Page 84 of The Gambler's Prize
Chapter 33
Grimes
The famous hairstylist Rab Backman looks just as smug in reality as he did in the newspaper. But he greets Florian with affection, like they’re old friends. As I watch Florian disappear into the man’s embrace I can’t help smiling at his happiness. I’m hoping that this appointment will help to alleviate Florian’s homesickness, at least temporarily. There’s a huge line for the hairstylist’s services. He’s set up shop in a little beauty parlorthat he clearly feels is beneath him, and has chased the usual staff to the side of the store where they wait with brooms to sweep up the remnants of his artistry. Half the city seems to have turned out in the hope of getting an appointment, snaking down the street in a long line, shoving and pushing to secure their places in the shade under store awnings. But as soon as Rab sees Florian he lets him jump right to the head of the line, to much grumbling from the others. I scowl at anyone who dares to make an annoyed sound until they subside. Breta, Prevana and the little kids are here too, looking excited, especially when they get second place in line thanks to their friendship with Florian. Prevana clutches a sketch from a Rhennian newspaper. The paper is dated over a month ago, but news takes a while to travel all the way out to Galbrava on the stagecoaches. The picture is of a popular actress from one of Rhennes’ most famous theater groups.
“That style will look amazing on you,” Florian says.
“I hope so.” Prevana says, looking unusually shy.
Most people have brought pictures of their own, but Florian asks Rab to choose a style for him. I settle on a chair off to the side of the room as the man looks at Florian from all angles with narrowed eyes, obviously relishing the creative freedom. He has a beautiful subject to try out his art upon. When he gets to work, his hands fly so fast I can barely see, but he also keeps up a constant stream of chat about his travels, the city of Galbrava, and everything Florian has been doing since he last saw him. Florian is discreet, telling him about his new relationship but mercifully leaving out the less savory details like my revenge plan. When Rab is done with him, Florian looks even more beautiful than I’ve ever seen. I didn’t think that was even possible. Rab has trimmed merely an inch from the dark lengths of his hair, and plaited a few sections to wrap and weave around his head. He presses a fewkiveflowers into the plaits.The biggest one peeks out just above Florian’s left ear, drawing attention to his cheekbones and the redness of his lips. When Rab steps back and lets Florian see himself in the mirror, Florian looks overcome.
“Do you like it, Boss?” he says, as though that’s all that matters.
“I absolutely love it.”
I help Florian to his feet, noticing the hint of a tear in his eye. He hasn’t had the chance to feel beautiful in a long time. He’s been living out in the desert with only me to appreciate his beauty, wearing work boots every day and sitting down to dinner covered in red dust. Breta was right. I must remember that he’s different from me. He needs different things to feed his soul, to be happy. I resolve to take him out this evening to show off his new look. We’ll go to the Arcadia, what passes for theater in Galbrava. It might not be up to Rhennian standards, but Florian will still love the bawdy songs and jokes.
Breta is up next. When Rab puts her hair up into a chic updo, she too looks overcome as she stares into the mirror.
“You look wonderful, Mama,” Prevana says to her.
Breta’s tired eyes shine. The little kids get their hair done too, chatting excitedly to Rab about Rhennes, where they’ve never been.
Then a familiar figure slinks into the stylist’s chair. It’s that boor who dared to proposition Florian in the tavern, right back when I first won him. He doesn’t seem to remember or recognize either of us, which is alarming as it implies he’s in similar fracas regularly. We watch, amused, as Rab performs his miracles and the rough, burly man ends up with a choppy, ornate style that changes his face completely. He looks pleased with himself, but Florian can’t hold back a giggle as the man is transformed from pub ruffian to fop. The man glares at him, enraged. I step infront of Florian and the man practically whimpers and backs away, reminding me of a dog with his tail between his legs.
We say our goodbyes to Rab, promising to see him later at the theater, and go out into the street. Breta and family are chatting about where we’ll all eat lunch. Florian hangs back with me, looking a little subdued.
“What’s wrong, flower?” I say, touching the real flower behind his ear.
“I’m just thinking. That was silly of me. I shouldn’t have laughed at that man. I made him mad.”
I scoff. “Who cares? You’re mine now. Mine to protect. Taunt anyone you like and I’ll take care of them.”
He laughs and pouts in disapproval at once. “Boss, that’s terrible. I can’t do that. I’d become insufferable.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can cut you down to size again any time I want. Can’t I?”
I grab his shoulders and kiss him hard. His lips part for me and he surrenders eagerly. Then Breta and Prevana turn around to look at us and we disentangle, embarrassed.
“I see you two are getting a head start on lunch,” Breta says with a trademark smirk.
**
After lunch, we split up, Breta taking her daughters to the shops and Florian and I deciding on a walk before it’s time for the theater. We head out hand in hand into the emptiness of the desert, with canteens of water and Florian’s hat perched carefully on top of his perfect plaits so as not to crush them.
“I do miss home, but it’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he says.
“It is. Especially because I found you here.”
He flushes, nothing to do with the sun. “You’re such a sweet talker.”
“I never was until I found you,” I retort, which is the truth.
We walk on in companiable silence. Everything feels peaceful, perfect. Then a haziness on the horizon catches my eye. Florian sees it at the same time and his hand stiffens in mine.
“Dust storm?” he murmurs.
“Hope not.”
