‘Poor love.’ A copy of Hello! is thrust in my face.
The headline reads Kassie’s Ketosis Knightmare!
I have no idea who this Kassie is.
A manicured finger points to a glossy photograph. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
‘Only if Botox floats your boat.’
The woman glares at me, and we sit in stony silence until a gawky girl appears at my side. With a sigh of relief, I stand, only for her to brush me aside.
‘You can come to the basin now, Mrs Tate.’
‘Don’t forget the head massage this time.’ The magazine is dumped in my lap, and I am left alone.
I read about Kassie Knight, a reality TV star who married a footballer. They call her a Z-List celebrity and a media whore. At least they call her. My last job was a voiceover for a floor polish commercial. Before that, I had a minor role in a movie franchise until they killed off my character in the fourth instalment.
‘Sorry about the wait,’ the giraffe taps me on the shoulder. ‘Letitia is ready for you.’ She gives me an inane smile and ushers me to a seat.
‘Aren’t you Susan Leonard?’ The stylist stares at me. ‘I used to love your films.’
Another hairdresser looks up. ‘I thought you were dead.’