring into the mirror.
‘Look at my hair!’ he screamed, ‘I’m half blonde!’
Tamara just laughed………..
Marcus and Tamara
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