and then?" He gently freed his arm.

"Now, Alex," she cried, "you stop teasing me."

"I'm not," he lied, "but now allow me to make you the most alluring, astonishingly lovely woman Mr. Albright can expect to see until your next appointment."

"I'm going to hold you to that statement. But Mr. Albright doesn't appreciate an attractive woman the way you do, Alex."

"Come on now," he bantered as he settled her into the champoo chair.

She sighed in anticipation of one and one-half hours of her favorite relaxation.

Alex sprayed her hair with warm water, then deftly began massaging the scalp into a mass of thick, heavy suds.

Mrs. Albright closed her eyes. She felt as though she was floating, far, far, away; that she was detached from her body, hovering in a void, an onlooker to the scene below. It felt so nice to have Alex work on her hair. And he was such a nice boy. Then again she was floating-

floating-

She was acutely aware of Alex' nearness as he hovered above her. His hands were no longer massaging, molding strands into curls and waves, but caressing her head as he lingeringly brought his long, strong fingers down along her neck, curling them over her shoulders. He leaned over her whispering, begging for response. Never before had he felt like this about any woman. Surely she must have known how his love had been smoldering, then burning these last months. Surely she didn't think he could remain cool and indifferent to her charm. He had lived in anticipation from appointment to appointment. To have her with him, to feel her presence under his hands had been the torture of conscious delirium. The rapture of her so filled him that the door of consciousness refused to close as her image remained in its dwelling.

"There you are, Mrs. Albright." Alex' voice cut the air, erasing the scene. "Finished and ready for the dryer. Say, I believe you went to sleep this morning."

"I think I was nearly asleep." She laughed. "You shouldn't make me so comfortable."

Alex went out to the row of dryers. Two women were there sitting immobile, like planetary figures, helmets intact, awaiting a space ship. Alex adjusted the control to hot.

"Number three is ready, Mrs. Albright."

As she wobbled to the dryer on her too high heels, bulky trunk swaying, his eyes followed in amused tolerance. He saw that she was settled, then walked to a stack of magazines, selecting three. He knew his customers' reading preferences, but always gave them a variety. He smilingly handed her the magazines. "Thank you, dear," she said, crossed her short legs and gave her attention to his own and John's favorite magazine, one upholding physical culture, with a perfect specimen of a man gracing the cover.

"Well, did you ever"Mrs. Albright giggled. "My, he's a gorgeous creature!" Her voice came booming from beneath the roar of the drier.

Alex looked at the picture of John, smiled and nodded in agreement. It was John in one of his best poses, with his head erect, chest expanded, arms upturned and every muscle shouting beauty and strength.

Mrs. Albright's eyes returned to the cover picture.

"Yes, he is gorgeous and he's my love," Alex said softly, knowing no one heard him and thrilling a little to hearing his thoughts aloud.