Naqi in Trouble and a Hair Wash (Part 2)

Lyssa Asks for Imad’s Number

Sunday 4:16 p.m.

Trouble could be astir for Naqi, the once mighty, now ecliptic, overshadowing himself with narcotics and adultery. Just receiving an uncanny telephone call from Lyssa who had to leave my house to attend Penelope’s ailing heart, by her word I could swear that something was amiss. Lyssa even started off the conversation totally different to her normal ways, making me instantly recognize that after Lyssa used my name in the greeting, the words “Can you do me a favor” would soon follow.

“What’s wrong” I asked as she insistently repeated “Can you just please give me Imad’s phone number without asking questions.” Her solemn words to the fact that I rarely hear Lyssa’s gravity, struck me as put on. Lyssa just didn’t sound like you could take her seriously when she tried to keep me from the dilemma but as I handed her over the telephone number from my phone listing, I had a fair idea with my sixth sense on why Lyssa would need Imad’s number.

Knowing that Penelope had a fight with Naqi because she finally found out he was taking drugs (To which Lyssa knew but sounded like it was new news so Penelope wouldn’t hate her secretiveness), I knew that Lyssa would be with Penelope. “Where are you” I asked before revealing the number to which she replied, “I’m in Macarthur Square”. Lyssa spoke to Penelope in the background and even without her voice, I suspected that they would only call Imad so that he could verify some truth that Penelope found out.

Therefore, the only vile remedy for Naqi’s sins that I could think of their conversing with Imad is to find out the truth on Naqi’s fidelity. The way I figure, Lyssa or Penelope tried calling Imad because somehow they found out that Naqi fucked a prostitute on Imad’s birthday and who else to ask but Imad, the main source of truth.

The Cast of These Pages

Many a life changes amongst the living and many a minute converges with such fate to which these pages fortunately hold. Shall I dwell upon the fact that in the life of these memoirs, there have been more than one hundred different life forms and forms of opinion amongst these pages, affecting the existence of these pages. Shall I moreso dwell, for the knowledge that with the years to come, I should have come across hundreds more, to create the unique sense of thought that moulds together into this one philosophy, this one life, this one chronological saga.

Two Haircuts at the Mall

Heading back now to Saturday to which we can then progress up the ladder of proper chronology, I believe the stanza begins with our adventure parking the car and then our entrée within Campbelltown Mall. Both of us needed to get haircuts to which Shawn wasn’t sure where to snip what short length of hair strayed upon his head. Walking past Cash Converters, I spotted a men’s barber shop which looked a touch gay and dodgy but pointing it out, Shawn thought he wouldn’t decide to be picky. “I’ll head up to my hairdressers and then we’ll meet later”

I explained as I made my way up to my normal hairdressers at Hair-House Warehouse. Bustling with animation, I walked up to the counter and spoke to a blonde girl who looked to be the junior. Being a year younger or around my age and somewhat taller, she wasn’t looking glamorous but you could see in her eyes that with a little touch of class, she would present the model within. This girl whose name I didn’t catch ended up being my infatuation for the rest of the day, believing that she was interested in me as much as I with her.

“I’m just here to get a haircut” I uttered to the blonde girl with hair falling to her shoulders, “How long will the wait be”. The chairs were full of patrons and the waiting chairs were also chock-full but looks did deceive as the wait was only ten minutes. “I’ll just take a walk around” I noted as I headed down to Shawn’s barber to see if he’d been served yet. Walking past the front section, Shawn looked preoccupied whilst he was getting his haircut so deciding not to bother him, I took a bit of a walk around the Mall.

Fashion on the Escalator

There was nothing of a noteworthy value except for the Asian guy that I saw heading up the long escalator ramp. Asian’s these days make themselves look like a girl by the way they puff out their hair and what’s more, they also tend to look like gangsters. His look was very suave despite many people probably thinking it was a bit too much for a guy, even if it was an Asian. It’s hard to explain his hair but it looked like he died it the clay-brown and with a perfect complexion on par with a woman’s, he had two silver cross earrings.

He didn’t go as far as to wear stilettos but in all, he did look fashionable. With a good looking girl in his arms, he was chatting to her on the way up the escalator and getting in front of them, I snuck a look or two down just to see what the go was. When my little walk was complete I headed back to the hairdresser which was still absorbed in other people’s requests.

Waiting at the Hair Warehouse

Trying to steer clear of just standing around, I occupied myself for the few minutes in which I had to wait by checking out all the hair care products available. After a couple of minutes walking around the store the blonde girl walked up to me and said “I’ll see how long your wait will be now”. Looking as if she was trying to keep me from frustrated boredom, she talked to one of the hairdressers and what do you know, the next available seat was mine.

Nevertheless, as I sat down in one of the chairs of attention, I received none for a little while as my hairdresser went walkabouts. Not bothering me one bit, each time the blonde walked past or another junior working there, I would catch their glimpses upon me as they walked past. Never had I been so aware of my facial expressions, looking in the mirror and noting my face was all bloated with no expression but that of disdain.

Upraising a lip side or two, I tried to look anything but bored so that the women wouldn’t just treat me like everyone tends to do with my attitude that basically just snarls “Stand back, don’t talk to me, if you talked with me I’d make you feel uncomfortable just by being myself. Anyway, I tried to rectify what other people saw of me and it did work slightly to my favor.

The Blonde Takes Over

When it was finally time to get my haircut the lady who was cutting my hair advised me that I would need my hair washed first. Rubbing my hands together as I always love this treatment and missed it last time I got my haircut, I gladly made my way to the other chair. Being a touch disappointed as the blonde girl chucked on her jumper, looking like she was heading out for lunch, I had one of the younger juniors who had curly had and a nice personality start the rinse on my hair.

However, from the glances that me and the blonde were giving to each other, I wasn’t surprised when she walked over to the girl doing my hair to utter “That’s all right, I’ll do that, you’re hands probably hurt”. This sounded like a lame excuse if ever I heard one and as the girl doing my hair asked “Are you sure” my mind was saying “Yes, we all know what’s going on here so quite the charades and give it up girl”.

When the blonde began on my hair I felt the desire to chat with her. Rubbing gently upon my brow I asked from my dampened position whether she was tired from partying on Friday night, adding her thoughts into my previous conversation with the other girl. “I’m heaps tired, look how red my eyes are” she replied to which it would have been great to glance into her eyes but considering I was in no position to move around else my back would saturate with water, I kept put.

I was sure that this blonde girl wanted to take over the role of washing my hair because she knew I was interested in her and she held the same beliefs. As she asked me when I’m going to chop all my hair off and about her liking guys with short hair, I increased my belief that she liked me with the incentive of words expressed.

The Shampoo Treatment

There was a stage through her shampooing and cleansing my hair that all the juniors do but she performed it so seductively. Running the fingers strongly through the hair and massing the scalp, she seemed to squeeze out all my pressures and tension with her delicate hands. I had the feeling that she was trying to turn on my senses with her extrasensory rub down and because I was thinking about the embarrassment of my little man coming up, he started to twitch. Feeling that she was looking for some result from her massage turned sensual, I controlled myself by thinking ugly thoughts and stamped out the problem before it arose.

This prelude of bliss there was no conversation but concentration to pleasure on her behalf and embracing of pleasure upon mine. I wasn’t too sure whether to keep my eyes closed so she would know I was having a great time or to try and keep them open so I done whatever came naturally. At one stage I was even thinking about letting her know that her hands felt good but that would have been gay so I strayed away from such a blow if ever there could have been one.

Rubbing down my hair with a towel minutes later, she directed me back to the styling chair and explaining that I just wanted an undercut and half an inch from my hair, she got to it. Thanking the blonde girl for washing down my hair, I knew that she knew I knew of her little scheme and as I thanked her, she le out a smile of appreciation.

The haircut didn’t take too long and when all was done, I headed up to the front counter and paid for my pleasing experience. Thanking the blonde girl once again as I jumped up to pay, I figured with her smile that she was either thinking “You’re a nice guy, I wish you asked for my number” or she could have been thinking “That’s sweet” but either way, she would have known that the attraction between the both of us was evident.

Hair on My Shirt

With this necessity out of the way, I waited until outside the store to put my hat back on and it was a good thing because it had fluffed up due to the shampoo and conditioners used. Walking down to the barber Shawn visited I couldn’t see him there or anywhere within close proximity. Therefore, I walked around the Mall with my new Black Fly glasses complementing my look to which I found him around the corner carrying a small plastic bag.

“What did you buy” I asked him as we drew closer. “I just bought a cheap hat for work” he replied as I bid him take it out so he could show me his $18 Billabong hat. “I could have bought a Hound Dog hat for $20” I argued to his reasoning that it was a cheap hat as he cockily replied “But it’s not $18 is it”.

Having some more planned trips upon my mind, I put forth the idea to head down Queen Street because I wanted to check out two shops that sold glasses. Even though I’ve bought these new glasses, I’m still in search of proper blue lens glasses, either for enhanced vision when my bike is back on the road or just for a fashionable statement to which my Black Fly’s can’t access on that given day. Shawn seemed fine with my proposition since he was probably caught up with his little escapade.

It might be worthwhile to note his failure of being informative but as I was wearing my white Hound Dog shirt, it became littered with little particles of hair near the collar and back. Shawn didn’t bother to tell me that I needed to brush myself down nor did he advise me that my sideburns also needed a bit of a pat down. Shawn reveled in his little prank tow which I didn’t find out until I took my shirt off at the pools later that Saturday afternoon.

Glasses Hunt on Queen Street

The first of the two glass huts was closed and the second one held varied interest as it was lacking in the styles I wanted. Standing there with explanation to Shawn to why I needed another pair of glasses, we were pretty much through with walking up Queen Street after this brisk search. The best portion of our walk and the raillery that came from such a stroll emerged near the commencing portion to which we headed out the front doors of the mall. In my feisty mood, out of the blue and on the whim of the moment, I would just blurt out phrases of Lebanese in dance and song.

The Boy on the Bike

It was a touch ironic when we walked down the street a little and noticed a young Lebanese guy riding his push bike past us. Looking a touch too old for a push bike, we didn’t think nothing of it apart from our solitary thoughts but as we noticed him chuck a little skid on his bike and stop next to two young girls, I thought to myself “Here we go.”

Lebs are notorious for loving their cars and it was just an idiosyncrasy to see a Leb riding a push bike and being the age of 18. The jokes were sure to fly when we passed him and the two under-aged girls he had stopped in front of to chat up. Seeing him point back to the direction of where he came from in a bid to usher them to his lair, the only words me and Shawn heard and then made fun of later was when the Leb said “What’s your names.”

We had just witnessed a Leb picking up two girls who weren’t good looking at all and although with innocence, looked almost as lost as him. They were naïve enough to fall prey to his apprentice-like chat-up lines and he was swift with his strike only because they were so young and thought “Hey wow, some guy’s talking to us, let’s go with him.”

When he ventured up the street Shawn and I kept repeating his sentence in the best mocking Leb voice we could conjure. “Yeah I’m a sick Leb, do you want to come over there and I’ll show you my sick bike” we mocked jokingly. Funnily enough, when we walked back towards the mall, we noticed the Leb kneeling down at the stairs fixing his bike chain or wheel while the two girls stood watching a few meters away, lost in their air heads. “Hey look at me fixing my beautiful bike, it has a sick mags and webbers” we jeered, figuring that the typical stereotype for Lebs was with their cars, their way of words and their haughtiness.