Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

 
I'm not sure where the week went to, the weekend seemed to speed towards me, I joined Mand for a session on our time trial bikes on Wednesday afternoon, it felt really weird after not riding it for so long. We don’t normally do much on Thursdays but Dad took us down to the ferry where there was a long stretch of cobbles that we could practice over. I know Mand’s not riding but it was a help to have her there as we bounced over the blocks – back and forth – my arms were like jelly after half an hour but Dad kept us at it for another thirty minutes.

Of course at school, for us nearly leavers, the only subject of conversation was the Prom, who’s going with whom, what they are wearing ad nauseum.

Friday arrived all too quickly, we were getting out of school early, at lunchtime, me and the girls going directly to ‘Kopf’ to get our hair sorted. Pia’s Dad’s been seconded as taxi driver afterwards to get us to our homes to get dressed for the evening. Everyone was ready to pop!

To be honest I hadn’t settled on a style, nothing in Nena’s books grabbed me so I'd donned the dress, took a picture in the mirror and printed it out – if they see the dress I'm sure they’ll come up with something suitable. I checked my bag, yep picture there, not bad colour either, it’s a miracle I remembered as Dad insisted I have everything for Saturday packed before I came out this morning.

“Come on, Gab, times a wasting!” Steff chivvied.
“I'm coming.”

I hurried to join the others, apparently Mr S is bringing his trailer to put the bikes in, it’s like a huge puzzle getting us lot organised! The girls don’t usually get beyond a slow meander but our heavy roadsters were getting some abuse today to get across to Bad Neuenahr. Bikes parked we piled inside.

“So, Gaby is it? What are we doing for you?”
“Er yeah, Gaby, er not sure.”
“Any ideas?” my stylist, Vilma prodded as she assessed my locks.
“I've got a picture of my dress?” I told her as I fished in my bag.
“Good start,” she allowed, accepting the printout.
“I want it to match the dress, it has to match,” I stipulated.
She studied the picture for a bit before saying anything further, “I think we can manage that, hmm, in fact I think that might work out rather well, I'll just give it a quick tidy up then we’ll get started.”
“I don’t want it shorter.”
“Don’t worry, I'm just going to even the ends out a bit, take some of the weight out so it hangs better.”
“’Kay.”

“Right, let’s see if you’re dry, then we can put it up,” Vilma told me as the drier span down.

I never knew that professionals put so many different shampoos and conditioners on, I use a blob of each and it comes out okay. These guys, well it was put stuff on, leave it for a bit rinse, put something else on, another rinse – well I bet Vilma did that four times before I was put under the drier. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention at Sylv’s place!

“Excellent,” she announced after checking my hair was thoroughly dry, I guess now it’s the real hairdressing bit.

Of course the others were each getting their barnets sorted whilst this was going on but now they were just waiting for me. I couldn’t really see any of them, I couldn’t even see me as Vilma was blocking the mirror most of the time. I was getting a little tetchy by the time she stepped back.

“There we go, I think with that dress you’re going to be a hit, I hope your boyfriend appreciates how much effort you’ve put into tonight.”

I stared at the mirror, wow, Mand does a fair job but this is, well like a work of art. Vilma had managed to get some small rhinestones into the mix, which could’ve looked tacky but they were few in number and just set the whole do off. The lights made my hair look lighter than normal, I've noticed that in some changing rooms, but yeah, looking good Gabs!

“I just told her to make it match my dress,” I told the others as we headed out of town in the wheezing minibus.
“It certainly does that,” Pia agreed.

No one looked like their normal selves, each of us having very not teen styles. Of all of us Steff had been most daring, getting her hair cut into what I guess you might call a Cleopatra, you know, straight fringe and straight across the bottom, maybe a couple of inches shorter than it started – oh and dyed black. Bit too much for me, look how long that ‘temporary’ stuff I used the other week lasted!

I ran into the house, I'm on a tight schedule here.
“I'm home!”
“Lounge,” Dad’s voice offered.
“Can’t stop, Max is picking me up at half six,” I replied losing my shoes before hurrying up stairs.

“Gi’s a hand, Mand,” I called down the stairs.
“Whatever,” she agreed from her room.
“I can’t reach the buttons,” I told her, “can you do them for me?”
“Yes mila – whoa! Gee-zus, Gab!”
“Looking good eh? Just wait until my make-up’s done.”
“You’re certainly gonna turn heads.”
“That's the idea,” I agreed.
“Well you’re braver than me, it’s a perfect match for the dress, I'll say that.”
“Yeah, I think Vilma got it spot on, the sparkles are just right too.”
“Er yeah,” Mand agreed, “sparkles.”
“Buttons?” I prompted.
“Oh right, yeah, buttons.”

“Your mother said I have to take some photos,” Dad advised as I carefully made my way downstairs gripping the banister.
“Er okay, let me get my shoes on first though.”
He was still fiddling with his camera, “I think that's it.”
“Hurry up, Max’ll be here in a minute.”
“What the hell have you done to your hair?” he exclaimed, I know it’s good but really, Dad.
“Cool eh? I just told her that I wanted it to match the dress et voilà!”
“Et voilà,” he repeated.
“Photo’s?” I prompted.
“Right,” he agreed. Of course past experience with the other two women in the family kept him from spreading his council, sometimes though Gab, sometimes.

“Your taxi’s here,” Mand noted as I slipped my shawl around my shoulders.
“Okay, where’s my bag?”
“In your hand, yup, braver than me,” she repeated her earlier statement for some reason.
“See you tomorrow?”
“I guess, have a good ride tomorrow.”
“I'll give it my best shot.”
“Have fun, kiddo,” Dad added coming through to see me off.

“Wow, Gabs you look brill,” Max advised as he escorted me to Gloria’s Cayenne.
“Why thank you, you don’t look half bad yourself.”

I'd kind of hoped he’d go for his Landeskostum, a suit is so boring and he does look kinda handsome in it – not everyone's taste I know, we can’t all be the same. I needed help getting into the Porsche, long frocks and cars really don’t go – and I had to avoid damaging my hair do too.

“You look very nice,” Gloria, that is Max’s mum told me as I got settled.
“Er thanks, just hope I don’t spill anything on this dress, it’s silk.”
“I'm sure you’ll be fine, strapped in?”
“Yep.”

She engaged drive and we were soon heading towards the Kursaal.

The Kursaal was, of course, manic in a typically organised German way. Cars were queuing to disgorge their cargo’s, parent taxis, hire cars and even a stretch limo, we waited in line, seems we’re getting the whole nine yards.

“Oh nearly forgot,” Max started, “this is for you.”
He passed me a plastic tube, “Er thanks, what is it?”
“It’s a cor something.”
“Corsage, Gaby, you wear it on your wrist.” Gloria instructed.
I slipped what appeared to be a small floral arrangement from the tube, “Er how does it, you know?”
“Let’s have a look,” Gloria suggested turning in her seat, “left or right?”
“Er left?”

I presented arm and flowers which she soon had secured to my wrist.
“There we go, oops.”
We pulled forward and Max assisted me down from the car.
“Have fun!” Gloria offered.
“We will,” Max opined.

I said it was the whole nine yards – we entered on a red carpet, a photographer snapping each couple once we were inside. Then we were directed to one of the function rooms where the meal would be served.

“Not your usual school meal,” Max stated.
“I can see Con over there.”
“Right.”

We had table places which were allocated quite randomly, I think to avoid cliques sitting together. Somehow we’d ended up with Con and Marty, Chris Foch and her boyfriend Dan filling the other two seats.

“Heya,” I offered, “finally got inside.”
“Yeah, there was a right queue when we got here,” Con agreed.
“Hi, Chris, Dan.”
“Hi, Gabs, you’re brave,” Chris supplied.
“Not really, it’s got a net top and sleeves,” I pinched a bit of the almost invisible material, “see?”
“I wasn’t meaning that, your hair.”
“I just told Vilma to do it to match the dress. I think it looks pretty good, can you see the sparkles?”
“Um, Gab,” Con interrupted, “I don’t think she means the style do you?”
“I mean don’t get me wrong, Gab, it suits you and it must’ve taken bottle to do it.”
“Eh? It’s only a few rhinestones.”
“Um, Gab,” Max whispered, “I think they mean the colour?”
“Yeah,” Chris agreed, “you’re certainly brave dying it pink.”
“Pink? What are you on about, it’s not pink.”
“Wanna bet?” Con mentioned.
“Course it’s not, it’s just the light.”
“It’s definitely pink, Gab,” Marty put in.
“It can’t be! Con, toilets!”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” I demanded. There was of course no doubt my hair was most certainly pink, almost an exact match for my dress. No wonder I'd had some funny looks at home and when I arrived here.

“We thought you knew, you did keep telling us you told the girl to match to your dress – it’s pretty close.”
“But, but...” I wanted to cry, to run home, to get rid of this, this candyfloss coloured hair.
“Gab you look brill, just a bit more er pink than usual,” she almost giggled.
I couldn’t help myself, “I suppose it does make a statement.”
“I bet it just washes out.”
Somehow I doubted that, “Probably.”
“We’ll go and get it fixed on Monday,” Con enthused.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Come on, they’ll be serving the starters by now.”

Of course we’d missed lunch having gone directly to the hairdressers, I was starving!

Maddy Bell © 21.10.16