Curly pulled his hat brim tight against his forehead, trying to obscure his face.
“Hey, stop that,” Larry said, yanking the hat away and exposing Curly’s face to the clientele. “You lost the best, hiding isn’t allowed.”
“Only because you cheated. Never in all your life have you drunk more than me.
“I’ve been practicing. My friend here,” Larry said as he turned to a woman with purple hair. “He’s here for a manicure. The full treatment you know. Nails all fancied up and everything.” His voice rose on the last sentence, rewarding him with snickers from several women. The scowl on Curly’s face cut the sound off like shaving with a straight razor.
“Well, well. I’ve never seen you in here before Curly.” The woman grabbed his elbow and wisked him off before he could even form a retort. His heavy steel-toed work boots clomped on the tile floor. “Didn’t think anyone could out drink you.”
“Me neither,” Curly said under his breath.
“The cut and colour are on me,” she said as she led him past a table swaddled under a pink cloth bordered in lace, laden with tiny bottles of bright colours. “I’ve been itching to get my fingers in those locks for years.”
He barely had time to protest before she shoved him in a chair and stuck his head under scalding hot water.
Next year Larry get’s to wear a tutu, Curly thought.