Chapter 6Scissors sang, the sound of metal sliding. He never needed a haircut. A fraction of an inch fell every day during make-up. Steve’s favorite thing about the gig, Bernard took care of it with a few snips before each show.
Powder tickled Steve’s nose and made him cough. He waved his hands in front of his face to clear the air. One of the guys in line sneezed.
Bernard put away the fluffy brush. “Sorry. The fabulous must suffer. They taught me that in beauty school. Now stand up, so I can check your pants.”
Steve set his phone on the counter and rose from the make-up chair. The fastener snapped behind his head as Bernard opened the apron and pulled it off him. A cool breeze from the ceiling vent caressed Steve’s shoulders.
Bernard tugged at the Velcro seams of the custom-cut jeans.
