CUTTING THE GOVERNOR'S hair is no different from
cutting any other man's β it's just that if I slip with
the scissors, the result could be on national television.
Marly Fine sat awkwardly in the stretch limo, her black
nylon bag balanced on her lap. Outside the windows,
LeJeune was a parking lot. The heavy Miami traffic crawled
alongside the long white car; people on their way to work
just like she was. Heat shimmered up off the pavement,
mixing with exhaust fumes and humidity and general
impatience. The combination steamed the outside of almost
every automobile's windows while the occupants hid in
their air conditioning.
In a lime-green Beetle on the left, a college girl munched
on a cereal bar and bobbed her head to the radio. To the
right, a black Volvo eased forward, its driver a heavy-set
Latino businessman reading the Herald. Behind him, a well-
endowed platinum blonde in a silver Mercedes applied her
brakes and half a tube of mascara at the same time.
Marly's palms sweated and she resisted the urge to wipe
them on her long cotton gypsy skirt. Examining her blue
toenail polish, she wondered again if she should have
changed it to pink last night.
No! She got annoyed at herself for even thinking it. I am
who I am. If the Gov doesn't like blue polish or sequined
rubber flip-flops, then that's his problem. I'm only there
to cut his hair.
John Hammersmith, aka The Hammer, might be Florida's JFK
reincarnated, but that didn't mean she had to wear a
pillbox hat, pumps and a suit to meet the man.
"Temperature comfortable, miss?" asked the chauffeur,
whose name was Mike. The poor guy actually wore livery β
complete with cap β in this heat.
Marly started to nod, but her teeth were almost
chattering. "Actually, Mike, can we warm it up a little
back here?"
"Sure thing."
"Thanks." She wore double tank tops over her gypsy skirt,
but they did little to keep her warm in the blasting air
conditioning.
Marly hugged her bag as if it were a teddy bear and told
herself she wasn't nervous. Hadn't Shore magazine named
her as one of the top five hairstylists in the Miami area?
Wasn't she having to turn away clients now, or pass them
on to Nicky, her flamboyant coworker? In fact, she could
have referred The Hammer to Nicky, except that she was
afraid of the consequences.
All they needed at After Hours Salon and Day Spa was a
very public lawsuit against one of their employ-ees β for
groping The Hammer's...uh, hammer. And it was an all-too-
likely scenario: not only did Nicky wear tight orange
spandex, but he waxed eloquent on the horrors of underwear
and the beauties of copping a good feel.
She and Mike exchanged chitchat as the limo purred along
in the sweltering heat, bringing her ever closer to the
hair follicles of Florida's forty-fourth fearless leader.
A man whose politics made her cringe, and who awoke deep
feelings of resentment within her. He had the same slick
demeanor of old Patrick Compton, the state representative
from her hometown.
The Pattywhacker, they'd called him. He'd won office on
promises of honor and sincerity and devotion. Funny how
all those had gone out the window when he'd hooked up with
the big boys in the House.
Didn't people ever learn? Now the good citizens of Florida
had fallen for this young turk with the conservative
agenda and soulful blue power ties that matched his wide-
set eyes. The guy had charm in spades, plenty of hair and
the big white teeth necessary for the perfect photo op.
He'd promised to restore order, morality and conscience to
Florida β as if the last two could be legislated.
Marly's mouth twisted and she leaned her head back,
resting it against the fat braid of dark hair that hung to
midspine. The plush leather seat hugged her body, and she
wished suddenly that her dad was here beside her, taking a
ride in a fancy limo. She'd have to tell him all about it
when she visited.
The temperature inside the car had just warmed when they
pulled up under the curved portico of the Mandarin
Oriental hotel, where the chauffeur got out and opened her
door. Marly slid over on the seat, gave him her hand and
stuck first one foot and then the other out the door and
onto the pavement. Her silver toe ring flashed in the sun,
as did all the sequins sewn onto her rubber flipflops.
Mike murmured something to a bellman, who produced a cell
phone and led her inside while he hit a number on speed
dial. He nodded at her. "Miss Turlington, the governor's
assistant, will be down for you momentarily."
Marly nodded, slung her bag over her left shoulder and put
a hand up to her braid, just to make sure her hair wasn't
working its way out of its confines. She licked her
suddenly dry lips and shifted her weight from one foot to
the other.
She moved her attention to a massive floral arrangement in
the center of a table in the lobby, discovering upon close
inspection that the flowers were rubber and plastic. She'd
begun wondering how, exactly, a factory created these
things and how many cancer-causing fumes the workers
inhaled during the process, when a no-nonsense older woman
in a gray suit approached her from the elevators.
Maria Turlington introduced herself with a gaze as cool
and dry as the hand she proffered, and fixated for half a
second longer than was polite on Marly's blue
toenails. "If you'll follow me, Miss Fine, the governor
will see you now."
Ms. Turlington reminded Marly strongly of someone, and as
she got into the elevator behind her she tried to think of
who it was. Her hair was short and graying, and she had a
figure like a broomstick. The gray suit was relieved only
by single pearls in her ears and an old-fashioned circle
pin on her lapel. She looked as if she lived on tea and
cucumber sandwiches or something as equally bland and
proper. And the woman's shoes were positively hideous.
Though they were good quality leather, they were squat
penny loafers elevated only about an inch by a chunky
square heel, and Ms. Turlington wore them with suntan-
colored panty hose.
Marly decided that anyone who still wore suntan-colored
panty hose could suck on her blue toenails.
The elevator stopped at the top of the building and the
two of them exited, passing a couple of plainclothed
bodyguards. One of them took a look into Marly's bag
before letting them into the governor's suite.
She shrugged as he pulled out three pairs of long, wicked-
looking scissors and an electric shaver. "Tools of the
trade." She couldn't very well cut The Hammer's hair
without them, could she?
But maybe she should write in to Alias and suggest an
episode where Sydney Bristow assassinated a bad guy by
pretending to be a hairstylist. Who knew? Maybe they'd
already done one.
The bodyguard frowned at the scissors and her, and
exchanged a glance with Ms. Turlington, as if to ask
whether she'd vetted Marly's background. Ms. T. nodded,
and he let them go. Great, the FBI has a file on my
finesse with long layers. They know about the woman whose
hair I turned purple back in beauty school, and they've
looked into the dangers of me giving Hammersmith a mullet
with neon-green hair extensions....
They knocked and then entered an elegant suite dotted with
arrangements of flowers that had once actually grown
somewhere.At one end of the room, near a window
overlooking the ocean, was a desk and a rolling leather
chair, turned away from them. Resting against the back of
the chair was a head covered by unruly, dark curly hair.
"I need you to modify that paragraph in the Orlando
speech," Hammersmith said into a cell phone. "I am not
saying that. Yeah. Thanks, Ricky. Gotta go." The governor
spun around in the chair and stood, his eyes riveting on
Marly's face.
The last thing she'd expected was for the man to be half-
naked! His chest was broad, exceptionally well-defined and
lightly furred in the morning sunlight.
She felt her pleasant expression freeze in surprise and
her tongue instantly absorb all the saliva in her mouth.
That was what those white button-downs and blue silk ties
covered? She'd imagined a doughy, career politician's
torso, well-padded with complacency and pork β not this
ripped expanse of hard muscle and tanned, very masculine
flesh.
"Governor Hammersmith, may I present Miss Fine?" said his
assistant. "And," she added with asperity, "may I get you
your undershirt, sir?" She said the word sir as if she
meant "small, naughty boy."
Marly bit back a smile. Suddenly she knew who Ms.
Turlington reminded her of: Miss Hathaway from the
old "Beverly Hillbillies" show.
"Miss Fine," said The Hammer, striding forward and taking
her hand, "this is a definite pleasure." He looked deep
into her eyes and blinded her with a potent smile.
God help me, thought Marly. He's twenty times more
magnetic in person than he is on television. She had to
avert her gaze or start babbling incoherently. So she
dropped her gaze to his chest again.
"Thank you for coming all the way over here just to cut my
hair."
Nipples. I'm staring at the governor's nipples. There's
something deeply wrong with this scenario. "Um, you're
welcome. Thank you for asking me."
Hammersmith seemed just as taken with her chest as she was
with his, truth be told. She could almost feel his eyes
searching for the bra straps that weren't there under her
double tank tops. She could almost feel his gaze spanning
her waist, too, and evaluating the length of her legs
under the gypsy skirt. She resisted the urge to wiggle her
toes as he looked at those.
"I've never seen blue toenail polish," he said.
He had to be kidding. What century did he live in?
"It's the same color as your eyes." She forced a smile to
her lips. "I think that's a compliment...."
He nodded. "What do you call that color of blue? Royal?
Cerulean?"
"Rebel," she said with a self-conscious shrug.
"That's what the manufacturer calls it, anyway."
"Rebel," he repeated, his eyes scanning every curve of her
again. "I like it."
Ms. Hathaway β uh, Turlington β bustled back in with a
plain white T-shirt and handed it to Hammer-smith with a
meaningful glance. He nodded his thanks at her and dropped
it on the desk. Then he sat next to it and gestured Marly
toward the rolling chair.
Ms. Turlington's lips thinned in disapproval and she
resembled nothing so much as a skinny, bad-tempered owl in
pearl earrings.
"Was there something you needed, Maria?" the governor
asked innocently.
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