Daniel turned up, with bleached hair, just before six. He stormed in with his bags of records, slung his keys on the counter and checked his phone, eyes down. Do not disturb. Anaïs didn't think she'd mention the hair, despite thinking, "What d'you do that for?" She opened a beer for him and took it over. "Fag?" She asked, hoping to squeeze a quick roll up in before the after work rush.
"In a minute. Can you make it then?" He was already one headphone on. Lost in the music, tenderly bringing the record up to speed, concentrating hard. Escaping again.
Anaïs remembered how, when they were kids, Daniel would delight in playing the Shangri La's at the wrong speed, and she would cry and cry until Chrissie stepped in,
"Oh don't do that Sweetheart, you're upsetting her," she'd say, ruffling his hair. Anaïs found the boyish urge to corrupt things upsetting, and would pester and pester until things were how they should be. In adult life she had tried to kick the habit. Life just had to unfold in its own way, right or wrong.
Now she reached for her tobacco, which lived under the cash register. Suddenly the tables were filling up with the regular stream of retail staff who, having had enough of feigning politeness all day, typically screamed, screeched and bitched until hunger finally got the better of them and they would go home to not eat. Retail people never have any money. They're so good at selling that their best customers are usually themselves. Shop girls wages go around and around in a huge circle.
They look good though mused Anaïs. Damn. That fag would have to wait.
"Oh my God!! That woman is insane! I'm going to kill her I swear to God!!" The staff from the Florists arrived in a group and ordered beers. Next it would be shots. Anaïs knew the drill.
"She's such a freak! That Australian accent is doing my head in. And she did absolutely nothing today, that's what's so annoying!"
They found themselves a table and made piles of purses, mobile phones and make up bags. They hoped to blow steam, to moan out the annoyances of the day. Then Marie arrived and cut the banter dead. They quickly took a new tack, all shifting around to make room for her at the table. Anaïs caught the shifty glances they tried hard to hide. The rolling of eyes and the disappointment that their annoyance would just have to dissipate and work itself out through their bloodstreams.
Marie came up to the bar. "Can I get a round of whatever they just had?" She asked, in the hyper American accent she favoured in social situations.
"Sure," Anaïs replied. An Americanism just to amuse herself. Daniel caught it too and smirked as he served himself another bottle of beer and grabbed the tobacco from under the till. "Did you sort out the apartment thing?"
"No. So I'm going home this weekend to talk to Daddy, and Rupert can go fuck himself."
Marie did the decent managerial thing, got the drinks in, called a cab and took herself and her Belstaff boots back to her flat and back to Rupert. She would not speak to him for a week she decided. Her staff heaved a collective sigh of relief as she left, and resumed their searing narrative of the day. Token gay boy Alistair had them all in hysterics doing his Marie impression, the girls all squealing with delight. Daniel had returned to the record decks. To safety. The music got increasingly Latin in flavour and El Morocco made its transition from day to night.
Anaïs lit the candles on each of the tables, stole the roll up tucked behind Daniels free ear, and snuck out into the courtyard. As she blew smoke rings into the dusk, Gabe arrived.
"Darling," he kissed her once on each cheek and gave her a big, feet-off-the-ground hug, "How are you? Is Al here?"
"In there holding court, doing his Marie!"
Gabe rolled his eyes and squinted through the windows. Alistair had now left his seat and was giving the finale of his performance; the Marie stomp. Daniel was looking on and frowning, one hand clamped to his headphones, head tilted.
"Has Dan dyed his hair?"
"Yep," Anaïs said, "Mum did it I suppose. It's a bit weird isn't it? Still, I'm not saying anything."
"Probably best. I'd better go and get Al, get him home before he does an encore!"
Gabe shyly retrieved his lover; the girls from the florists stayed and turned their attentions to straighter boys. They ordered Sambuca. Anaïs poured them out and took one to Daniel whose expression had begun to soften. The music had soothed him sufficiently and he took off the twelve inch and put on an LP. "Fag?" he said.
Anaïs shook her head, "No," She thought about mentioning the hair, "I just put one out."