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The puff of an exhale sounds out in the quiet of the manager’s office. And it happens again. This time, it’s a little more forceful than the last. The third time it happens, Beard looks over the top of his book and watches as Ted types away on his laptop across the desk. And then it happens again. Beard watches as the rogue tendril of hair falls into the middle of Ted’s forehead and it’s just long enough to brush his eyelashes. Ted puffs his cheeks, his lower lip jutting out the tiniest bit so he can direct the force of air up so the tendril settles in the mess of his hair again. Clearly, though, it’s not working since Ted’s run his hand through his hair too many times for the pomade to make much of a difference today. And as Beard watches the piece of hair fall again, he sets his book down on his desk.
“Ted,” Beard calls out quietly.
“Just a sec, Coach,” Ted says absently as he finishes typing.
And just before Ted’s mouth juts his lip out again, Beard calls his name again.
“Ted.”
A little more forcefulness in his tone has Ted looking up and across the desks. He pauses in his typing.
“Yeah, Coach?” Ted’s face is curious.
Beard watches as he runs a hand through his fringe. At least the huffing and puffing won’t happen at the moment.
“You think you might want to get your haircut?” Beard crosses his arms, leaning back into his chair.
“I’m thinkin’ this one,” Ted pulls a single strand from his hair, a half-hearted chuckle withering away as Beard gives him the look. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I was gettin’ the coffees today and saw my mug on the cover of The Sun. It’s getting a little shaggy.”
Beard only raises a brow. Usually, Ted’s better at maintaining his image during the football season.
“You know how I usually go back and visit my mama during the breaks,” Ted highlights even though Beard knows that every July and March, Ted flies back to Overland Park, Kansas to spend a week and a half with Dottie Lasso for their season break and then one of their spring international breaks. On the last day of his trip, he heads over to the barber shop he’s been going to since he was a kid to get a fresh cut for the season opener and the FA Cup rounds if they make it farther than group knockouts. “Well, you know how Gertie always cuts it a little too short so it’s sorta just right by the time our first match rolls around and I have to attend all those press events?”
Beard nods once. He doesn’t ever want Ted’s job for that reason alone.
“Well, Gertie’s daughter had twins or something and so she left for South Carolina to help out for a bit. Mama thinks probably for good.”
Beard’s sure there’s a point coming.
“My mama was tellin’ me this and how a new-to-town fella took over her shop, but his cuts start at ninety bucks for a trim. I know, I’m a Premier League manager and I can afford ninety dollars, but I couldn’t do it. So, uh, I asked Issac to do it when the fellas came back from their vacations.”
Beard knows that Issac’s cuts are limited to once a year. In a sense, Ted’s now shit out of luck.
“So, uh,” Ted gestures to his hair. “It’s been a bit of a problem.”
Usually, Gertie’s haircut lasts until October/November. After it starts to reach 'long' territory, Ted then asks Isaac to give him his annual haircut as Turkey Day approaches even though they don’t celebrate that particular holiday in London. He then gets away with hats until he can fly back to Overland Par in the springtime and sometimes even does a little trimming of his hair himself if the FIFA international break is in the later half of spring. But from the way Gertie always tutted at him, he was sure he had been messing it all up somehow.
“It’s a problem, coach,” Beard points out as he takes his book in his hands again.
“I know,” Ted nods as he runs his fingers through his hair again, twirling it so the fringe would stick for a moment. Maybe he needs one of those stretchy headband things. At least for training, the visor will keep it together and away from his eyes. “I’ll ask Isaac today unless you know a place.”
Beard’s only response was to crack open the spine of his paperback and pointedly stick it up so he could no longer see Ted’s face.
Message received loud and clear, Ted notes as he finds where he’s left off in the transfer report. They still have twenty minutes until the team starts trickling in for training. So, he might as well finish up the report.
Ted waits until training is over and Isaac is back in his street clothes before he calls out Isaac’s name as the younger man heads out of the dressing room.
“Bruv?” Isaac pauses in the hallway.
“Do you know of any places that will fix up yours truly?” Ted motions to the overly long fringe currently held back by his visor.
Isaac stares at him for a bit. Lips pursing as he hums. Ted can’t tell if it's positive or negative.
“Wait here,” Isaac says after a full minute and a half of inspection.
Ted nods, his hands going into his pockets as he rocks on his feet.
Isaac returns a moment later with a small business card outstretched toward Ted's frame.
“Don’t be daft, yeah?” Isaac states.
Ted’s not quite sure what that means but he reaches out and takes the business card.
“Thanks, Isaac. Appreciate you, man.”
“Oi, tell them Isaac sent you,” Isaac tells him as Ted pockets the card.
“Will do,” Ted salutes his left back and captain of the team.
“For real, bruv. Keeley gives me fifty quid discount for each referral and I’ve only referred Colin, Sam, Dani, and Jamie. Tell your friends but make your friends say Isaac sent them,” Isaac points at him, a serious expression on his face.
Ted nods. He’ll certainly remember to tell this Keeley person that Isaac sent him. After all, if he gets a fifty-pound discount and has already referred teammates, he wonders if maybe he’s better off Googling if there’s some sort of UK version of Great Clips or Fantastic Sam's around.
—
There was no website. No Twitter. No Instagram. Just the pink-coloured business card that smelled a bit like cotton candy with a location and a phone number. As he followed the walking directions on Maps, he was surprised it was just on the other side of Brewer’s Lane and down the way from the Crown and Anchor.
Opening the door of where Maps brought him, he’s met with a reception desk that has a bouquet of wildflowers larger than a toddler on the desk next to a pink-coloured iMac. And just as he wonders if they’re even open, a petite, bubbly blonde in what looks like seven-inch platform heels makes her way towards him.
“Oi, you’re new,” she greets him with a hand out to shake. “Keeley Jones. Proprietor of this here establishment.”
Ted takes her hand and shakes it. A solid handshake, he notes absently.
“Fuckin’ hell, Keeles. No one fuckin’ talks like that,” a voice sounds out from underneath the desk. And for the first time, Ted sees that a man in all black has been behind the desk the whole time. Just on the floor. “There, the ethernet cable is changed and the internet is fixed.”
The man stands. He’s about the same height as Ted. Far more intimidating, though, in all black and a sour expression on his face. Or maybe that was a neutral expression. Ted’s only sort of just met the man.
“Fuck off, Roy-o. Everyone posh talks like that,” Keeley rolls her eyes before she focuses back on Ted.
“Posh twats, maybe.”
“How can I help you?” Keeley pointedly ignores the other man and focuses her attention on Ted.
“Well, my good friend, Isaac McAdoo, sent me here. My hair is getting a little long.”
Ted runs his hand through his hair and it flops into his eyes before he combs it back.
Keeley hums as she gives him a once-over.
“Usually, I have to sweet-talk Rebecca into doing walk-ins. Especially walk-ins before she’s had her first cup of tea,” Keeley says as she looks behind her. “But she adores Isaac, so maybe I’ll lead with that. Hang on a minute, yeah?”
“Sure,” Ted nods with a passive wave of his hand. He’s got all day since today is a free day.
“Good luck,” the man, Roy-o, tells him. And Ted notes the sarcasm as the man rolls his eyes before he heads in the same direction Keeley left.
There are two velvet chairs by the reception desk and Ted takes a seat in one of them, not sure how long it will take to hopefully convince this Rebecca individual to take him on as a walk-in. The chairs are surprisingly well-cushioned and he takes his phone out of his pocket to mindlessly scroll through the news of the day.
He finds himself yet again on a page within The Sun and in The Daily Mail, the papers wondering if AFC Richmond is prepared to take on Chelsea this coming week when Keeley clears her throat beside him.
Ted presses the side button to darken the screen and give Keeley his full attention.
“Good news, Rebecca is amenable to you just walking in off the street,” Keeley says and he has a feeling this Rebecca person used those exact words and Keeley is just repeating the phrase. “Bad-ish news is that she wants to finish her cuppa. So, is it okay if you wait a few?”
“This a test to see how long a walk-in can be patient?” He asks and by the way Keeley bites her lips in an attempt to quell a smile, he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Ted nods. “Got all the time in the world.”
“Oh, fuck. She’s going to adore you,” Keeley giggles as she sides over to the reception desk and clicks a few keys on the keyboard.
“Really?” Ted raises a brow.
Keeley’s chuckle makes him think otherwise.
—
Based on the two employees he’s seen so far and the known clientele of Colin, Isaac, Sam, Jamie, and Dani, his mind conjures up someone ‘posh’ as Keeley and that Roy-o fellow would say. But when he finally meets Rebecca, well, his imagination is sort of put to shame.
“You must be Ted,” Rebecca greets him.
Unlike Keeley, she doesn’t hold out a hand for him to shake as he stands from the chair. She does give him a once-over. And he can’t help but do the same as he realises she’s just a bit taller as she wears a pair of heels. Her outfit is mostly hidden by a smock full of pockets but he can still see the swish of a kelly green-coloured dress with tiny little turtles printed on it.
“Ted Lasso,” Ted nods.
“Rebecca,” she parries back. And she tilts her head towards the salon part of the establishment. “Follow me.”
He does. And he gives one last look to Keeley who winks at him before she gets back to whatever she was doing on the computer.
“Empty your pockets,” Rebecca points to the desk beside the window. It holds a bunch of products and what looks like her phone and a laptop. There’s a cart on either side of the desk, holding more product-looking things and straighters and curling irons and blow dryers galore. He’s pretty sure the set of blow dryers he sees at every station alone is worth more than Gertie’s entire shop.
“What now?” Ted’s eyes are wide and a little spooked.
“Phone, wallet, keys. Whatever is in your pockets,” Rebecca gestures to the desk. “Out.”
Ted tilts his head, curious.
“If you sit on your wallet or your phone, you’re automatically uneven and it makes the cut look like shit. So, whatever is in your pockets, out. It’s not a robbery,” Rebecca says as she pulls open a drawer and gets out a rolled bag. And as she unfurls it, he notices it's filled with very sharp, very pointy scissors and a pair of clippers with different sizes of blades.
He does as he’s asked and drops everything on the very left of the desk near the hairsprays and pomade.
“Sit,” Rebecca gestures to the chair that sits in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
“So,” Rebecca starts as she starts to fold a new flannel as he settles into the chair in front of her station. “I know a haircut but anything else?”
“What, like highlights?” Ted frowns. He’s never been asked to have anything besides a haircut in a shop.
“Maybe if it this was the nineties,” Rebecca chuckles quietly as she looks at him in the mirror while she wraps the flannel around the base of his neck where the cape will settle. “Hold this for me, would you?”
Their fingers brush as Ted’s pincer grip takes over holding the flannel.
Rebecca finds a clean cape in her drawers, unfolds it and shakes it out once before she comes back beside Ted in the chair and drapes the entire thing over him. And as she reaches for the buttons to secure the cape at his neck, he lets go of the flannel without being asked.
“Why the washcloth?” He wonders, pointing to the white that juts out the tiniest bit from the neck of the cape.
“Short hair tends to make a bit more of a mess. Especially at the nape,” Rebecca’s fingers run against his hairline where it reaches his neck. “Long hair, I can toss on the floor. With the clippers, not so much. Plus, have you ever come back from a shit cut and find yourself itchy and tiny hairs are to blame?”
Ted nods. Gertie’s done that to him a few times. He’s always had to take a shower to get rid of the itchy feeling.
“I’m guessing Isaac didn’t tell you this place does more than just haircuts?” Rebecca wonders but it’s more a statement given he doesn’t look the sort that usually comes into a salon.
“No, ma’am,” Ted shakes his head.
Rebecca eyes him.
“Rebecca. Not ma’am, please. Ma’am makes me feel like I should be as old as my mum.”
“Right,” Ted nods. “He did not.”
“Haircuts are the usual request we get here,” Rebecca gestures to the row of empty chairs all along one side of the building. “Behind that wall is the mani/pedi place. It has its own room and ventilation so it doesn’t smell like nail polish all the time in here. There’s a dermatologist that does facials on Fridays, I think, and then there’s the hot shave.”
“You do all of ‘em but the facials?” Ted asks, a tinge of surprise even though he’s just met Rebecca.
“God no. I only do the haircut and the shave,” Rebecca laughs. “The fumes of the manicure and pedicures make me dizzy.”
It’s more code for she shares far too much in the face of varnish and all the chemicals that go with it. Which is why she has Keeley do her nails at either of their houses or when no one is around. Well, no one but Roy Kent since he doesn’t share secrets.
“You know, I’ve only seen the hot shaves in the films but I don’t think I know anyone that’s ever known how to shave another person. You use one of the single blades or is it just a fancy Bic razor?”
“How about I let you see for yourself, free of charge, and you can cross it off your bucket list?” Rebecca says more than asks but poses it as a question anyway.
“Just don’t cut off my moustache. We’re sorta in this thing together at this point,” Ted can’t help but lift the cape so he can use his fingers to stroke his moustache, making sure it's still there even though he can plainly see it in the mirror.
“I promise, your moustache will be perfectly intact,” she holds her hand up and maybe it's their version of the Girl Scout/Boy Scout honour code promise.
“Well, then, sure,” Ted nods.
Rebecca nods.
“Cut then shave,” she tells him. “So, what are we doing here?”
Ted looks in the mirror and he lifts his hands from behind the cape, running his fingers through his hair.
“Well, the fringe here is a little too long. It likes to escape the pomade these days whenever I style it into something manageable. Isaac cut it a few months ago but he only does one haircut a season.”
“You play for Richmond?” Rebecca gives him a look in the mirror. A brow raised sceptically.
“Oh, no. I coach. Manage, I guess is the term over here?” Ted shakes his head. “Ted Lasso, Manager of AFC Richmond.”
Rebecca nods slowly. Makes much more sense even though she hasn't seen a Richmond match since she was sixteen years old.
“Since Isaac only does the one, I got two from Gertie but she’s now in South Carolina.”
Rebecca’s not exactly sure where South Carolina is. She knows it’s a state in the United States but she can’t say with certainty where it would be on a map if given one.
“You fly to the States for a haircut?” She watches as he drops his hands back down under the cape and as she asks the question, her hands replace his own.
“Sorta? My mama is still there in Kansas. I visit her once in the summer and then once during the international break in March. I went to the same lady who had been cutting my hair since I was a kid. Hair gets a little long but I make do with visors and hats and such.”
Her fingers comb through his hair. It’s thick, she notes. A good, healthy root as she gives a light tug when she pulls his hair up to see how long the fringe really is. She runs her fingers along the shorter sides of his hair, feeling the texture there. No real change minus the length.
“Do you know if Isaac used a two, three, or four-blade when he cut your hair?” Rebecca asks as she reaches in one of her smock pockets for a black comb and runs it along one side of his head in the opposite direction of how his hair grew.
“Nah,” Ted sighs a little. “Isaac whips on the cape and then just goes to town. There isn’t the option to even ask. Gotta be silent. That’s his only request.”
Rebecca hums.
“Any preference on blades?” Rebecca asks as the comb goes back into the pocket at her hip.
“All I ask is that you don’t cut it so short that I can see my scalp,” Ted lifts his shoulders under the cape.
“Right,” Rebecca nods.
It’s rather refreshing to be trusted.
—
The sinks were near the entrance to the manicure/pedicure section, but like Rebecca had told him, it was not only walled off but had its own door and everything. But he didn’t get to see much since Rebecca directed him to a chair and had him lean back.
“Skin allergy to anything?” She wonders. Usually in the client intake forms, it's a mandatory question to answer but he’s a walk-in and she never bothered with the paperwork for walk-ins. They almost never come back in after seeing the charge of a cut from her.
“Not that I’m aware,” Ted shakes his head as he settles his neck against the base of the bowl that connects to the sink.
Rebecca nods and tells him he’s free to close his eyes if he wants.
He does. Gertie always ended up splashing water and getting shampoo in his eyes.
The taps run and Ted listens as the water hits the base of the sink. He can feel the spray turn from cool to warm the longer it stays on. He hears the cabinet door open and close a few times before he feels Rebecca’s hand curl over his forehead.
“Let me know if it gets too hot or too cold,” she tells him just before the waterfall of warm water finally meets his head.
The way she controls the spray of water is helpful for Ted. Her hands cup his forehead when she’s at the top of his head. When she moves to his temples, she covers his ears. He always hates sitting up and feeling like he’s been in the pool whenever Gertie washed his hair. And just as he’s getting used to the water, it stops. There’s a quiet little bang as the extended nozzle of the sink falls back into place.
“I’ll use a detox rinse and then shampoo and conditioner,” Rebecca tells him as she reaches for a small bottle she set out. The detoxifying rinse will get out the residue of his hair styling products and the remnants of his two-in-one shampoo conditioner. She knows without even asking that he uses such a thing. After all, she’s felt his hair. And as thick and robust as it is, it’s a little dry since he doesn’t condition. After all, no single man really thinks it applies to them unless they grow out their hair or once had a partner suggest they shampoo and condition their hair.
He smells the detox shampoo as she uses the pump to get it from the bottle. It smells a bit like tangerine and something else a little fruity but a little laundry-like, too. He can’t quite place it. But he listens as she rubs it to a lather in her hands before her palm slicks through his hair and on either side of his head. She starts at the top. Her fingers work the shampoo into a lather as her fingers brush through his hair all the way down to his scalp. Once the top is all lathered and he feels almost weightless by how gosh dang soothing it all is, she moves either hand out to his right and left sides, moving towards the crown of his head rather than back up to the top. He gets the vibe that Rebecca’s not much of a talker, so he doesn’t bother trying to do the whole words-into-sentences thing. Not sure if he could even if he tried. Just this shampoo alone is worth whatever cost he’s going to pay for this haircut.
He hears the water start up again and she uses the same process she did to wet his hair to rinse it of the detox shampoo. She starts at the forehead and he feels and hears the water cascade down into the sink basin. He thinks he might even accidentally hum to himself as she tousles his hair when she aims the spray in the middle of his head, getting all the shampoo out. He peeks an eye open but if she heard him, she’s thankfully pretending she didn’t.
The second shampoo follows the way the first does but instead of tangerine and something else, it smells a bit like eucalyptus and mint. Her fingers scratch along his scalp a little longer this time and he continues to float in and out of the peaceful little moment of time this shampoo has given him. She washes much the same, perhaps turning it a bit chillier than he anticipated on the final pass. But he understands why as she runs the conditioner through his hair. He admits he’s never used it before, but if it’s supposed to be massaged into temples and at his crown, base, and nape of his neck, and just barely run through the top of his hair, he wonders what else he’s been missing out on in the hair care department. The water is just this side of cool as she rinses the conditioner from his hair. Her fingers scratch at his scalp in gentle circles and he wonders if anyone has ever fallen asleep on her as she shampoos their hair and if she considers it a compliment.
But all too soon, it’s over. He hears the water turn off again and her hand falls away from his scalp as she reaches for a towel.
She drapes it over the whole of his head and he opens his eyes to find nothing but white surrounding his vision. A moment later, her hands move the towel against his head. He feels her fingers again, moving along his scalp, hindered by cotton-microfibre blend loops that make up the towel, but carefully wring the excess water from his hair.
“Okay, you can sit up now,” she tells him a few minutes later.
As he sits up with the towel over his head making him feel a bit like an ice cream cone as he finds their reflection in a mirror, water doesn’t slosh in his ears. Her magic trick of covering them with her palm worked and he could almost tear up at the simple thoughtfulness of a gesture she probably does to every person she shampoos.
He trails her back to the chair, chuckling as he still looks like a human ice cream cone. But before he can make a joke about it, she knocks it over and it falls down around his shoulders.
“You still trust me?” She asks as she looks him over in the mirror, running her hands through his damp hair.
He nods, looking at her reflection.
“I trust you,” he confirms out loud.
“Okay, then,” she nods and takes the towel from his shoulders before setting it on the desk as she gets the clippers and a pair of scissors. She also gets a metal clip and he’s amused when she twirls up his fringe and pins it in the middle of his head as she starts with the clippers.
“I’m going to try a six first and see if it’s too shaggy,” she points out as she clips on the blade protector before turning the clippers on.
He stays still. Tilts his head when she silently does it for him, keeping his head still as a mannequin as she cuts. When she finally finishes with the first ‘six’ pass, she observes him in the mirror before she comes around to his front and leans in, gently running her hands through his hair.
“A six and five, I think,” she says out loud but he figures it’s mostly to herself.
He watches as she tosses the first blade protector onto the towel she dried his hair with before clipping on another version. And she does the same pass. She gives him a look in the mirror and then comes around the front again and runs her hands through his hair. This time, a little satisfied hum reaches his ears. And she does the same thing from his ears to the very ends of his hair with the ‘five.’ Not that he knows anything other than the relief of his hair lightening the load, physically and metaphorically. As he watches her brush away the tiny clippings of his hair, he feels lighter than he had been in months. He has to close his eyes as he feels her fingers run against his scalp, feeling for any stray hairs or odd textures or whorls she's created as she cuts. But there aren't any.
She opts for a long to short taper with the shortest being the five blade. After all, she's not quite sure how fast his hair grows but the five-six blend will at least keep it symmetrical with the rest of the tapered cut. She takes his fringe and settles it over his forehead, combing through the damp locks, eyeing the way it settles in the mirror before she gathers it back up and combs through it a few times. She tugs on the piece she wants to cut before combing through it one more time before she starts to trim. And she uses that section to move around the top of his head. He watches carefully out of pure interest rather than waiting to comment on it. Gertie always just went for it. Never considered his forehead in it all. And she must feel him watching because she smirks as their eyes meet when she lets go of the last little bit.
“Nervous?” She wonders. After all, she knows he’s been observing the cut the entire time. She runs her hands through the top of his head, shaking out the strands from the clumps she gathered to make her cuts.
“Nah, I trust you,” is all he says.
When she’s done cutting the rest of his hair with the scissors, she runs something that smells like gardenias through his hair and she must notice his curiosity or interest since she points the little bottle in his direction before setting it back down on the desk.
“Hair oil. Helps with the styling,” she points out as she runs in through the fringe and the bit of excess is gently massaged into his scalp while she still observes the way his hair naturally falls as she continues to make it stick up straight and then let it fall without an assist from her fingers or a comb.
“You know, you part your hair on the side where it’s thinner and it makes it seem like your head is uneven,” she tells him as she combs her fingers through his hair to settle his fringe to the way he came into the shop. “You might want to think about parting it the other way. Or switching it up.”
“Show me?” He asks.
She nods before she moves to the cart of tools to get out the blow dryer. And he can’t help but notice when she returns, she’s a little shorter. And as he looks over at her desk, he notices she’s switched out her red bottom heels for a pair of Birkenstocks. Must be a ritual that she uses heels to cut with the added height and the Birks as how the rest of the world would see her cut, he thinks, and he can’t fault her for having one odd quirk.
He notices she doesn’t use a comb or a brush as she stands in front of him, twirling the chair a little so she doesn’t have to bend or stand awkwardly as she starts drying his hair. Her fingers are gentle as they give his hair a slight twisting pull as she dries sections of his hair. It doesn’t feel like that long before the blow dryer stops and she observes the finished product for a moment. Reaching out, she tucks a piece into the swoop she’s created with the blow dryer.
“Ready?” She asks, green eyes meeting his brown ones. A slight smile plays on the corners of her lips.
He nods.
She steps away and centres him in the mirror again. And he looks up at himself. His gaze lingers on the way her hand settles on his shoulder rather than the back of the chair.
He can’t explain the lightness he feels as he stares at his reflection. The way his hair is just different enough from his usual style but it still makes him look like him. It's new but just just barely. And just maybe it makes his eyes water in relief. He hasn’t felt this way in twenty-odd years.
“Wow,” he whispers. “It’s perfect.”
She squeezes his shoulder.
“Let me get the shaving stuff,” she tells him quietly, giving him a minute.
He clears his throat as he nods. Thankful for the brief reprieve.
—
When he looks back to give her a wave of thanks, again, she’s gone from her station. Most likely cleaning up after him somewhere in a back room or some mysterious door he wasn’t able to glimpse. But Keeley’s at the front and so he hands her the post-it that Rebecca told him to give her as she was explaining how to layer product properly and gave him little sample bottles to test out to see his favourites when he styles his own hair.
“I take it you know what to do with that or what the heck to charge me?” Ted wonders. Gertie used to do it all herself because she was the only one there. He’s never been to a place that had more than one chair. Or more than just cut and colour.
Keeley takes the pink post-it note and unfolds it, rolling her eyes as she reads it and then crumples it before tossing it in the bin.
“One haircut and one shave comes to ten pounds,” Keeley tells him as she types away on the computer.
“Like a hundred and ten pounds?” Ted clarifies.
“Nope. A tenner sort of ten pounds.”
Ted frowns. Gertie charged him forty bucks which translates to almost fifty here. Surely, Keeley had to be pulling his leg or he was on some sort of prank show.
“Rebecca doesn’t take on many clients,” Keeley whispers from across the desk as she leans in even though Rebecca isn’t in the next room. “She jacks up the price when her mum and other regulars come in for a cut and colour and then sort of supplements the cuts as she goes if she takes walk-ins depending on how they treat her and the staff. Plus, whatever she earns besides the tenner is what she usually gives to the underprivileged children charity she works for during the holidays.”
Her client list consists of her mother, Keeley Jones, Nora and Flo Collins, and Phoebe O’Sullivan. Not that Ted knows that.
“How much is it usually?” Ted wonders as he hands over the tenner for the cost Rebecca charged him and then a twenty-pound note for her tip. He’s not sure if they do that here in London but thirty pounds for a haircut and a shave seems on the very low end.
“For walk-ins? One twenty,” Keeley shrugs. “We only use the high-quality shit here. And I pay all my people well considering we’re the sort of word-of-mouth establishment.”
Ted points to his hair with a nod. He can tell. And he noticed there wasn’t a huge presence online. But obviously, they turned a profit somehow.
“Is she making you set an appointment for next time?” Keeley asks as she finishes the transaction and gives him a copy of the receipt even though he doesn’t need it.
Ted shakes his head.
“She told me to just come back when it felt long.”
Keeley’s eyes widen in surprise a little before she schools her face. But Ted doesn’t miss it.
“Right, well. I suppose I’ll be seeing you, Ted Lasso.”
“Thank you, Keeley Jones. It's a mighty fine and posh establishment you got here. Ten outta ten.”
“Oh, thank you, Ted,” Keeley dips her head as she gives him a curtsey.
Ted looks back at the desk and chair but Rebecca is still off somewhere else.
“Tell Rebecca thanks,” Ted gestures to his face and hair.
Keeley nods.
“Have a good day, Ted,” Keeley tells him before smiling.
His ‘you, too,’ is a little muffled but he still says it as he walks out the door.
—
At the training centre the next day, Beard gives him a subtle nod when Ted sits at his desk. Both a thanks he actually took the demand slash request to get a haircut to heart and to acknowledge the fact it did look good.
When he greeted the fellas in the dressing room, Isaac dropped his shin guard to the floor as he took in Ted’s haircut.
“Holy shit, bruv,” Isaac whispers. He knocks his elbow into Colin who sits next to him on the bench. “Guys. Fellas. He got a Rebecca cut.”
Ted tilts his head ever so slightly as his curiosity piques.
“Legend,” Colin whispers as he stares at the top of Ted’s head.
“Wait. How do you all know who cut my hair? I styled it this morning,” Ted almost runs his hands through his hair but remembers Rebecca’s advice to leave it alone until the pomade has time to actually set. Told him real setting times aren’t written on the bottles and he should remember it's the time it takes to cook a batch of shortbread biscuits. And, well, he made shortbread biscuits last night since he’s never made them before and that’s how he learned that he still has seven minutes left before he can touch his hair.
“Her stylin’,” Jamie pipes up from the other side of the room. “Keeley does fades. Rebecca does tapers. She’s old school. Likes to use her hands to feel textures and whateva’ from what Keeley says.”
Ted nods and sticks his hands in the pockets of his tracksuit bottoms.
Interesting, he thinks.
—
It’s a week later, a few hours before he and Beard are supposed to head to Central London for a fancy sit-down dinner at The Dorchester for the annual FA Cup sponsor holiday dinner when he steps inside the salon.
“Hey, Roy-o,” Ted greets the sole person he sees at the front of the shop.
Roy growls and Ted raises a brow at the strange greeting.
“Roy.”
“No, I’m Ted,” Ted points at himself.
Roy growls again, this time pointing at himself.
“Roy.”
“Ah, my bad. Rewind for a do-over? Hey there, Roy.”
“Ted.”
Ted looks beyond the reception area to the chair he was in last week but there’s no sign of Rebecca. There are, however, two more staff he hadn’t seen when he’d come in here last week. Then again, today he’s come at mid-morning rather than right when they opened at 8:00 am.
“Is, uh, Rebecca around by chance? Maybe? Uh, she said to come back when my hair was getting long,” Ted gestures with his hand to his hair.
Roy lifts a bushy brow but doesn’t say anything. He growls again though. And stalks off. Ted thinks that might be his way of saying ‘I’ll look around.’
Ted sits but doesn’t have to wait long to hear the familiar clicking tap of heels on the hardwood. And he lifts his head after he finds a pair of gold-coloured heels in his vision.
“Morning,” he greets her.
“No,” she shakes her head as she runs her hands through his hair as he continues to sit in the chair. “Your hair has grown maybe a centimetre and a half.”
“It is morning. Can’t dispute that, lil’ lady. But, uh,” Ted lifts a random piece of hair. “I wasn’t quite sure about this little piece you cut last week. Think it might be uneven.”
Rebecca hums. The scepticism is loud and clear.
“Okay. So, we have this dinner tonight and Pep’s gonna be there and I wanted to look my best and I still don’t know how you get it just right,” Ted whispers as he pulls a pink box from his coat pocket. “I even have a bribe for you if you’re the kind of establishment that looks the other way for football managers bribing their hair stylist.”
She takes the outstretched box and opens it to find three perfectly golden shortbread biscuits.
“You’re paying full price this time,” she warns him as she walks away.
Ted scrambles a bit in the chair before he stands up and follows her back to her station. He watches as she gingerly sets the box of shortbread near her phone.
She doesn’t use the detox shampoo this time or the eucalyptus-smelling shampoo. He can’t help but ask why, opening his eyes as he asks and finds her watching him as she lathers a purple-looking shampoo that smells a bit like the hickory wood he’d use in a barbecue smoker.
“You should always switch up shampoos, Ted,” she tilts her head as she takes him in. “Please tell me you at least got rid of your two-in-one?”
“Oh, yeah. I found some stuff at Marks and Spencer,” Ted nods.
“Christ,” she whispers as she lathers the shampoo into his hair. “I’m making you buy two of our shampoo and conditioner sets. Don’t buy hair products where you can get groceries, Ted.”
“Noted,” he nods.
He closes his eyes as she starts to work the shampoo into a real lather. Her fingernails brush against his scalp in zig zags today rather than circles. Almost feels like little lightning bolts on his skin. And he’s transported back to summer cookouts in Kansas when a perfectly sunny summer day turns into a rolling thunderstorm and rather than dashing for cars, folks make to cover all the salads and fixings lined up waiting for the meats to get done. His mama had always waited until the meats were out to put her pies on the tables and her potato salad onto the line with the ten other versions. But the things that stay the same are the ways in which she gently moves her fingers through his hair as she rinses out the shampoo and then the conditioner. The way she cups his forehead and his ears to catch the water before it runs down his face or into his ears. He tried to replicate it himself in the shower and even at the kitchen sink, but it just didn’t work. There was just something about her that made it all come together. That took a notch out of the anxiety that made him... him.
She doesn’t cut his hair, just styles it into the same sort of wavy, textured fringe she had done that first time. But she does give him another hot shave after he said he was waiting until just before he had to put on his suit jacket this evening because somehow his face always knew he had an event to go to and grew a five-o’clock shadow as soon as he put down his own razor at home.
The towel she wraps around his entire face, minus his nose, is like its own little sauna. Yet another way whatever magic she does somehow relieves that little ball of stress in his chest. And just like before, he almost ends up falling asleep as he listens to her mix the shaving cream that smells so much like Barbasol that he had to take a minute to himself the first time. But this time it's easier to think about the times he spent watching his dad shave when he was just a little Ted with a capped marker, copying each stroke and wash of the blade. The smooth sound of the single blade against his stubble was oddly soothing. As was the way Rebecca would shave a section and then smooth her fingers up and down his face, feeling for any spot she missed. But she hasn’t in the now two times she’s given him a hot shave. This time, after she rubs the aftershave lotion into his skin, she boops his nose unintentionally as she makes for a rogue dollop that hadn’t soaked into his skin. It makes him scrunch up his face which makes her laugh. And he thinks it's a rather genuine one by the way her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunches as she sits him up in the chair, letting him inspect the shave and the blow dry and styling in the mirror.
“Pep won’t know what hit him,” Rebecca jokes as she gives Ted a once over, leaning in for a moment to fix his left eyebrow before she stands back and moves to her desk, getting out a pink post-it and scribbling on it before handing it over to him as he stands from the chair.
Keeley does as the note asks and gives him two sample bottles of shampoo and conditioner sets that Rebecca had written down. And only charges him £85. Ted leaves £100 and salutes Keeley before he heads out the door. And he looks over his shoulder despite knowing Rebecca vanished the moment he turned to head to Keeley.
“Fuck me,” Rebecca whispers as she bites into the shortbread as she watches from the employee kitchen slash break room as Ted takes a left at the corner. It’s the best damn shortbread she’s ever had in her life.
—
The next week Ted finds himself looking for Rebecca, Rebecca is actually at her station and she’s cutting someone’s hair. Well, she’s curling it which he takes to mean she had cut it at some point. Keeley doesn’t seem to be around. Roy either. Granted, it is a lunch hour and so they’re probably at lunch or something. He doesn’t mind waiting but he wonders if he should alert Rebecca to his presence or something so she doesn’t throw some scissors or something at him when his presence is finally noticed. And just as he considers how he’ll grab her attention, Rebecca looks over to the reception area, raising a brow as he gives her a short wave before he takes a seat in what he considers his usual chair.
He pulls out his phone when she turns back to her chair. After all, he hasn’t played Connections or Spelling Bee today.
The blow dryer isn’t that loud but it’s loud enough that he can zone out to it as he thinks of all the words he knows with a ‘w’ and the rest of the letters he’s been given in today's Spelling Bee. He’s not sure how long he’s actually been sitting there but the tap of heels signals Rebecca is finished and headed this way.
They’re talking too low for him to catch what they’re discussing until they’re actually in the front area and Rebecca grabs the woman’s coat from the closet that he hadn’t known existed just to the side of him in a little alcove.
“Thank you,” the woman whispers as Rebecca helps hold it open.
He hears Rebecca’s hum before she stands where he’s only ever seen Keeley and Roy.
Rebecca doesn't even tell the older woman in the leopard-looking coat the total. She just hands over more cash than Ted’s ever had in his wallet and Rebecca doesn’t give her any change. And he’s certain this is Rebecca’s mom even though he has no clues other than the single thing Keeley’s told him about Rebecca supplementing walk-ins that are nice to her and the staff.
“Will you be coming for Sunday dinner? Your father is in America with a few of his friends for a bit of work and fun.” The woman busies herself with shuffling something around in her handbag instead of looking up at Rebecca.
Rebecca runs her tongue over her teeth. Catches Ted’s eye before he looks down, giving them as much privacy as he can without literally walking away and making it more awkward.
“I’m making your favourite since I’ve given the chef the day off,” the woman tries.
“Fine. But if you’re trying to set me up again,” Rebecca warns.
“No, no. I’ve learned my lesson, “Deborah waves her daughter off the line of thinking. It was only the two times in the past she had done that. And then she had to make hair appointments to be able to talk to her daughter and apologise for trying to meddle.
Deborah Welton turns to face Ted and his eyes catch her hazel eyes as she takes him in.
"So you do men's cuts," Deborah lifts a finger in Ted's direction.
Rebecca raises a brow.
"Come on, Rebecca, give me a little credit. You always had an eye for textures and hair and such, even if your father thinks you should be doing something more with your life than cutting hair."
Both Rebecca and Ted watch Deborah Welton leave the salon, her head held high at convincing Rebecca to have dinner at the house for the first time in years. But as soon as the door shuts, Rebecca eyes Ted. He can see her hands move to her hips as he stands up from the chair.
“Even from here, your hair looks fine,” she tells him. "And if my mum didn't insult you, it's not long enough to be coming back two weeks later for a cut."
“Yeah, but close up, I think there’s a hair outta place,” he tells her as he just points to his head. “But, uh, sort of noticed you didn’t take a lunch break.”
“Are you stalking me, Ted Lasso?” Rebecca raises a brow and tilts her head.
“Nope. But I sure noticed Keeley and Roy didn’t greet me which means it’s lunch hour and you clearly styled that lady I now know is your mama up. Probably taking the whole hour,” Ted points out. Doesn’t give away the fact he suspects said woman was her mother. “What do you say to me treating you to lunch over at the Crown and Anchor, I bribe you with the biscuits that are in my pocket, and you check out the little wiggly hair?”
“You brought biscuits?” She eyes him as he takes a pink box out of his coat pocket. He hands them to her and she opens the box.
“Hey, biscuits are not a good source of anything nutritious. Lunch and then biscuits,” Ted points out as she moves to take one. "And then we can discuss the fee for this consult."
She hums and meets his eyes as she closes the box.
“You’re paying full price for the shampoo and cut. If there was anyone else around, they’d think I was shit at this,” she points out. “No client has ever come back three weeks in a row, you know.”
Ted simply shrugs his shoulders.
At lunch, he can’t help but tell her stories of previous tales of times with Gertie. The one time he had frosted tips because it was all the rage and he had left the bleach on a little too long and pieces and chunks of hair made it so he had to get as close to a buzz cut as he ever wanted to have in his life. And then the one time he helped a girl cut some bangs in second grade and her mama told his mama it was his fault when he was just trying to be kind.
After lunch, Keeley’s brow raises as she finds them walking into the salon with Ted holding the door open for Rebecca and the latter doesn’t make any sort of quip as the two make their way to her station. And unlike last week, when Rebecca hadn’t actually cut his hair, she trimmed his fringe even though it didn’t really need it.
He gives Keeley all the cash in his wallet, which only ends up being £220, but Keeley lifts a curious brow.
“She pulled the ol’ ‘I need to use the loo’ and paid for lunch,” Ted shrugs. “And, well, she did cut my hair this time around.”
As soon as Ted shuts the door, Keeley finds Rebecca in the break room, half of a biscuit in her hands as she stands at the window, observing the street and passers-by.
“What’s this about lunch with Ted?” Keeley looks mildly offended that she didn’t hear the news from Rebecca. “You like him, don’t you? You sneaky giraffe woman. You wouldn’t put up with this from anyone else considering it looks like you give shit cuts to men.”
“Christ,” Rebecca mutters before she pops the other part of the biscuit into her mouth.
—
The fourth time Ted visits, all the chairs are full and Roy’s at the desk again. It’s almost 6:00 pm and he truly hadn’t thought it would be this busy, knowing they close at 7:00 pm. He had meant to come earlier but he got in his head about the West Ham match that will either send them into the top three in league standing or make it all the much harder to bounce back and get to the top as the league begins the back half of the season.
“Oi,” Roy greets. “This is the fourth fucking time you’ve been here in as many weeks. Just get her fucking flowers at this point.”
Ted points at himself and his brows furrow in confusion.
“Yes, you, gaffer,” Roy sighs with a force that could probably blow a few papers away if they hadn’t been weighted down by a Richmond snowglobe.
He didn't even get a chance to ask Roy if Rebecca was here but she shows up anyway in a coat and scarf as if she was ready to head out for the day.
"Ted," she half greets, half sighs.
"Look," Ted looks behind her and finds two sets of eyes watching them curiously but they go back to cutting hair and Keeley drags Roy off to the mani/pedi part of the salon. "I don't mean to insult your work by coming back here each week and I'm sorry if you feel I've done that."
She shakes her head but he holds up a finger, silently asking her to hold her thought.
"I don't know what you do. If it's you or what you do with the magic fingers you got there, and no dirty connotations, but it helps. It helps centre me. The... the big ball of anxiety that just lives in here," he points at his chest, "you help it get smaller. More manageable. I... I should have been a little more forthright. I'm sorry. And I'll make it up to you. I'll pay full price and you can get Roy to stand in the doorway if I ever try and grace this doorstep."
He pulls what he considers is the last box of biscuits he'll make her since he's screwed it all up.
And she takes them from his hands, brushing their fingers as she takes it.
When he nods, she reaches out an arm, grabbing a hold of his elbow so he pauses. And when he does, she lets his elbow go and her fingers run through his hair, a soft smile graces her lips.
"I think your hair might be a little long," she tells him. An olive branch if he ever saw one. She tips her head back to the sole chair that stands empty in the salon. "Might be time for a wash and cut."
Ted lights up. A careful grin as he nods and follows her back to her chair. And he can't help it as he helps her out of her coat and scarf, hanging it on the rack by her desk where he's seen her coat hang out before.
He wants to keep his eyes open, make sure this isn't just a figment of his imagination and he's back at his desk at the training centre. But as she starts to run the water, she smiles as she tilts her head and raises a knuckle to brush between his brows and over the bridge of his nose.
"Close your eyes," she tells him softly, just above the sound of the water cascading down from the nozzle into the sink basin.
He watches her for another minute as she gathers the shampoo and conditioner from the cabinets above the sink. He gets one last look as she sniffs a bottle of shampoo and smiles to herself.
And after she carefully rinses his hair and she lathers the shampoo into his hair, he realises he's smelled this before. The light, fresh scent his mind associates with previous cuts and the barely there smell he's come to associate with her. With the way she leans in and gets the cut just so, or the finished product to lay in a perfect swoop using only her fingers and hair oil. It's the shampoo she uses, he thinks as he focuses on the way her fingers comb through his hair and he finds her making little heart and whirled movements in his hair as she massages his scalp a little longer than the times before.
She doesn't cut his hair. Just styles it for him again. Tells him in two weeks, she will need to cut it by the way she's been able to watch it grow week by week.
He nods and heads to the front with his usual post-it note. And she tells him that she'll go and get Keeley for him.
“Ted,” Rebecca calls out as he lingers by the door a few minutes after she tells him she'll get Keeley.
Ted pauses and turns his upper half to face her. He watches as she walks towards him, her hands behind her back.
He hums his ‘what’ to her calling his name. His eyes watch curiously as she pauses at the little alcove.
She gives him a once over and curls her bottom lip inward before she steps closer and hands him a familiar pink box.
“Here,” she whispers as she returns her hands to her sides.
For a moment, his soul seems suspended in a sort of limbo that she would give something back that she snatches right out of his hands. He has assumed she liked them. It’s why he’d bake them every week and bring them whenever he shows up. And he realises that maybe he shouldn’t have assumed. But as his hands unconsciously tighten on the box, he finds it lighter than his usual delivery of three shortbread biscuits. He looks up at her and she’s watching his hands. It’s all it takes for him to lift the lid, praying to whatever deity is listening that it's not just his imagination that it’s not the biscuit box he gave her earlier.
And as the lid opens, he finds it empty. But as his thumbs press against the edge of the box, the top opens a bit more and he finds it's not as empty as she's leading him to believe. Instead, her full name was written on the lid of the box with a number. And when he looks up again, she’s gone from his view.
He digs out his phone from his pocket as he shakes his head at her antics, opens the door, and steps out into the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk. He steps close to the building, dialling the digits she’s written down. And he waits until the double ring stops and their phones connect.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“This wouldn’t be Rebecca Welton, would it?” Ted teases as a greeting.
“Hi, Ted,” is all she says.
“Hey, Rebecca.”
He starts walking since he’s meeting Beard for a strategy session at the Crown and Anchor tonight. He might be early but he's got enough pep in his step to kill some time if it's needed.
“You doing anything tomorrow?” He wonders. He knows the salon is only open Monday through Friday.
“I thought maybe I’d watch the Richmond match,” she tells him.
“Oh?” Ted’s face is full of surprise and it amuses him she can’t see it. “You know, if you go down to Will Call, I can put some tickets there for you. For Keeley and Roy, too, if they want 'em.”
“I’ll ask,” she nods to herself as she takes a bite of the biscuit she’s been holding as a good luck charm.
“Cool,” he whispers across the line. “Maybe, uh, maybe after the match, we could grab a drink or something? Dinner?”
“Sounds great, Ted,” she nods even though he can’t see it.
“Nice. I mean, cool,” Ted tries for nonchalance but fails. And his hands even bungle getting the door handle of the Crown and Anchor.
He hears her giggling down the line.
“Have a good night, Ted.”
“See you tomorrow, Rebecca.”
When they hang up, she stares at the darkened screen for a while as she breathes out a deep sigh.
Keeley's going to definitely want front-row tickets to this when she hears that maybe Ted just asked her out on a date. And Rebecca considers leaving and just calling Keeley later but maybe the younger woman can get her into the spirit of the match and make a little greyhound decal on her nails or something since her nails are already a shade of red that would be suitable for a Richmond supporter to wear.