The Hairdressers of St.
Tropez
The story of, you guessed it, two hairdressers in St. Tropez. Actually, this
book encompasses the stories of a variety of characters, all living out one
summer in the Cote d'Azur. Peach Delight, Joe Cameron and Rockets are
three friends bouncing around the beach, the bars, and the hill of the wild
tortoises, drifting together and apart like the waves of the sea on the
glittering beaches. Throw in one very jealous, drunken hairdresser, one greedy
faded star, various old "queens" (male and female alike), and a wonderful group
of dogs, and you find a bitchy, funny, terribly sad tale of life and death and
all the craziness in between.
This is Joseph Cameron. Take a good look at him in the green underwater light,
but not too close, for the whole story is written in his face. Everyone feels
they know Joe and to a certain extent they do. Joe is a drowning man so we can
see his life flash before him, scene by scene. Look at his eyelashes, thick,
red, well disposed to their roots and at their tips like cobwebs, white fragile
and about to blow off in the wind. As he sleeps, Joe's lashes rest charmingly on
his cheeks, like the tails of peacocks. Freckles lie in layers down his skin
like pebbles at the bottom of a clear stream, and his pretty mouth, smirking
slightly even in sleep, betrays a fatalistic humour that will have Joe shrugging
his shoulders and smiling an "it's not my fault" smile all the way to whatever
cemetary in whatever town on whatever continent his tired neglected body finally
blows its fuse.
"She spends every night lying on the street outside my bar with diverted
traffic signs pointing at her pussy. And still she doesn't get laid."
And slowly his mind, like delicate fluffy flowers of a dandelion, blew away.
Dying is a mere formality...One can be quite dead standing up.
Like three pots of overturned fluorescent paint, the shirt screams off the
floor, and like a thousand pots of undiluted queenliness, Gil Roy screams from
inside the avocado kimono, "THAT'S MY VERSACE SHIRT!"
"I'd forgotten who I was way before I arrived in this god forsaken dump. But
at least I was just nobody. Now I'm...not even...nobody. Just a tangle of
collapsed veins waiting for a fix."
These messed up misfits are shedding ingrowing tears; the ones that burn you
hollow inside and make you hard outside.
This book is out of print and no longer available!!!
