Part 2 (2/2)

'I can't believe it!' Zo hisses. 'Is he looking?'

'Who?'

'The stud.'

I turn back to check on the one good-looking guy in the line. Everyone's looking.

'No,' I lie. 'What's wrong?'

'I got these new hair extensions, you just clip them in place at your roots ...' Discreetly she lifts a flap of hair and reveals one of the troublesome metal grips.

'He's not making you take them out?' I gasp.

She nods again.

'No!' I cry, giving the security man a stern look but he remains resolute.

As the next person in line is summoned, I help Zo molt.

'Just bend the clips back on themselves and they'll pop open,' she instructs me.

Poor Zo. She's no stranger to striptease but this is humiliating in the extreme.

I sneak a peek at the stud. He's making no attempt to disguise his disgust. I give him a withering look and wish him halitosis and a lifetime of uncomfortable shoes. As he reaches for a dish to offload his pocketful of coins, one of the grips catches on his sleeve. I go to grab it back but he's too quick for me and strides on through the arch.

Beep-beep-beep!

The security man points to the cause and the stud freaks, batting it off like a hairy caterpillar and stamping it into the carpet. Then, instead of doing the decent thing and picking it up and returning it to Zo, he simply grabs his rucksack off the conveyor belt and heads straight for Costa Coffee.

Zo looks crushed.

'I thought you were saving yourself for Will Smith,' I remind her.

Zo brightens. 'He'd laugh at this, wouldn't he?'

I nod. 'He'd just give you a big grin and say, ”You'd make bald look good!”, 'Yeah!' she high-fives me.

'That's the last one.' I hand Zo a scarlet streak last seen on the Little Mermaid.

She fluffs her remaining hair, now shrunk up to her jaw, and sighs. 'I feel like one of those dolls with hair that grows, only in reverse.'

I take her arm and whisper, 'You still look discoverable!'

'Thanks!' she smiles, bravely.

For someone who dresses so audaciously, Zo can be surprisingly insecure about her looks. A couple of times we've tried to convince her to tone down the pantomime make-up and poke-your-eye-out outfits and let her natural beauty s.h.i.+ne through but she's still convinced that her s.e.x appeal needs to be flagged up with bright colors. One day she'll realize that she could be wearing a muumuu and still get an X-rating.

'Bureau de Change,' Zo alerts me.

We're just pooling our money so as not to incur a double exchange fee when Zo flinches. 'It's that guy again!'

The stud is just one person ahead of us, taking his turn at the counter.

'Let's go to Thomas Cook,' Zo pleads, turning to leave.

'No, wait have you got a spare extension?'

'Why?'

I make a just-hand-it-over motion.

'This one is too blonde for me really ...' She pulls a flaxen wisp from her bag.

I take it, pretend to be leaning forward to check the exchange rates 'Would you look at that 14 South African Rand to the pound!' and gently clip it to the end of his jumper.

Zo's eyes widen.

'Pin the tale on the donkey!' I snicker.

Zo m.u.f.fles a guffaw. 'Pin the tale on the honky, more like!'

We grip each other, convulsed with mirth as he walks off counting his Euros, oblivious to the peroxide tail swis.h.i.+ng from his b.u.m.

'What an a.s.s!' I shake my head as we head for Duty Free.

While Zo stocks up on kiwi-flavored vodka, I give myself a surrept.i.tious squirt with Elliot's aftershave: Happy for Men by Clinique.

The smell alone makes my heart and stomach entwine.

'We have the female version ...' The a.s.sistant swoops.

'I'm fine!' I blush, backing off.

'Would you like to try it?' She follows me with a sample that she must have been hiding under her cuff.

'Oh, I wear that!' Elise announces as I collide with her. 'In fact I've just run out.'

'Well, there you go.' I try and palm her off on the a.s.sistant.

'I wish I could, but it's too much of an extravagance.'

'It's $30,' I frown.

Not that Elise should ever wear a perfume called Happy, she could get done under the Trades Descriptions Act. Poison would be far more appropriate.

'Perfume should be a gift,' Elise simpers. 'It feels kind of unfeminine buying it for myself. Am I being silly?'

<script>