Angel's Lips, Snips, and Tips
An older man, a younger woman, a hair salon, and sex on the beach make up this romance novelette, inspired by the Hinder song Lips of an Angel.
With a twenty-year difference in age between them, Joe and Angel are an unlikely pair, but they open a successful hair salon together and ignore the attraction between them. When Joe tries to do what he thinks is right and avoid a physical relationship, it sends Angel into a downward spiral. She hits rock bottom with her punk-band boyfriend, and together, they rob Joe and crush his spirit.
Five years later, she calls Joe late at night, looking for his help. He drives to Cape Cod to come to her rescue, but will he save her in time?
I was a stockbroker for years until I burnt out in my early forties and my wife divorced me. A buddy of mine was picking on me one night at a bar when I was feeling sorry for myself, and he said the craziest thing. “Man, you know what you should do? You should be a fucking hairdresser.”
“Do I look like a fag to you?” What an idiot this guy was! A fucking hairdresser. Jesus.
“No, really. Think about it. You’d meet ten women every fucking day. And the job wouldn’t be stressful. Seriously!”
I shook my head and looked at my watch. “What makes you think I would be able to do anything with hair? Look at mine, for Christ’s sake.” I ran my hand through the mess of curly, salt-and-pepper locks on the top of my head.
“Nah, you go to school. They teach you how to do it. Then you get your own hairdressing place. What do you call that?”
“Yeah. A salon. Seriously.” He drained the last of his beer. “Think about it.”
When I sobered up in the morning, I acknowledged that the idea had some merit. I had plenty of money stashed where my ex-wife couldn’t vacuum it away from me, so I checked out beauty schools.
I expected to be the only guy in class. I was close; I was the only straight guy. The other two were typical, swishy hairdresser types. Angel was the first person in class I talked to. I admit that my intentions were less than pure when I first said hello. I was forty-two years old; she was eighteen, right out of high school. My wife had been gone for a year, and I was desperate. I tried not to let it show when I introduced myself.
“I’m Joe. I’m the straight guy,” I said, getting that out of the way.
“I’m Angel. I’m straight, too.” Shoulder-length blonde hair, upturned nose dotted with freckles, hazel eyes, perky tits. Adorable. “I’m not looking for a date or anything though.”
I laughed right out loud. She saw right through me. I gave her points for that. “I’m not looking for a date either, honey. I need a new career is all. My sister does hair, and she seems pretty happy. I thought I’d give it a shot.”
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “You don’t look like a hair stylist.”
“Yeah? What do I look like?” I couldn’t hide my grin. This kid was delightful.
She tipped her head and scrunched up her nose, thinking about it. “Hmm. A computer guy.”
Class started, so I didn’t get to respond. I grinned to myself, thinking that this spunky blonde was a hell of a lot of fun, even if she wouldn’t go out with me.