Anthony Kane Evans
i.
Nina called me.
“Frank’s a bit funny, today,” she said.
“Yes, he can be rather drôle, when he wants to be,” I said.
“No, I mean he walked into an advertising hoarding, some hair product or other, and I think he has a minor concussion.”
“Don’t you worry, Nina. First sign of anything odd, I’ll get him over to the hospital.”
ii.
We were shooting a number of five-minute interviews with people around fifty years of age, for an Age Concern conference called ‘The Gray Gold,’ the older employees who often get short shrift when it comes to filling vacancies. Frank was on camera. He looked at me. Mussed my hair.
“Not still on the Head & Shoulders, are you?” he said.
“Frank, before he comes out, that lake, can’t you get a couple of shots, maybe a close-up of the swan.”
“Sure, Mark.”
He went and set his tripod up. I carried the camera over for him. He turned around, looked at me.
“Style with heat for the perfectly straight sleek!” he said.
“The swan, Frank, it’s getting away.”
He put the camera on the tripod.
“Lighten, bright and lift, with zero bleach!”
“Frank, the bloody swan!”
“I’ve got it covered. Don’t you worry.”
Mr. Thomas came out of his house.
“Where would you like me?” he said.
“We thought, Mr Thomas, maybe you could feed the ducks,” I said. “Then we’ll intercut that in post-production with the interview.”
“I’ll just go in and get some bread then,” he said.
“Hey, look Frank, a row-boat,” I said.
Frank panned over to the boat and started shooting.
“You have the right to unstoppable hair!” he shouted out.
“You what, mate?” the man rowing the boat said.
“Weak, limp, lifeless …” Frank said.
I waved at the rower.
“Just keep on rowing, please, we’re shooting something for Age Concern.”
“I’m not that old!” he shouted back.
“Target weak, limp, lifeless, dull, straw-like hair!” Frank called out.
“You what, mate?” the rowing man shouted.
“Great rowing work,” I called out.
Mr Thomas came out with his bag of breadcrumbs.
“Where’d you like me?” he said.
“On the pontoon bridge, Mr Thomas,” I said. “As natural as possible.”
“Use one-day spray,” Frank said.
“Sorry?” Mr Thomas said.
“Texture, styling, that’s the thing,” Frank said.
“I’ll do me best,” Mr Thomas said.
“That’s all we can do, Mr Thomas, that’s all we can do,” I said.
I went over to Frank.
“Please!” I said.
“What’s wrong? I’ve got the swan. I’ve got the rowing boat. I’ve taken a panoramic shot of the lake to boot.”
“Okay, Frank.”
Mr Thomas took out some breadcrumbs and threw them into the water.
“Heat it, straighten it, twist it, twirl it!” Frank said.
“Like this,” Mr Thomas said.
He threw some crumbs, with a twirling motion.
“Just ignore him, Mr Thomas, he’s talking to me. Any directions, they’ll come from me.”
“Got it!” Mr Thomas said.
The ducks came flying towards him. Frank looked around.
“My hair feels stronger than I could ever imagine,” he said.
“The ducks, Frank, the ducks!”
“I’ve got them, I’ve got them, no worries, camera’s rolling.”
We took a break before doing the interview. We sat in Mr Thomas’s back garden; he lived in a cottage. We drank tea and ate fig biscuits.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” I said.
“Yes, but it can be a bit cold in the winter, a chill wind off the lake.”
“I’ve just fallen in love,” Frank said.
“Lucky for you, young man,” Mr Thomas said.
“With a shampoo, L’Oreal Elvive.”
“A shampoo?” Mr Thomas said.
“Now with active charcoal,” Frank said.
“Drink your tea, Frank!” I said.
He sipped at it.
“It’s a mighty fine cuppa, Mr Thomas,” he said.
“Glad you like it. We always scald the pot. The young, these days, they forget to do that, you know.”
“Quenches dry lacklustre hair,” Frank said.
“What does, the tea?” Mr Thomas said.
“Frank, eat a fig, please!”
Frank ate a biscuit.
“Now with botanicals of rose-hip and camomile.”
“I’m not so much into the herbal teas, though the missus likes a brew of hibiscus every now and again,” Mr Thomas said.
“No silicone or sulphates,” Frank said.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it!” Mr Thomas said.
“We’d better get on with the shoot,” I said.
“Yes, well, where would you like me?”
“How about in a deck chair, in front of the elm?” I said.
“I’ll just get a deck chair out of the shed,” Mr Thomas said.
He got up and headed off.
“Well, Frank, some good shots then?”
“I’ve fallen in love with my hair all over again,” he said. “You know what you could do with?”
“No, Frank.”
“Instantly livening up those locks of yours. You know the drill, you straighten your hair, it’ll only last for a minute. Am I right?”
“Frank, my hair’s too short to bother straightening!”
“Introducing L’Oreal Ultimate Straight!”
“Frank, please, he’s coming back.”
“In front of the elm, you say?” Mr Thomas said.
“That’s right.” I said.
“Repair and protect!” Frank said. “Your hair is hungry!”
“You what, young man?” Mr Thomas said.
“Celebrate your curls!”
“I wish I could, young man, but there’s not much of anything left to celebrate.”
He patted his bald head. He had a bit of white hair around his ears.
I walked over to the elm and helped Mr Thomas try to get the deckchair up. It was quite a battle, but, between the two of us, we somehow managed it. Frank came over and set the tripod up.
“Dare to erase the damage of a hundred blow-dries!” he said.
“That’s right, Frank, maybe a bit more to the left. I’d like a bit of the lake in the shot.”
“Dare!” he said.
“Frank, I never use a hairdryer, you know that. Now, the shoot, let’s focus.”
I got Mr Thomas seated.
“So, the idea is, Mr Thomas, well, I don’t really want to ask too many questions, and those I do ask, we’ll be editing out, so really, it’s your story. Your narrative. If you could start by telling us when you last had a job and then go on to say how long you’ve been out of work and the struggles you’ve had in trying to get work.”
I looked around at Frank.
“Restore your gray hair to its natural vitality and colour!” Frank called out.
“What’s he saying?” Mr Thomas said.
“Just technical speak, Mr Thomas, nothing for you to worry about. Sound, camera, and … action!”
Mr Thomas told us about his last job, all the letters he’d written since he’d lost his job, the courses he’d done, the CVs he’d written.
“I could run a bloody CV-writing course myself,” he said.
“Cut! It’s a wrap!” I shouted. “How was it, Frank?”
“Looked fine to me, I’ll just play it back.”
While Frank was looking through the footage, Mrs Thomas drove up.
“Oh, I’m not disturbing anything, am I?” she said.
“No, not at all, Mrs Thomas. We’ve just finished, if we get the okay from the cameraman, Frank.”
Frank came over.
“Well, Frank?”
He went over to Mrs Thomas and fingered her red hair. He turned to me.
“See, Mark, this is what you need to do, drench your hair in the look of health!”
“He used to be a hairdresser, Mrs Thomas,” I said.
“No, I didn’t!” Frank said.
“Should have been,” I said.
We all laughed.
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Mrs Thomas said. “Well, if you’re all finished up, why don’t we have a nice cup of tea, or would you prefer coffee?”
“Coffee would be great,” I said.
“I thought so, you media people, always on the coffee and chocolate,” she said.
“What was that about me being a hairdresser?” Frank said.
iii.
Nina called me. She’d heard that if you’ve had a bump on the head and gone funny, then the best thing to do was to have another bump on the head, that should put you straight. So, she’d whacked Frank over the head with her tennis racquet.
“It was spontaneous!” she said.
“And has it worked?”
“Yes, he hasn’t mentioned hair since I whacked him.”
“Put him on,” I said.
“Frank?” I said.
“Hi, Mark. How’s the footage looking your end?”
“Great, just great. I think we can start editing on Monday, if you’re up to it,” I said.
“No, problem, I’ll be in at ten. By the way, did I ever tell you about the time I met both Björn Borg and McEnroe on the plane to Paris? They were going to be in some veteran tennis tournament …”
Anthony Kane Evans has had around seventy-five short stories published in various UK, French, US, Canadian, Nigerian, Singaporean, and Australian literary journals, e-zines, and anthologies. Journals include The London Magazine (UK), Orbis (UK), Shooter Literary Magazine (UK), Mystery Magazine (Canada), Mystery Tribune (USA), Going Down Swinging (Australia), and The Antigonish Review (Canada). E-zines include Litro Magazine, New Pop Lit, and Short Édition. Born in UK, currently residing in Denmark.
Bluesky: @anthonykaneevans.bsky.social
Featured photo by Alexander Krivitskiy (Pexels)
