Sacrifices

My ballet career has forced me to make many sacrifices. Obviously it demanded huge chunks of time, leaving little for other activities and barely any time for a social life. I never went to high school dances or ball games, and so far my time in college has been just as in demand. But my dance scholarship is paying for my school, so I can?t complain. Besides, I love ballet and the thrill of being on the stage. I?ve been in every production possible over the past two years.
One of the problems with ballet is there are so few men involved. However writers of the different ballets don?t seem to take that into account, and as a result we usually need to have women playing male parts in the different performances. Except for the two or three feature dancers who always grab the lead roles, the rest of us dutifully take turns rotating through the male roles. It?s no big deal really. With the different clothes and toned down stage make-up, it really isn?t too hard to pull off. Instead of wearing my long hair up in a high traditional ballet bun I just part it on the side and pull it back tight into a low pony tail and tuck the end down the back of my shirt. The other girls do the same thing. It?s quite obvious of course to the audience but is the accepted norm. Again, it?s no big deal. Sometimes the male roles are even a lot of fun.
That is especially true with our current production, which is a totally original creation by one of New York?s most promising new talents. In fact Jeanie and I (she?s my best friend in the whole world) both requested the men?s roles not only because they were more demanding but also the closest thing to a lead role I?ll probably ever get. I?m pretty good, but I know I?m not prima-ballerina material. For this performance, Jeanie and I probably have the biggest roles not being danced by the top dancers.
Opening night is tonight and I can?t wait. We?ll be performing the ballet 6 times in the next 10 days. I hope it goes well.
(10 days later)
The production went splendidly. In fact Robert, our director, just told us we?ve been requested to take it on the road this summer stopping in all the major venues in the Eastern United States. Imagine, a college production in Boston, Washington D.C., and even in Carnegie Hall in New York! And we?d get all expenses paid for the tour, and be paid too. I almost died when I heard the news.
(one month later)
Only one month of school left. The ballet is almost ready for the road. A grant and numerous generous sponsors have given us the money for upgraded sets and costumes. Dress rehearsal last night looked amazing.
(one week later)
Jeanie and I went to dinner last night, mostly checking out men and talking about the upcoming tour. We probably had a bit too much to drink. I?m sure she did, because she actually suggested that we should cut our hair for the tour the summer to look more like men. I just looked at her wide eyed waiting for a punch line, but she didn?t follow with one.
?You?re kidding, right?? While Jeanie?s hair wasn?t as long as mine, it looked much thicker and was certainly her pride and joy. Plus it reached more than half way down her back. Why would she want to cut it?
?No, I?m thinking it might be a good sacrifice for the production.?
?I think you?ve had too much to drink.? I did believe that too. Jeanie always adored her long hair. In fact, growing up we used to basically have a contest over whose hair could grow the longest. I won, but not by much. Then in high school she cut hers a bit by getting regular trims of the ends, while I just let mine grow. The result was hers appears much healthier and thicker than mine, though mine is clearly longer by a good 6 inches or more. I think it still bothers her a bit that mine is so much longer than hers, as she?s been very insistent that I trim the end of mine so it ?looks healthier?. I think she just wants it shorter so she can have bragging rights to having the longer hair of the two of us. That is why I dismissed this whole haircut idea as crazy, and certainly something I?d never hear mentioned again.
We let the subject go as a group of very good looking men walked in to capture our attention. Strangely I found myself looking not only at their great bodies, but also at their haircuts. Why? I guess I figured I always did anyway, but our recent conversation must have made me more aware of it. What I did notice is that they all wore their hair extremely short. In fact it was hardly more than short stubble all over.
(next day)
Jeanie stunned me by saying she had asked Robert what he thought of her idea of cutting her hair.
?I?m sure he just laughed it off,? I said.
?Actually he thought it was a good idea if we were willing to make the sacrifice, though he certainly didn?t expect us to do anything so drastic. He did add that he thought the production would look even better if we had short hair.?
?We! What?s this we! Don?t include me in on this.?
?Why not??
I grabbed at my hair, still up in its tight bun from morning rehearsal. When worn down free it fell just past my waist. ?I have no desire at all to cut my hair.?
?You mean you wouldn?t do it if I did? You?d end up being the only male role with long hair.?
I was confused, not wanting to seem unsympathetic, but with no plans at all to part with any of my length. I tried to point out the flaw in her logic.
?You realize how short you would have to go to really make a difference and come across looking like a man??
She seemed a bit taken aback by that, like her dare had just been trumped.
?I?I?I hadn?t really thought it through that far.?
?Look around you at how short the men wear their hair these days,? I said, happy now that we seemed surrounded by nearly bald men. They all wore their hair buzzed short much like the men we drooled over last night. Jeanie seemed visibly shaken now, grasping at her length hanging forward of her shoulder as she checked out the many men around us.
?I know it would be pretty short, but we wouldn?t have to go that short!?
I had her going now, fearing what she had brought up. I went in for the kill now, ready to squash all this nonsense.
?You?d have to cut it short enough so it couldn?t go in a pony tail any more, and probably have to have the sides short enough to show most of your ears.?
I figured that would hit home, as Jeanie always worried that her ears were too big (they weren?t) and always made a point of keeping them covered whenever possible. She always took her bun down immediately after dance classes just to cover them up. But for some reason this didn?t faze her.
?I know, but if you?ll do it too then we can grow it out together.?
Here she was pressuring me again.
?I love my long hair. I don?t want to cut it. I?d look terrible with short hair.?
?Yeah right!?
?What do you mean by that??
?You have a perfect face for short hair. Besides, you always wear your hair up anyway.?
?I do not.?
?Sure you do. You always have it up in a bun. Letting it down for you is a French braid or a pony tail.?
?That?s not true.?
?You know it is. When was the last time you went out with your hair down? No pony tail or braid. Just hanging down.?
At that moment I realized she was right. For someone so in love with long hair I certainly didn?t flaunt it. I did in fact often keep my hair up all day, even for days on end. And I usually didn?t even let it dry after washing it before it was in at least a braid. I never went to sleep unless it was tied back out of my face. And for special occasions I always wore it up in a French Twist.
?So what does that prove??
?It proves that you might not miss having long hair as much as you think you will.?
We ended the conversation at that, but it certainly shook me a bit, and Jeanie seemed even more determined to actually do it.
(next afternoon)
Robert actually cornered Jeanie and I at rehearsal and asked if we were going to cut our hair. I looked at him wide-eyed and could find absolutely nothing to say. Jeanie gave him a casual shrug of her shoulders. ?Quite possibly.?
Others in the cast overheard it, kind of, and a rumor starting flying around saying we were going to cut our hair. People all started coming up to me telling me how brave I was to make such a great sacrifice for the performance and how cute they thought I?d look with short hair. All I could do is stare like a deer in the headlights and say nothing. The thing was this topic was snowballing now and I didn?t know how to get out of it.
(7 days later)
I?m going crazy. I was hoping this whole haircut thing would go away, but it?s only grown all out of proportion. Now everyone is actually disappointed when they see me and my hair hasn?t been cut.
I?ve tried to change my hair routine, attempting to wear it down on occasion to show people that I refuse to cut it. But after a few hours of having it fall in front of my face I quickly find myself putting it back up in a bun again.
If I did cut it (not saying I am going to) would I really miss it that much?
Jeanie came up to me at lunch and started right in again.
?I made appointments for both of us this Saturday with my roommate?s hairdresser. She?s real good with short haircuts.?
?You?ll have to go alone, because I?m not cutting my hair.?
This time it seemed to finally hit home, as Jeanie stopped talking and looked at me actually taking me for my word.
?You?re not?!?
?No. As I?ve been saying all along. No.?
?Will you at least come with me on Saturday for moral support, and then if you change your mind you won?t lose your opportunity??
I couldn?t believe Jeanie would actually do this, and so I promised to provide moral support for her.
(Saturday)
Connie, the stylist, couldn?t hide her grin when she was told what Jeanie wanted done with her hair.
?Seriously, you want a guy?s haircut??
Jeanie was so frightened she was visibly trembling, and death gripping the arms of the chair as the apron was draped around her. ?I?. think so.?
I spoke up, explaining what the haircut was for, and that she only wanted to appear to have a man?s haircut for the stage. Perhaps a feminine style that could be slicked back or something for the performance to look shorter than it actually was.
The stylist fondled Jeannie?s incredibly thick hair a bit as Jeannie nodded her head in agreement of what I had just suggested.
?How about a more feminine short cut that we could then part on the side and slick down tight on top and draw back from your ears with a good strong gel for performances?? Jeannie nodded and the two looked through stylebooks, settling on a look that was basically a very short bob with some layers. Jeannie would still get to keep the hair covering her ears and have a bit of bulk remaining in the back, plus the bangs that would have to be cut (her hair, like mine, was all one length) would reach to her nose so they wouldn?t take long to grow out if she didn?t like them. Connie reminded her it would be easy to take more off if she liked.
More! As if! This still meant her hair would have to be lopped off above her collar. She?d be losing at least a foot of hair.
Much to my surprise Jeanie agreed, and the two of them disappeared in the back to wash her long hair for the last time. It seemed an eternity, though she certainly has a lot of hair to wash which does take time, but she was eventually back in the stylists chair.
She seemed absolutely terrified as her long tresses were being combed through, the front sections pinned up out of the way so Connie could start in on the back. I watched certain that Jeanie would back out any moment now, and both of us grimaced as the scissors bit in and the first long sections of clippings hit the floor. Then Jeanie just bit her lip, almost in disbelief of what she was doing. But when the sides were chopped off just below her ears she let out a shriek as now reality really did set in.
I felt almost sick watching all that hair hit the floor, and it wasn?t even mine. However Jeanie now actually seemed to relax, knowing it was too far to back out now, and started to almost enjoy the whole adventure. She later shared with me that it was much like a roller coaster: scary fun.
In about 15 minutes the style started taking shape and actually looked quite good on Jeanie, though so different it was impossible for me to say I liked it or not. Once the cut was done she had Connie wet it down and part it on the side, drawing the sides back over her ears in simulation of what it would look like with the styling products. I conceded that she would be much more believable in the role of a man with her hair like this. Much to my amazement Jeanie asked for it to be a bit shorter all over, saying it would have to last the entire summer for the tour, as she had no intention of having it cut again at the hands of someone she didn?t trust.
I was almost horrified when I saw Connie pick up the electric clippers to work on the back, really reducing the bulk and significantly altering the overall appearance. I was afraid it was far too short now, but Jeanie seemed unfazed. Of course she couldn?t see what had come of her long locks back there yet either.
Connie shortened the sides so that Jeanie?s ear lobes were uncovered, and her bangs were brought up to just below her eyebrows. They clearly were bangs now, albeit longish ones.
I really didn?t think this length looked as good on Jeanie, but when it was parted and slicked back it really worked. It looked much shorter, and much more masculine. Jeanie giggled a bit at her new image, yet was a bit shaken by how short it was in back now.
Connie showed her how to use a blow dryer and make it look much more feminine, and when she stepped down from the chair I had to admit looked pretty good.
Connie looked at me. ?Well Ellen, are you going to go for it too??
My own hair was hanging down in a loose pony tail, and I ran my hands down the length. I looked at Jeanie, who was pleading with me.
?You?ll look so good.?
But I was resolute. ?No, we?ve already been through this. I?m just here to support you.?
Both of them tried their best to get me in the chair. Jeanie even tried bribery and the guilt card, but I had no desire to see my hair butchered. I breathed a sigh of relief when I stepped outside the shop with my long hair intact.
(The tour begins)
The bus pulled out that Monday morning headed for our first stop, Pittsburgh. I couldn?t believe what a big deal everyone made over Jeannie?s haircut. You?d have thought she just stopped World War 3 or something as she was being made out to be some type of hero for her sacrifice. But I let her have her moment in the sun. She certainly earned it.
She even bragged to me now that she had shorter hair than me. Imagine, she couldn?t grow hers longer than mine, so she had the gall to claim victory this way.
But then the attention shifted from Jeanie to me. Now the question was when I would cut my hair (presently up in its familiar high tight bun). I tried to dismiss the prodding, but it was hard to ignore more than 50 people asking you the same question.
At lunch I had to field the same grilling from all the crew who were in the other bus. They finally let up when I lost my temper.
That evening in the hotel Robert dropped by and told me he understood my decision, but had hoped I would still change my mind for the sake of the production. ?After all,? he said, ?you don?t get to play Carnegie hall too often, do you?? With that he left me to think about it.
The next day we rehearsed on the cavernous stage. No one asked me about my hair today, thankfully. I was busy watching Jeanie a lot though, noting how comfortable and (I had to admit) good she looked in her new haircut. Quite honestly she looked better with short hair, and for the first time I entertained the thought (ever so briefly) of what I would look like sporting a similar style.
That evening I took down my bun and washed my hair. As I sat there detangling it I noted a fair amount of split and broken ends. If nothing else I was due for a trim. As I wrestled with some sizeable tangles I felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through me. I decided that I would get my hair cut the next morning. I would make the sacrifice for the production.
(The next day)
I didn?t tell Jeanie, or anyone else of my decision, less I chicken out. After an early breakfast I let my hair hang down free behind my back and walked around the neighborhoods surrounding the hotel in search of a beauty salon. Much to my dismay I only found a few, and all required an appointment. Since our first performance was that night, and the rest of the day was spoken for, I didn?t have the luxury of time on my side. I had about two hours to do this before I plain and simple ran out of time.
Next I looked for a Supercuts or such, but didn?t find a thing. I did locate three Barber Shops, but of course would never think of going there. As the morning started dragging on I passed by one of the Barber Shops for the umpteenth time, and noticed they actually had a sign on the door saying they cut men, women, and children?s hair. I looked at the name of the shop and laughed. ?Haircuts While-U-Wait.? Was there any other way? For some reason I crossed the street and drew closer to the shop, holding my hair in my hands as I tried not to be too obvious about my curiosity. The red, white, and blue pole stating this was a bastion for men frightened me, and my nerves were definitely at full force for what I was considering doing, but for some reason I crept closer.
Suddenly I was next to the entrance, which was quickly opened by a departing customer. It was an older gentleman with hardly any hair to speak of as his hairline had receded so far it almost didn?t exist at all. He politely smiled and held the door open for me, thinking that I was planning to go in.
I smiled back at him, hesitated, and suddenly found myself stepping into the barber shop.
It was quite a difference from the salon I had visited with Jeanie last week. No attempt at beautifying it at all had been made. The walls were an off white badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. The shop was tiny compared to the salon. No receptionist, with two barbers on the right side, and a wall of old wooden chairs and a small table with a mound of mangled magazines along the left.
Both barbers were hard at work, clippers buzzing rapidly over the heads of their two male clients.
The place was nearly full, and I feared it would be quite a wait even if I chose to get a haircut here, which I still couldn?t believe I was even considering. Yet after being greeted by both barbers I found myself taking a seat, trying to ignore the stares of the other patrons certainly wondering what I was up to.
Thankfully I wasn?t the only woman there. Another attractive woman with her long blonde hair up in a curly French twist sat watching her young child getting his haircut.
Over the next 30 minutes I was mesmerized by the totally unfamiliar goings on of a man?s barber shop. It took the barbers only about 10 minutes per customer, with none of the stylebooks and long involved directions of the desired results that women give in a salon. I started wishing Jeanie was with me so I could use her cut as a model for what I was looking for. Only I was hoping for something longer than what she was now sporting. Perhaps a cut like Connie had first given her. I closed my eyes trying to picture it, preparing to give my directions to the barber to insure getting the right cut. The sound of the clippers, which I learned were used for every haircut in this place no matter how long the desired style, made concentrating hard, as did the distinct masculine aroma of the place. I wondered how I would handle a barber using clippers on my hair. It would certainly be an adventure, much like the roller coaster Jeanie talked of. Thing is I never was one for roller coasters.
I nervously started stroking my long tresses, and even found myself unconsciously starting to braid them for a bit as I watched. I realized what I was doing and combed through them with my fingers as I watched the last customer step up to the just vacated chair. He would end up with the younger of the two barbers, meaning in all likelihood I would end up with the older one. I hadn?t noticed any difference in how they cut hair, so I guess it really didn?t matter. I just wondered if I would actually have the nerve to get up when it was my turn. I guess I?d find out in a matter of minutes, as the customer in front of me was well into his haircut by now.
At this point I seriously considered giving my spot in line to some of the other customers who had entered since I had sat down. But I also knew if I was going to do this, and I still wasn?t 100% certain I would, that the sooner I got up on that chair the better.
And then it happened, as the man in front of me stepped down and paid. The elderly barber looked at me.
?I believe it is your turn Miss.?
It took all my strength to raise and step into the barber chair as my knees were weak. The chair was huge with so much extra space around me I felt like a little child. As I stared down at my feet barely touching the footrest the white apron was draped around me. I felt him take my long hair, very cautiously I might add, and hold it out of his way as he positioned the cape and snuggly snapped it tight around my neck.
At that point I looked forward and noticed that there was no mirror in front of me. Just the blank, faded wall. I froze as I felt him arranging my hair down the back of the chair. I wouldn?t get to watch this whole thing! I had been in this shop for over 30 minutes and never noticed that. My hands started death gripping the arms of the chair.
The barber stepped to my side so I could turn my head and just see him.
?What would you like done today??
I thought I knew exactly how to say this, but sitting here I found myself every bit as tongue-tied as Jeanie had been last week.
?I need it cut quite a bit shorter??
?Something like a ?bob? perhaps??
I was a bit surprised that a barber would even know what a ?bob? is, but then remembered the sign saying they did cut women?s hair also. That helped me a bit to relax, but I was still having problems putting my aspirations into words.
?No, I need it shorter than that.?
The barber stepped in front of me now, totally focused on my instructions. Instructions I couldn?t believe I was actually saying. I was actually going to go through with this after all. Good bye long hair.
?I need it cut so that I can part it on the side and slick it over on top, and so I can bring the sides back to make my ears show, and above the collar in back.?
?So you want a short ?bob? then??
?No, not a ?bob?.? I couldn?t believe how hard this was to explain. I wished I had at least a picture. ?Shorter than that.?
?Did you want something like a wedge??
I nearly snickered at that. I couldn?t remember the last time I saw anyone in a wedge. That was so 80?s.
?Well, not really. It needs to look?.. Actually, it needs to look like a man?s haircut.?
That must have hit home, as he grinned a much more knowing look.
?OK, kind of a traditional man?s cut huh??
My confused look must have been apparent. He clarified it for me a bit.
?The top parted and combed over, cleaned up on the sides, blocked off in back.?
I tried to mentally compare Jeanie?s look to what he just described. The fact I was so nervous sitting here certainly wasn?t helping. I almost felt pressured.
?I?..guess that sounds like it. Just not too short.?
?Well, it?s going to seem very short compared to what you have now,? he said sympathetically. ?But I can do a long ladies version if you wish.?
I looked down at some of my luxurious tresses that hung forward of my shoulder, reaching all the way to my lap. I couldn?t believe I had just asked for them to be cut off.
?I?d like to keep it as long as possible, but it absolutely has to look like a man?s haircut when it?s parted on the side. I mean I don?t want a ?real? man?s haircut, just one that can be made to look like one. Does that make sense??
?Not a problem. So is that it then??
I took a deep breath, knowing this would be my last chance to back out.
?I guess it is.?
?Did you want it parted on the left or right side??
I never really thought about that. I didn?t know, and figured I could always change sides if I didn?t like it on one side.
?I don?t know. What side is most common??
?Usually the part is on the left side.?
?Then I guess that?s the side you should part it on.?
He nodded and stepped behind me to his tools. My palms were sweating now, knowing in just moments the carnage would begin. I wished I could at least see myself in a mirror. But then I remembered how hard it was to watch Jeanie get her hair cut. Maybe it would be easier not being able to watch.
I was snapped to the present by the feeling of him gathering all my hair behind me, almost like he was making a loose pony tail with his hand just below shoulder level. It was all I could do not to run out the door. But he didn?t give me the time to chicken out, as I felt the scissors dig in just above his grasp on my tresses. I heard them rapidly open and shut, and suddenly some strands escaped his grasp and hung forward of my right eye. I looked down, shocked that they now reached no further than my chin. I just stared at them as more strands joined them, and I could feel the slicing of my length was nearly completed. My head bobbed up and down a bit to the rhythm of his scissors as the last of it was chopped through, and suddenly my head was free of his grasp. It tilted forward from the sudden release of pressure, only to be surrounded by a mass of basically chin length locks. A waterfall of hair fell forward of my face, nearly blinding me to the stares of the awaiting customers in the chairs. I felt it in back now barely brushing my shoulders.
I had just lost nearly two feet of hair. My heart was racing. Gone was four years of growth at least. What had I done?
The barber was back now with a squirt bottle quickly misting my remaining length, making it slightly damp all over. Then he started combing through it all: quite briskly I must say. He didn?t seem sympathetic at all as he yanked through a myriad of tangles. It felt so strange when the hair came to such a sudden halt at my shoulders, as I was used to feeling a comb run down so much more length.
Next came the peculiar sensation of my hair being parted on the left. I was expecting him to do all the cutting first before he bothered with any styling such as the part, just as Jeanie had experienced last week. Obviously barbers didn?t do things that way. The good thing was I could see again as all the hair that had been hanging in front of my eyes was now being drawn across the top of my head. Now I wasn?t forced to look at how much had already been cut off. For a moment I was glad there was no reflection to look at, reminding me vividly of what I was doing and how crazy I must be. Instead I just got to see the faces of the gentlemen in their seats, waiting their turn in these chairs. Some were watching me with a slight grin, while others were immersed in a magazine, looking up occasionally so as not to miss the highlights. I know if I were in their place I?d be watching with both utter fascination and horror, as I had watching Jeanie get her hair cut off.
All that remained was finally combed through, the top parted and patted in place. It felt so different not having it trailing down, nor pinned up. My head felt far lighter. The barber was back at his counter now, and I found myself shaking my head a bit from side to side experiencing the sight and feel of my current ?do swinging back and forth. Basically I had a very crude ?bob?, and it was quite a new experience. As I watched it move from side to side I noted how much thicker it now seemed. In fact it seemed every bit as thick, if not more so, than Jeanie?s. I guess all the years of pulling it up tight had broken off a fair amount making it not look nearly as full as it truly was. Now, with this ?bob?, it looked very healthy.
Obviously I overdid it because my hair started falling in front of me again. The barber seemed a bit irritated as he had to stop his routine to once more pick up his comb and redefine the left part, patting it in place a bit more forcefully. This time I obediently held still as he returned the comb to his counter. I was actually kind of enjoying hair just to my shoulders and wished I could see what I looked like. I wondered how many months it would take to grow my hair back to even this length from the cut I was actually getting. I closed my eyes again trying to picture that initial cut Jeannie had, the cut I was expecting to get, calculating the rate of hair growth against how short it was. I knew I?d still be losing a few inches in the back to bring it above my collar, and an inch or two more than that on the sides to the bottom of my ears. Plus I?d have those longish bangs. I?ve never had bangs before, in spite of the countless times people suggested I have some cut. But there was no way I?d ever risk cutting anything so short. In fact this makeshift ?bob? was already as short as I could ever remember my hair being. Even my childhood pictures showed me with my hair in a bun or pony tail. I figured it would take at least 6 months to grow back even to this length by the time I was done here today. I guess that wasn?t too bad. What in the world was I going to do with my hair during dance class though, as it wouldn?t be long enough to go into a traditional ballet bun?
The loud clack of the clippers redirected my attention to what was going on. I had figured, since every cut I had witnessed here had been accomplished with these machines that mine would too, but still hearing them come to life knowing my formerly long mane was about to be on the receiving end was, well?., scary.
It only took a matter of seconds for me to become truly frightened. I expected him to start on the back, but he started on the right side. A comb lifted the bulk of my hair up from underneath and just like that the clipper sliced through it. I felt the weight of the clippings as they hit the apron and slid down in front of my lap. They looked at least four inches in length. What?s more I could swear it was already so short some of my lower ear was exposed. That meant he had already made it too short, event though he promised me he wouldn?t!
Before I could complain another mass was lifted and lopped off. Now I knew at least half of my ear was uncovered. Maybe more. This was already as short as the ?shorter? version Jeannie had requested. I knew I should say something, but what? I couldn?t very well say to put some back on.
Another huge chunk fell forward. The pile of clippings on my lap already looked huge. I seriously wondered if my ear had anything covering it any more. I closed my eyes and breathed a bit easier as I felt some length still covering it. I let out a long breath as I felt him move to the back. At least the carnage on the right was done. I couldn?t believe how quickly he worked. Much faster than Connie in the salon.
Now he was working on the back. I could feel the comb lift large sections from against my neck. Then I could hear the clipper do its deed, and then suddenly felt nothing return to my neck. I knew I had asked it to be above my collar, but this also seemed like to much.
?You?re keeping it as long as possible, right?? I found myself saying.
?Yes. I?m giving you the ladies version of a traditional man?s cut. I can always make it shorter if you?d like.?
That was good to hear, but I still found myself biting my lip as I felt more and more mass come off the back. It only took about a minute for him to totally expose my neck. I guess that was what he considered ?above the collar.? It was a sensation that would certainly take some getting used to. I couldn?t imagine what I looked like now.
Then he was at my left side, and I felt that side quickly match the left. The pile in my lap doubled in size. Interestingly he ignored the combed over part. I expected him to draw it all forward and give me the longish bangs that Jeannie now sported. But it didn?t happen. I guessed there was still more to come.
But the clippers were silenced making me wonder if I was already done. That hadn?t taken long! The barber was back with a whisk broom quickly swishing away stray clippings from my neck, ears, and shoulders. Little hairs were flying everywhere, and I started stressing again convinced that my hair had been sliced much too short. The barber once more combed it all in place, patting the top down purposefully. At least I could still feel most of my ears covered. That was a relief. Maybe I was just overreacting and he had cut it just as I hoped. Perhaps it just felt worse than it really was since I was so used to the feel of long hair.
My relief was only to last an instant, as another, different sounding pair of clippers came to life, and the barber was once more at my right side. The look on my face must have been priceless as one man looking on started chuckling. I couldn?t help it though, because I felt him outline my ear with those clippers. This was definitely too short, and not what I believed I asked for. Nothing was touching my ear any longer! This was not supposed to be happening. I watched more, albeit shorter, clippings join the mass on my lap, which finally could resist gravity no longer and rolled off my lap to the floor. The comb and clipper combination continued up higher on the side of my head. It felt every bit as short as some of the cuts the nearly bald customers who preceded me had received.
?This is quite a big change for you. Any special reason?? he asked.
?I?m with a touring ballet company, and I play one of the male roles.?
?Ballet huh?! My wife likes the ballet. Why doesn?t a guy play the male roles??
?Sometimes women have to play them due to a shortage of men.?
?Didn?t know that.? This started the whole shop into a series of jokes about different people in a tutu. I couldn?t help but laugh at some of them despite the fact that they came from people totally ignorant of what the ballet was all about and how truly demanding of an art it was. It almost made me relax a bit as he shifted his attention to the back of my head again. However, as the clippers continued higher and higher up towards my crown, I was forced to speak up again.
?That really feels too short.?
?Actually I?m keeping it quite a bit longer than usual. Don?t worry. I?m still keeping it feminine.?
I kept my tongue in check, though wanted to speak up as I felt the blades directly against my skin at the very bottom. I guess he was ?blocking? it off. At least I think that?s what he called it. All I knew was it felt way too short. Jeanie?s hair would seem long compared to mine.
Soon the left side was matching the right. Once again I grimaced as I felt my ear outlined. And once again he ignored the combed over top, and didn?t even attempt to give me any bangs.
Finally the clippers were silenced, and I felt my heart rate slowing a bit. The barber loosened the apron around my neck. I had actually done this. I hoped everyone in the cast would appreciate my sacrifice like they did Jeanie?s.
The barber was doing something at his counter, and I almost jumped when I felt warm shaving cream being spread on my now exposed neck. I had seen the barbers doing this on other customers but certainly didn?t expect to be on the receiving end. Thankfully it was just on the neck and not around the ears like the other customers. I held perfectly still as he quite adeptly scraped it off with a razor. Then he toweled off all the stray shave cream. My nose was filled with the scent of the shave foam. I realized that I now smelled very much like this ?masculine? shop.
?Did you want me to use a blow dryer and style it for you?? he asked.
I was relieved to know the worst was over. ?I guess so,? I said. I never used a blow dryer on my formerly long hair, so this would be different. Plus I couldn?t imagine how adept a barber would be at styling a woman?s hair. ?Can I see what it looks like wet and combed over first to get an idea what it will look like on performance days?? I thought I might be asking a bit much of him.
?Sure.? With that he quickly spritzed it down with water again, and then quite determinedly combed it in place, making sure the top was drawn over hard and tight, and that the part was clearly defined.
?OK. See what you think,? he said as he handed me a hand mirror. I nervously reached out for it, struggling to position it so I could actually see myself. My hand was visibly trembling while holding tight to the mirror. I took a first look at my now very different reflection.
?Oh my God,? was all I could initially say. Obviously the result was extreme. I had walked in here with hair past my waist. Now it was, well, a great deal shorter. I had to summon all my courage not to cry, and I quickly reached up and wiped away the first sign of a tear.
In fairness the barber had done well. It wasn?t nearly as short as I had feared, although all of my ears were exposed. Of course the sides were slicked back so it was supposed to look like that. (I had certainly expected to be leaving here with much more length on the sides then I now had. I really should have had a picture to show him.) The top hair actually looked quite long, and drawn over as it was didn?t look much different then when it was long and drawn to a low pony tail in back for performances. The real shock was feeling the back, where the hair was not even covering my neck any more. The feel of a freshly shaven neck was quite odd. I was used to having an exposed neck since I wore my hair up so often, but not feeling it like this. The barber positioned me so I could see the reflection of the back in his big counter mirror. Again, in fairness, more length remained then I anticipated I would see. Still, I had hoped to leave here with it quite a bit longer. Mine was even a bit shorter than Jeanie?s.
I had actually gone through with this, and now I definitely had a haircut that could make me pull off my role as a man much more believably.
?Short enough?? he asked, which nearly made me choke.
?Definitely,? I said.
He took the mirror from me and then moved in with a brush and blow dryer. I was quite surprised how adept he seemed with the tools, and by the way he was twirling my hair seemed to be adding some body or even curl to my hair. I didn?t expect this of a ?barber.? I knew this was something I?d have to learn to do. I didn?t even own a blow dryer. I guess that would be my next purchase, along with a styling brush. As he worked I started getting my emotions back in check, though I still felt like crying.
Minutes later I was handed the mirror again to be greeted by a totally different reflection. This time my hair actually looked very feminine, as the top hairs (which truly were still quite long) were full of bounce and body, and the sides even looked fuller. The back even had some body to it. It was very much a woman?s haircut. Although the sight of me in such a cut was totally foreign, and I still hated how short it was by my ears, I immediately appreciated the skill of this barber. My hair was naturally straight, and to see it with a bit of curl and so much body was truly unexpected. I actually smiled a bit.
?Wow, it looks so totally different.?
?I told you I?d give you a ladies version of the cut.?
My adventure in this barber shop was done now, and my thoughts went back to how Jeanie graciously accepted her new look. It was then I remembered how Jeannie had asked for her hair to be cut even shorter than it had initially so it would make it through the whole tour. While I had no intention of going any shorter, I did wonder aloud how long mine would last.
?It should last a good 6 weeks at least.?
?Then what??
?Then it might start looking a bit messy, and you might have problems keeping the top hair in check. I did leave that quite a bit longer than usual, even for this style.?
As I studied my look I realized that he was right. I pulled my ?bangs? forward noting they fell nearly to my nose. I became concerned they might be a bit too long already, as they would most certainly require a great deal of gel and spray to lock them in place for performance days. They were definitely longer than Jeanie?s, and she had to really pile on the gel to keep hers in check. What would I do in a few months when mine had grown out quite a bit? I put a mental note to purchase some extra stiff holding gel along with the blow dryer and styling brush.
?Will that be all?? he asked.
I don?t know why he asked such a question. What more could I possibly want? I had just had 90% of my hair sliced off. Why would I want anything else?
I studied my look again, noting how truly long the top still was, and how full the back and sides were. I have no idea why, but for some reason I actually started thinking about going even shorter. I had come this far after all. Why not a tad bit more so it too would last the entire tour like Jeanie?s cut would?!
?Um, our tour lasts through September. How much shorter would you have to go so it wouldn?t need a touch up during that time??
The barber?s eyebrows raised. ?That?s a good four months. I?d have to take it down at least another inch.?
I bit my lip, wondering if I dare risk another inch on the back and sides. However an inch off the top didn?t seem like much of a sacrifice at all. In fact I had already concluded the bangs were probably too long as it was. A little bit off the top now would make things much easier a few months from now. Still, losing more on the sides and back concerned me. They would basically be as short as some of the men?s haircuts.
But then that was why I was here in the first place after all, to look like a man for the show. That was the whole point.
Why not just get a man?s version?! By the end of the tour it would be grown out to at least what I was now wearing which actually looked fine. Plus, with it shorter I wouldn?t have to fuss with it at all for performances. That would actually be quite nice considering the hectic tour schedule. That was why I always wore my hair up in the past, so I wouldn?t have to fuss with it.
I looked at the mirror again, trying to picture myself with even shorter hair. I couldn?t. But for some reason the thought didn?t scare me now.
?If I got a man?s version of this cut, a real man?s haircut, would that last through September?? I was amazed I had actually verbalized this.
The barber was quite stunned by this unexpected turn of events. ?Uh, well?., yes. I would certainly think so.?
I studied my look in the mirror again, touching it, wondering what it would be like if it was as short as I was considering. It was scary to think of, yet kind of fun. ?Roller Coaster? was all that came to mind.
I shook my head, watching the long top section again fall forward of my line of vision. Kind of sexy, but also very impractical for the role I was to play this summer. That sold it.
?Then that?s what I want. A true man?s version of this haircut. One that will last me for the whole tour.?
?What you?re asking for will be quite?.well, it will be much shorter than the way it is now.?
I flicked the top over to the side out of my eyes with my hand. ?I know.?
?Not just the top, but everywhere. You won?t have the luxury of styling it into a? feminine look for quite some time.?
That frightened me a bit. Did I really want to commit to such a thing? Truth be told I wasn?t quite sure how short it would end up. Shorter than it was, but how much? Yet for some reason I was on this ride and wanted to see it through.
?That?s OK.?
?If you really want it to last for four months, it will have to be short even for a man.?
That really hit hard. Obviously he was playing Devil?s Advocate. He was doing a real good job of it too. I looked around looking for a picture or at least a man with a cut somewhat like I was asking for so I had some idea of what I was getting myself into. No such luck. But for some reason now I just had this desire that was all consuming.
?Fine, if that?s what it takes.?
He gave me a good hard look. I nodded at him. He shrugged his shoulders and stepped behind me and started refastening the apron. I started death gripping the arms of the chair again, my heart racing at this totally unforeseen change of events.
Once again he was at my hair with the mister bottle, quickly undoing the elaborate work he had done with the blow dryer and styling brush. Soon I felt the top once more tight to the top of my hair, the hard left part clearly defined. The sides and back were once again hanging straight down rather than full of body and lift. I knew I had only moments to change my mind before he started in again. I could hear him behind me preparing his clippers.
?You?re positive you want it short enough to last through September??
I nodded none too confidently. He was giving me every opportunity to change my mind.
?All right then. But I?ll warn you again. This is going to be real short.?
With that the clippers came to life and he stepped to my right side. As I heard the machine close in I almost changed my mind, but didn?t. The machine was placed at my temple directly against my skin, and then pushed into my hair. I heard a huge amount of hair meet the blades and start falling to my shoulder as the machine ran tight clear around my ear. My eyes opened in the realization that he wasn?t kidding. This felt VERY short, and it was already too late to back out. He continued to outline my ear with the clipper, without even the accompaniment of a comb. Instead he used his free hand to fold down my ear so the machine could really get in to every nook and cranny.
Rather than do the upper part of the right side, he stepped behind me and used his free hand to hold my head steady. Then he put the clipper tight against my freshly shaved neck and ran it into my hair, keeping it tight to my skin. He ran it up for a few inches and then flicked the clippings to the floor. Some fell in front of me, coming to a rest in my lap. I was surprised to see them several inches in length. I didn?t know I had that much left back there. My palms were sweating as I felt him continue this carnage up nearly to the crown. I wondered if there was anything at all left.
Then he stepped to the left and outlined that ear every bit as severely as the right had been done. Then the clipper was shut off and he returned to his counter. Once again the long top section hadn?t been touched. It now felt quite out of place compared to the obvious bareness of the rest of my head.
The other clippers came to life and he once more moved to the right side, working on the upper half this time with the assistance of his comb. I could feel some of that top length coming off. He slowly continued this path to the back, working up around the crown, and then the left side got its turn. Still nothing above the part had been touched. How odd that the hair on one side of the part was clearly longer than the rest. No wonder he had asked where I wanted it parted. The way it was cut gave me no choice but to part it there.
This clipper was then shut off and returned to his counter. I wondered if I was done, again, already. But I knew the top was still too long.
As if to confirm my opinion he stepped behind me and combed the top part straight up, and then using scissors sliced what felt like the majority of the length off. A huge chunk of hair bounced off my nose to my lap. He swiftly continued this process backwards, lifting and slicing. I couldn?t believe my hair had been past my waist just 30 minutes ago. I couldn?t believe I was asking this be done. This was the biggest sacrifice I could imagine making for my craft.
After working his way back he combed it in place again, then stepped back to look at it. Dissatisfied he made another front to back run, though it didn?t feel like too much was coming off this time. Then he stepped in front of me and combed my bangs (yes, they were bangs now) straight forward. They didn?t even reach my eyes now. He made a clean straight line across seemingly at the middle of my forehead. Not only did I have bangs now, but real short ones at that.
He combed it all in place again, and I could tell there was very little left up there. Yet he was back with the clippers again, going over and over both sides and the back. I thought I didn?t have anything left, but the sounds told me more was coming off. In fact it seemed a whole lot more was coming off. Then the whisk broom swept me off, and I could feel stray hair being removed all over.
Then he was in front of me with some very odd looking scissors and his comb.
?What are those for??
?Thinning shears. You have quite thick hair. This will help it lie down better.?
With that he started seemingly haphazardly chopping at my top hair every which way. I saw some hairs several inches in length fall forward, and I wondered if he was taking everything off. As it was combed back into place I could actually feel how much less volume remained up there.
The whisk broom returned, and then I felt him loosen the collar of the apron. I started breathing quickly knowing I would soon see my new reflection, again.
But before that happened the shave cream was applied again, this time not only to the neckline but all around the ears. I couldn?t believe how short it felt around my ears as the razor expertly did its task.
The barber toweled me off, and then rubbed some very distinct smelling ointment into my hair. At least I felt some hair remaining up there. He washed off his hands, and then one last time he made the left parting and combed it all in place. He then handed me the mirror.
?Here you go. As I said it is real short.?
I nervously brought my reflection into view.
It was at that moment I realized when a barber says something is going to be real short, he wasn?t kidding. My first cut looked incredibly long compared to the vision that greeted me now. In no way was I sporting anything remotely feminine. This was a man?s haircut. A very short man?s haircut.
The top part was lying flat across the top, which made it difficult to determine its true length. There was no hiding the sides though. Only a trace of stubble remained, and my pale white scalp was clearly visible peaking through in spite of my dark brown hair.
When I saw the back I was trembling. It was even shorter than the sides. The blocked line was still there, but it only marked a transition from basically nothing to only the slightest amount of hair.
I touched my hair, almost nauseous that there was so little there. My head felt like it belonged to another. This certainly couldn?t be the same head that sported such long hair all my life.
The apron was removed and I stood, shocked that the floor was covered with the remnants of my former glorious mane. I saw the two foot long pieces at the bottom, buried under mounds of smaller clippings. I stared at my image in the mirror. It was so different I was absolutely numb. I paid and tipped the barber (he charged far less than any salon would have charged) and left the shop, immediately greeted by the foreign feel of the wind on my newly exposed neck and scalp.
For the next 30 minutes I hid from everyone, getting used to my new reflection and haircut, and getting a hold of myself. But eventually the cat was out of the bag. Well, if they made a big deal about Jeanie, it was nothing compared to me. Even Robert couldn?t contain his grin and nod of appreciation of my sacrifice. Jeanie was stunned, and even kidded me saying I couldn?t stand her having shorter hair than me. Later she had me tell of my whole ordeal in great detail, amazed that I had the nerve to get it done in a barber shop, and with no mirror to watch the whole procedure. She actually seemed quite intrigued by it all.
It took me quite a while to get used to my new haircut and reflection, and in all honesty was looking forward to the time I?d again have hair trailing far down my back. But for this part and this occasion the short hair really worked, and sure was easier to take care of. It readily accepted the side part and stayed there without the need for any product or work on my part. I was ready in no time for each performance, and used my spare time to help Jeanie with her hair, which took a huge amount of gel and spray to hold in place. Only by making it feel like plastic could she be certain it would hold for the entire ballet. I was glad I didn?t have to do that with my own hair, though I probably would have to by the end of the tour as mine grew out. Much as I wanted mine longer, I wasn?t looking forward to that ordeal. It was amazing that such short hair should require more product use than our former long manes.
After one month into the tour Jeanie was really getting fed up with the procedure, and envious of the fact that I didn?t need to do anything with my hair. She even hinted once that she was going to get hers cut like mine. I thought she once again had lost her mind. She of course countered saying that I just wanted bragging rights as to who had the shortest hair. That was crazy. In reality I was envious of the fact her hair could look feminine, and couldn?t wait until mine was long enough to do at least something with.
This banter continued for a few weeks, and I always considered it a big joke. But when we arrived in New York the joke became serious.
We were walking along the streets one morning with a few hours to kill doing some window shopping. Suddenly we passed by a small one chair barber shop. The barber was just finishing up his customer, and no one else was waiting. Jeanie stopped and looked in the window.
?Look,? she said. ?A shop just like you were in, with no mirror to watch the haircut.? I glanced over very disinterested noting she was correct. As I started to continue strolling down the street, she grabbed my arm.
?Do me a favor and come inside with me. I?m going to get mine cut just like yours, and I need you to be my model.?
?You?re joking right!??
?No. I?m sick of putting so much crap in my hair for performances. Your length is much more practical.?
I doubted she was serious, but followed her in anyway. The other customer was just leaving as we walked in, and the barber beckoned her to his empty chair. Amazingly she showed no trepidation as she sat in the huge chair. I sat down on one of the cheap plastic chairs that graced the waiting area.
The barber quickly put an apron around her and then asked what she wanted done.
?I?d like mine cut just like Ellen?s,? she said, pointing to me. The barber asked me to come over and did a quick scrutiny of my cut: studying it from every angle, even lifting up the top to see how long it was. By now it had grown out nearly an inch since it had been cut, so it didn?t look nearly as extreme any more. Still she?d be losing a big portion of the hair she had left, as her hair was a good deal longer than mine.
?Pretty much a basic haircut. You want it parted on the left also??
Unlike me she didn?t hesitate with her answer. She had seen my haircut enough by now to know it was cut for a part on one side or the other. She wouldn?t have the styling options she now had.
?Yes please. Just like hers.? Suddenly she paused and I noted a small twinkle in her eyes. ?Actually, I?d like it even shorter than hers. You can do that can?t you??
?Of course. How much shorter??
She thought about it. I just shook my head. I couldn?t believe she was back on her competition kick again. ?Short enough so it?s absolutely obvious to everyone that my hair is shorter than hers,? she said. She looked very happy with herself.
?You?re talking pretty short then,? he said.
?I guess,? she said, looking very confident.
I didn?t say anything, in spite of hearing the barber say those magic words ?pretty short?. I figured it was Jeanie?s turn to learn a hard lesson about barber shops. So instead I sat back to watch Jeanie go through almost the exact same process I did. She started out looking so collected, but as her hair was spritzed with water, parted, and then combed in place she started coming back down to earth. Actually her face made me laugh as she ran the full gamut of expressions. First came a look of concern when she understood how different it was that she couldn?t follow the whole procedure in a mirror, and then fear as the clippers came to life and hair started flying to the floor. I couldn?t believe how much came off of the back, and how high up in back the barber ran his clippers. But then I felt my own hair and decided he really wasn?t doing it any differently. It did make her head look so much smaller. Jeanie?s eyes were so big and almost looked pained when the clippers ran around her ears tight to her head. The ears she always wanted to hide had nothing covering them now, nor would they for quite some time to come. In the six weeks since my cut mine was still barely touching the tops of my ears. I found it almost fun to watch, recalling that I had been there and done that. She often looked over at me for moral support, especially as the shaving cream was being applied on the sides around her ears. That was something she clearly wasn?t expecting, though I recall telling her about it in great detail. I think it was really hitting home at that moment just what she had done.
She ended up with a cut basically identical to the cut I had received, though it looked different since her hair was much lighter than mine: almost light blonde compared to my dark brown. Actually it made it seem even shorter. Mixed with her slight build she could easily be mistaken now for a young boy. After seeing the result herself and the initial shock she started touching it with her hands and looked at me. ?I can?t believe it?s so short now.?
?Well, you asked for it,? I said as I gently ran my hand over her hair. ?Now you are the queen of short hair again.?
She beamed proudly. ?Yes I am, and since I know you?d never dare go shorter I know I?ve won this battle.?
For some reason that struck a competitive nerve. ?What?!?
?I know you?d never cut yours any shorter, so I?m the winner. I?ve had two short cuts, you?ve had one, I definitely now have the shortest hair. Game, Set, Match.? She touched her hair and did a little tour jete in the shop to punctuate her point.
I stood there stewing in her words.
?So you?re telling me you don?t think I would dare cut mine shorter.?
?I totally know you wouldn?t.?
?You never know.?
?I know you. You don?t have it in you. In fact I?m so sure I will buy your breakfast for the next month if you did.?
?Don?t say that if you don?t mean it.?
?Oh, I mean it.?
?Shake on it??
We did, and suddenly I found myself surprising us both by climbing into the barber chair. The barber, despite being busy sweeping all the clippings off the floor, surely had overheard our conversation so he had to know what was going on.
?Am I correct in assuming you now want your hair shorter than hers??
?Yes,? I said, pulse rapidly increasing. ?Keep this same style of course, but make it clearly shorter than hers.?
Jeanie looked at me in disbelief, still certain she would win this battle.
The barber hesitated.
?I don?t think that would be such a good idea,? he said.
I didn?t know what to say to that. I just looked at him.
?Why not?? I finally queried.
?Well, frankly, the same style that short would look pretty ridiculous.?
?You mean there isn?t a haircut I can have that?s shorter than hers that wouldn?t look stupid??
?No. I?m just saying a shorter version of the style you have now really isn?t a good choice. You should probably opt for a different style.?
I should have stepped down right then, but Jeanie?s smug look needed erasing, and I was feeling very competitive at the moment. However the idea of getting a different style put me at a loss. I had never even entertained such a thing. I didn?t even know what choices I had. I looked at an old poster on the wall showing drawings of ?traditional barber shop haircuts.? I could see one of them was the haircut I now had. However the drawing made it look substantially longer than it actually was. I wonder if that held true with the other drawings, because they all looked to be just as long if not longer.
?What about one of those haircuts?? I said, pointing to the poster.
The barber looked surprised. ?Those are all men?s haircuts.?
?I know. We?re both dancers with the University Ballet Touring Company. Since we?re both cast in male roles that?s actually what we?re striving for.?
The barber shrugged his shoulders as he looked at us both. ?In that case there are several cuts that would be shorter. I could even shave your head if you wanted. Can?t get any shorter than that.? He grinned revealing he meant it as a joke.
We both giggled at the insanity of that suggestion.
?No thanks. That wouldn?t work. I still need to have hair, just something clearly shorter than she has.?
Jeanie still sat confident I wouldn?t go through with this. Instead she was just studying her new reflection in the counter mirror. Her hand was still exploring the foreign feel of her radically shorter locks, especially on the sides and back.
?I really can?t make the sides and back much shorter if you still want some hair left,? the barber stated. ?So that pretty much means any real difference would have to come off the top,? he said while lifting up my drawn over bangs with his fingers.
I touched my hair a little defensively, patting the style back in place. What was I doing? It was still much too short for my comfort. Going back to how it was would be awful. Even worse I would need to sacrifice even more to ?beat? Jeanie. I looked at her very short sides, recalling how it felt when I stepped out of the barber chair that first time. Did I really want to leave here with even less? No! More than that, I really didn?t want to set my growing out process back any further. Pretty soon I?d be able to start making what I had look a little feminine if I chose to. I was actually really looking forward to that, even if it meant plastering it down for performances. I desperately yearned for hair that I could put up again. I missed the feel of my traditional ballet bun. I had already vowed I would take better care of my hair this time, and wear it down and show it off more.
Jeanie got up, calling my bluff. ?Come on Ellen, we should be heading back to the hotel. I want to show off my new short hair to everyone.?
She started heading towards the door and I saw the back of her head. It was nothing but feint stubble. Asking for even less would be extreme! So why was I having difficulty getting up out of the chair.
I looked at the barber. ?You were saying something about the top would have to be shorter. I guess that would be OK if I can still end up with some kind of ?style.? Is that possible??
He thought about it for a few seconds.
?About the only real ?style? that short would be a flattop,? he said.
I looked over at the poster trying to get a grasp on just how short that would be. About all I knew of a flattop was that the top hairs would be standing up straight which would truly be a radical difference. I knew some of the men in the company had hair that stood up all straight and spiky which actually looked pretty cool and probably was kind of fun to do each day. It required gel and hairspray to accomplish, but at least I?d get my wish to have to do something with my hair. However the drawing on the poster didn?t quite look like their hair. I don?t believe any of them had a true ?flattop? per se. Plus their hair on the sides and back was about the same length as I had right now. Most of mine would have to be sacrificed to beat Jeanie. That part scared me, but the idea of seeing my hair standing straight up, something I?d never seen before, was actually kind of captivating. Not that I thought that it wouldn?t be possible. It should actually be quite easy as I have very straight hair. I remember sometimes being extremely disappointed when I tried curling it in high school. It would start out only a bit wavy and then be perfectly straight again in about an hour. Gels and sprays made no difference at all. I even paid in a salon to have a professional curl it for prom, spending an eternity under a hairdryer. Even though I left the salon with more curls then I?d been able to produce myself, it was hardly what I had hoped for. Plus, by the time my date picked me up it was already a faded memory. I was so disappointed, and never bothered trying again after that. So a cut that required my hair be straight certainly wasn?t going against what it wanted to do anyway. But still, did I really want a ?flattop??
Jeanie called to me again. ?Come on Ellen, you know you wouldn?t dare do such a thing. Just get over the fact I won and let?s go.?
I took a deep breath and looked at the barber. ?A ?flattop? won?t look ?silly? on me, would it??
?If you?re trying to look like a man then a flattop is actually a real good choice, especially since they are so popular right now.?
That statement made me wonder if the cut the other guys had might actually be a flattop. Perhaps it was, and mine would end up that way. This wasn?t sounding too bad now. Still the flattop drawing didn?t look like their haircut, nor did the poster show a version with the sides and back as short as I would end up with.
?And it would end up shorter than hers, right??
?If that?s what you want. A flattop can be cut to different lengths. Making it shorter than hers would be no problem.?
He was saying all the right things to sell me on the decision. But was I really willing to make such a sacrifice. Jeanie started opening the door to leave, confident I would be following right behind her.
I leaned back in the chair and confidently spoke out so Jeanie could hear me. ?OK, let?s go with a flattop then.?
His eyebrows raised. I?m sure he didn?t think I?d actually go through with this.
?You?re kidding!? Jeanie exclaimed, turning to face me.
?Are you sure?? the barber asked me. ?It will be quite a difference, and you?ll have to live with it for a while.?
?I know. Believe me it will be nothing compared to the haircut I had at the beginning of the summer,? I said, trying to calm myself by putting things in perspective.
Jeanie strode back to the chairs looking at me wide-eyed as the barber snapped the robe around me. I just sat basking in victory for some reason, even though this ordeal hadn?t even started.
The barber pumped the chair so it rose up a few more inches in the air.
?Did you still want the sides and back shorter than hers??
I stared at Jeanie and how short her hair was. As she turned her head to the side to place her purse on the chair next to her I got a good look at the back of her head, realizing again just what I was asking. I wasn?t going to be bald back there, but darn close.
?Yes please,? I mumbled none too convincingly.
?I?m just asking because I can easily give you a flattop without taking off that much.?
It was an attractive offer, but I didn?t want to risk her hair looking shorter than mine in any way. If I was going to do this then I should go for a clear margin of victory.
?Thanks, but it needs to be clearly shorter than hers all over, not just on top.?
?All right then. But in that case the top will have to be pretty short too or it just won?t look right.?
There was that phrase again. ?Pretty short.? Coming from a barber that meant a big change. Oh well, at least that meant Jeanie would have to concede defeat.
I looked once more over at Jeanie, who looked uncertain now. She was shaking her head. It was either to suggest I wouldn?t do it, or shouldn?t do it.
?That?s OK. Go ahead and do it.?
?Girl, you are crazy,? Jeanie said with a look of total surrender.
?And I?m also going to get a free breakfast for a month.?
The grin on my face snapped off as the clippers snapped on. So far this had all been talk, now came the action. I was trying not to look scared but deep down I was screaming at myself for doing this.
This barber didn?t start on the sides. He started in the back, placing it at the base of my neck and then pushed it up into my hair. Until now I hadn?t considered that I had much to lose, but it sure seemed like a lot now. I was nearly as nervous now as when my long tresses were being chopped off. This wasn?t quite as scary though since it was the second time I?d had the clippers run up the back. Actually the third since my first trip to a barbershop was actually two haircuts (the initial feminine short cut and then the shorter man?s version). Still I started clenching my teeth as I saw some clippings fall forward to my lap. The hair was only about half an inch long, but that still seemed quite long to me right now.
My first hint that this style would be different was noticeable by how high up the back the barber went. He took the carnage right to the top rather than stop just below my crown. It was probably already too late to back out.
The sides came next, first the left, then the right. I squinted feeling the hair peeled off around my ears just as it had before, realizing the past 6 weeks of growth had just been eliminated. Also like before, he ignored the combed over hair above the part. Obviously that would come later. I started wondering how short ?pretty short? was to this barber. I wished the drawing on the wall was more help. Why couldn?t it be a photograph? Jeanie just grinned at me in disbelief, obviously mesmerized by the whole ordeal.
He turned off the clipper and whisked me off. All the memories of my first trip to a barbershop came roaring back to me. I could still feel hair on the sides and back which helped me relax just a bit. At least I wasn?t bald.
But then another pair of clippers came to life which I thought were for the top. Instead he started in on the back yet again, and this time I could sense the steel blades were cutting it far shorter than before. He went over and over the back, again extending up to and including parts of the crown. Jeanie?s eyes were wide now as she watched. She seemed quite uncomfortable watching this, and her hands were busy touching the back of her own head as if confirming to herself that hers wasn?t so short. This didn?t help my nerves any. When he finally was finished there and paused to step to my left side I tried as hard as I could to sense any length back there. I couldn?t.
Then he started in on my left side, peeling off the hair around my ear. This time I could see Jeanie mouth the words ?Oh my God!? as she watched. Then she tried to suppress her shock at what was happening to my hair as the barber ran the clipper higher and higher up the side of my head. But her body language, facial expressions, and look in her eyes spoke volumes. They told me that this haircut was quite extreme.
The barber ran the clipper up to just below the part, again leaving the top section alone. But as he retraced his path over and over I sensed this was more than I reckoned for. A lot more. When he finally pulled back and started walking around to my right side I felt numb. I couldn?t help but say something.
?It?s getting pretty short isn?t it?? I asked of Jeanie almost sans emotion.
She nodded her head. ?EXTREMELY,? she commented. The way she said that jolted me a bit. I didn?t think I could be any more nervous. I was wrong.
?You did ask for the sides and back to be clearly shorter than hers, right?? said the barber.
?That?s right,? I confessed.
?Well, that?s just what I?m doing. Hers was already cut with a number one. The only way to make yours look that different is by using a triple zero.?
I had no idea what he was talking about. All I knew was I wasn?t going to have much hair left.
The right side was soon being shorn to match the left. My lap was covered with clippings. I didn?t think I had close to that much to lose. I again studied how short the sides of Jeanie?s hair were. She definitely didn?t have much left. And to think mine was now ?clearly shorter? than hers. One had to be careful what she asked for in a barber shop. She might just get her wish.
Finally the clippers were shut off and returned to the counter. Hopefully the back and sides were done now. But that meant the top was next. I again looked toward Jeanie.
?I can?t believe you are doing this!? she said.
?I just hope you don?t get up here and ask for an even shorter version,? I said.
?Not a chance!? she said emphatically. ?You win. I guess now the challenge will be who grows it out the longest again. Hard to believe I?m already in the lead.?
I looked at her very short hair. Yes, that was hard to believe. Almost as hard to believe as how much both of us had chopped off this summer for this production. To think that a few months ago both of us had hair trailing far down our back. It would be a long time before we could both say that.
Quite unexpectedly my top hair was spritzed with water. The barber combed it through, drawing it all straight back. My side parted style was wiped out. Then he used a blow dryer and started combing it every which way. I tried to feel what he was doing, trying to determine if this was the secret to making it stand up straight. If it was then it was something I?d need to learn how to do if I wanted to sport the spiky look each day the other male dancers wore. If it looked as stylish as theirs did I figured it was something I?d want to duplicate, at least until it grew out.
It only took about 30 seconds before he put the blow dryer away. I looked up trying to see if I could see my hair standing up which of course I couldn?t. So I looked over at Jeanie who was giggling.
?What?? I said.
?You look really silly right now.?
?Gee, thanks. Is he done?? I was hoping the answer was yes. Even if I looked silly my hair felt way too short already.
She shook her head. No such luck.
The click of the clippers also answered that question for me.
I turned to look at the poster again, trying to determine how much more was scheduled to come off, but again realized it would be absolutely no help.
The barber stepped in front of me and I saw his clippers in one hand and a big comb much like I would use to detangle my? formerly long hair in the other. ?I need you to hold still now,? he said. Then his hand touched my head and positioned it looking straight ahead.
My eyes opened wondering what would happen if I accidentally flinched a bit while I concentrated on moving as little as possible and tried to feel what he was doing. I think I was holding my breath.
I felt the comb slide into the front part which also included my bangs which up to now hadn?t been touched, and then heard the clippers run over them. Clippings about an inch long rained over my face, bouncing off my nose. I felt him slide the comb in again, a little further back this time, and again make a pass with the clippers. Another quick rain of clippings fell in front of me. Although it didn?t feel like it, I guess he was now producing the spiky flat top. Jeanie?s face was no help, as she was just watching in utter fascination. The barber worked back steadily and soon had gone clear back to my crown, which I doubted had much hair left to begin with after the way he had run those clippers up the back earlier. But the sound of hair falling suggested that I still had more there to lose. Unfortunately I was in fact still losing it, as the sound of the clipper doing it?s work clearly indicated.
I thought I was finally done but he returned to the front once again. This time I felt the comb slide in tight to my head. I looked up in alarm. When the clipper ran directly over the comb again I had to hold back a gasp. He warned me the top was going to be short, but this was worse than I ever imagined. It felt like it was all coming off.
He continued back, the comb tight to my head yet again, and repeated the procedure, over and over, until he once more worked clear back to the crown. I glanced at Jeanie who gave me a reassuring smile, but her eyes suggested that what was happening was more than either of us had bargained for.
After completing that run he shut off the clippers, ran a whisk broom over my head and face, and then fluffed up the top with his comb (like there was anything to fluff). Then he walked in front of me, stepping back so he was about 6 feet away, giving his creation a hard look. His expression was a perfect poker face, giving me no hint as to if he was content or dissatisfied. All I could tell was my head felt like there was nothing left on it, although I thankfully did feel something manipulated by the comb during his ?fluffing.?
I heard the tools placed down on the counter and breathed a sigh of relief that I was most certainly done by now. But a different, high pitched clipper came to life and the barber once more was standing at my right side.
?Hold very still,? he said, like I could do any better than I had been doing. I gulped and squeezed the chair arms tight. He very gingerly and meticulously went over the top again, this time without the comb as a guide. I heard even more hair sliced off, and as he got back near the crown I felt the clippers directly against my scalp. I feared I would have nothing at all left anywhere. A different smaller comb picked at my hair again, and then he once more did a very slow run with the clippers. Towards the back I constantly felt the machine touching down against my skin. This torture seemed to go on and on until finally I couldn?t hear anything else being cut.
He stood in front of me once again. This time he nodded his head in approval of what he had done. I thought surely that I was done now, but the clipper started up again and he stepped to my left side, once more going over the area around my ear, and with clipper over comb really attacked the area where my part used to be. I figured he was now blending in my incredibly short sides with whatever was left of the top. He worked his way around the back, again attacking my crown which I was now certain had to be a huge bald patch, and then did the upper section of the right side. Then using just the clipper he went over the lower sides and back yet again. I didn?t think there was anything left but I did hear a bit more coming off. He continued on and on until my senses were basically numb and I couldn?t hear anything further coming off. Instead it felt almost like a massager running over my head. Only then did the clippers go silent. He whisked me off thoroughly and then went to his counter. I heard him washing his hands. I looked at Jeanie.
?Does it still look silly?? I whispered.
?Actually it looks better now,? she said. ?It?s just so incredibly short.?
The barber loosened the robe around my neck, and then came the now familiar ritual of shaving cream along my hairline in back and around my ears. As he professionally used his razor to take it off I was anxious to see what had come of my hair. Feeling him go around my ears still made me quite nervous. It seemed like he was extending it even higher than my last cut not so long ago. A few minutes later he put the razor away and toweled off the remnants.
I looked down sadly at the huge pile of my former hair on my lap, only to hear Jeanie let out a loud shriek.
I looked up at her with my eyes clearly asking what was wrong. Her hands were covering her mouth.
?It?s?..really short on top. I didn?t realize until you looked down just now,? she said. Her words and slow, controlled tone were clearly chosen so as not to panic me.
Now I wasn?t sure I wanted to see it. The barber, once more washing off his hands, overheard our exchange.
?The top probably seems quite severe, but I only took off what was necessary to keep it balanced with the sides and back,? he explained.
Now my heart was pounding.
I heard him opening some kind of jar and rubbing his hands together.
Then the palms of his hands were rather harshly running across the top of my head, leaving some kind of product in my hair. It had a very distinct male odor to it that was quite apparent. I would leave here smelling of this barber shop. For some reason that didn?t bother me at all.
?You actually have great hair for a flattop,? he said. ?Really thick and straight. I think it works very well for you.?
I didn?t know what to say, so instead just felt him combing and patting the top in place. Finally he moved in with a small pair of scissors and clipped a select few hairs here or there and he was done. He washed off his hands one last time, and then handed me a mirror.
Seeing my new look might have been more shocking than my last time in the barber chair, despite the fact that I lost several more feet of hair on that occasion. I think that was due to knowing what I was in for last time, and the two stages I had it done in. This was just one severe haircut.
Immediately it was apparent why this was called a ?flattop.? The entire shape of my head seemed to be altered, as my head now seemed long and skinny, and the top of my head was flat as a table. It was also obvious this was not the style the men in the company wore, and that I thought I was getting. My hair didn?t look straight and spiky.
It was standing straight up, and whatever product he had put in it made my normally dark brown hair look black. But it didn?t look spiky. It was a solid wall of attentive hair. I figured the combination of how short it now was mixed with how thick it is made a spiky appearance out of the question.
I half expected to see myself totally bald based on what I felt and saw tumbling to my lap. Plus I expected the top to be even shorter from the gasp and comments that Jeanie had made. So in some way I was relieved when I saw there was still a tangible amount of hair on my head. But still, I hardly had anything left.
The hair standing straight up couldn?t have been more than half an inch in length. The sides were even worse. Much worse. They were, for all intensive purposes, gone. Oh sure, there was the faintest hint of hair there, but no more than a five o?clock shadow. I fought to hold back some tears.
I was shown the back, which was a carbon copy of the sides. I had almost nothing left at all. The barber truly had made my sides and back ?clearly shorter? than Jeanie. But the real, most awful surprise was now revealed, as I first became alarmed at how high up the back this short stubble went. It extended clear to the top. I tilted my head up so I could see the reflection of the top half of the crown. I had feared it was basically bald and this time I was absolutely right. But it was worse. First of all, almost the entire back portion of the top of my head was as short as the sides. It turned out the longest part of the flattop was right in the front, and it grew steadily shorter and shorter as it extended backwards, eventually fading into nothingness. Even worse, running right down the center starting a few inches from the front and running clear to the back was an area that looked like it was shaved perfectly smooth. It was not a bald spot, but rather a bald strip. It was certainly created when I felt the clippers touching down on my head. . This was the part that made Jeanie gasp, as I was gasping too. My reflection from the back was basically that of a bald man. I would never, ever, have asked for this ?style? had I known what I was truly in for, no matter what the reward. All this just so I could have some stupid claim to having the shortest hair and a month of breakfasts. I guess stupid bets weren?t only limited to men.
The only bright side was the bald section wasn?t visible from the front or sides unless I tilted my head down, or if a person were looking down at me. Unfortunately, at 5? 4? I wasn?t exactly tall, and most people were going to see it no matter what I did.
The apron was removed and I stood up and waded yet again through a sea of clippings that were my former mane. I paid the barber and as I waited for my change took in my new look in the big full size mirror behind his counter. It would take quite a bit of getting used to, but I did have to admit I did still have a ?style? that would easily make people think I was a man for the performances. From straight on it didn?t look as short as it was and actually kind of looked good on me. Of course from any other angle the damage was all too apparent.
I tilted my head down getting my first glance of the short crown from this perspective and shuddered at my reflection. It looked nearly as awful as seeing it from the back. There truly was almost nothing left. The top of my head, except for the front ridge, was basically bald! I reached up to touch it, taking in the very foreign feel of the level top and whatever product he had put in it. It was very thick and somewhat greasy. I was surprised to find it was actually kind of cool to touch the top. My head essentially felt like it looked: flat. Touching the sides and back was another thing. It was horrible feeling basically nothing. So my hand quickly returned to the top of my head.
?What did you put in my hair??
?Krew Komb. It really holds it in place better than anything else out there.?
?Where can I buy some??
?I could sell you a jar if you?d like.?
I found myself making another unlikely purchase. But after all, my flattop would need to last the summer. The thick pink substance would take some getting used to. But so would having so little hair.
As I paid the barber Jeanie reached up and touched my hair very quickly, then let out a scream. ?It?s so short,? she exclaimed.
We finally stepped out of the shop onto the sidewalk.
?I can?t believe you did this,? she said, patting the top yet again.
?I can?t believe either of us did this. Your hair isn?t exactly what it used to be either.?
She had already seemingly forgotten about the four inches or more of hair she had left on the floor of the shop. But she was constantly tugging at it trying to get used to her new length, or perhaps just trying to get it to grow out faster.
?Once people get a look at you I doubt they?ll even notice what I?ve done,? she said. I doubted she was correct but did expect it to be interesting when the rest of the company saw us that night.
And it was. Nobody could believe what we had done. A couple of jokes went around but I was amazed how quickly everyone just accepted our new looks. The one thing I discovered about a flattop was everyone wants to come over and touch it.
The other thing I noticed the next morning in the shower was how little hair I truly had left, and that without the Krew Komb it looked even shorter. Needless to say I used the thick product religiously after that little discovery.
(Epilogue)
The tour was a huge hit and the time of our lives. By the end of the tour Jeanie?s hair had grown out enough where she could start playing with it again a bit to make it a little more feminine, and I actually needed to put a little effort in to keep my flattop standing straight up, which I was actually preferring now to slicking it straight back or parting it on the side or just letting it do it?s own thing. I had to admit it was kind of fun creating my flattop each morning, especially when all the stubble grew out and it no longer looked like a military haircut. But by the time it was too long to stand up without looking stupid I was more than ready to bid the style goodbye.
Finally our hair grew out enough where we could go into a salon and start reshaping them into more feminine styles that would grow out nicely. I personally rejoiced when I finally had a ?bob? that was all one length just to the bottom of my ears. That meant besides the occasional trim I could just grow my hair out. Jeanie actually went back to the cut she had that first time in the salon, the longer version, for a bit. But when she one day saw mine was long enough for a pony tail reaffirmed her wish to grow hers out once again.
That was all years ago. Now both of us have hair well down our backs. Mine is not quite where it once was, but it?s getting there and is much healthier as I?ve been keeping it trimmed and taking good care of it. I even wear it down regularly, and have learned secrets on how to curl and style it. Jeanie?s hair is about where it once was, and also very healthy. Mine is longer than hers.
But each time we pass a barber shop we both can?t help but peek inside at a world we once experienced, and remember the sacrifice we once made.

---

Little Boys Cut, and Then Some

She nervously opened the door and stepped in, immediately aware of the numerous sets of eyes gazing at her, wondering what a woman was doing in the bastion of maleness. It was a one-chair shop, and it was busy. Four other customers, including the old man just now lumbering into the chair, were ahead of her. She found herself checking her look in the mirror, unconsciously running one hand through her hair as she sat down in one of the cheap plastic chairs. They sold these at Wal-Mart for about $15 each.
Though she had walked past this shop numerous times, actually being inside it now seemed much different. The smell of men?s hair products and cologne permeated the shop. The television was tuned into a baseball game. Conversation was short with little to no substance. And then there was the sound of the electric clippers, which were quite pronounced, especially as they bit into larger portions of hair.
Though she had noted it before, it still seemed strange to Carol that the customer had no mirror to watch what was happening. But at least the current customer, a boy probably around 12, didn?t seem to mind at all. He just watched the ball game as the barber quickly reduced what little length he started with down to almost nothing. As she watched, she was glad she had a picture to show the barber, as she had no idea how she would have worded her requested style. She certainly didn?t want to end up with a haircut like the current customer was getting.
The barber worked fast, and the line in front of Carol was dispensed within about 30 minutes. Thankfully no other customers had entered since she had set foot in the shop. She?d rather not be the center of attention to too many eyes. This was quite uncomfortable as it was.
When beckoned to the chair, she rose and took a last look at her current, shoulder length layered style, taking her right hand and sweeping her long bangs over to the side one last time. It all looked so much longer now that she was about to have so much cut off. How long would it take until it was once again this long?
She sat in the huge chair, and the striped cape was draped around her, along with a neck tissue quite a bit tighter than expected.
?What can I do for you today Miss?? asked Bob, the barber.
She produced the photo from under the cape. It was black and white and showed a strapping male model with his hair precisely parted on one side and drawn over quite harshly. The back seemed relatively short and the sides were around his ears. His black hair glistened like it was coated with some type of product.
?I?m in a play at school, an all girl?s school. I have to play a little boy. I was thinking something like this.?
?That?s a businessman?s cut right there. There?s also something we call a ?little boy?s cut? which might work even better.
She recalled the young boy she saw earlier as she came in who left practically bald. ?Not like that boy who was in here a few minutes ago!?
Bob thought about it for a second and then started laughing. ?No, I?m not going to give you a crewcut. A ?Little Boy?s Cut? actually looks very similar to that picture.?
She sat confused. ?What?s the difference??
?Not much really. One is just a little longer in some places, a little shorter in others.?
?In that case I guess just give me whichever one most makes me look like a little boy.?
?I doubt anyone would ever really mistake you for a boy, but I?ll see what I can do.? And with that Bob handed her back her picture, and walked back to his tools. Carol bit her lip just a bit, and felt her pulse quicken knowing her lovely mane was about to be chopped off.
As he stepped to her side she closed her eyes, expecting to hear the clippers roar to life, but instead was greeted by a light misting of water over her locks. Of course! She had spent seemingly hours that morning playing with her hair, curling it more than usual in a parting gesture. The very full flipped ends she had walked in with were not her usual look. Plus she normally parted it in the middle, not like the messy right side part she had done this morning both for the fun of it, and to get an idea what she would look like with her hair parted on the side courtesy of a barber. Bob was combing through it all, and the curls were giving way. Then she felt him comb her bangs forward, falling well past her nose, and a crisp straight part being formed on the right instead, with the top section being combed over so that nothing any longer fell forward. While she knew she was asking for a side parted style, she had rather expected this to be done after the cut, not before. He spent a while combing the top over and the sides straight down, which felt quite odd after years of having her grown out bangs falling in front of her face.
Bob stopped momentarily returning the water bottle to the counter, picking up some scissors instead, and then stepped in front of Carol.
?So you want it just like I would give a man, or a ladies version of the cut??
It was thoughtful of him to give her a last chance to back out, and seeing the scissors in his hand poised to strike made her think long and hard. But this opportunity was too important
?Thanks, but I need the man?s version, or little boy?s version. Well, you know what I mean.?
He grinned and then stepped to her right side out of her line of vision. She felt the comb run down the side to just below her ear, and then heard the scissors bite in taking everything off under the comb. A chunk of hair at least 4 inches long fell down the robe to her lap. She just stared at it as she felt the scissors working around the back of her head, taking everything off below collar level, and soon working around to the left side. More large piles of clippings fell on the robe from that side. And just like that her very trendy layered flip was basically destroyed. And there was much more still to come. Carol sat dazed that she was really going through with this. Her hair was already shorter than she could ever remember it being. It was only a year ago just before school started that she cut her mid-back length hair into the more trendy style that had just been hacked to pieces. She remembered crying then, thinking it was such a radical thing to do, even though she loved her new look immediately and never really considered growing it out again.
It would have been easier probably to go to her usual stylist to get a haircut, but she doubted she would have received the kind of cut she desired even with a picture to go by. This was a major part in a play that was going to be seen by a lot of people, many of them quite important in theatre, the kind of clout that could reward a scholarship to a prestigious school. She was leaving nothing to chance. Some in her company had opted for wigs, but her role was so physical she feared a wig would constantly be at risk of falling off. That was a possibility that could certainly negatively affect her ability to focus on her role. A haircut, this haircut, was a logical choice. And this shop, which her older brother had visited for years before he had left for college, was the only Barber shop she was willing to risk entering. Bob had never butchered Mark?s hair, instead just doing what was asked of him. Sometimes he came home with hair a little too short, but only because her brother asked for it so, not because Bob was clipper happy. For that reason, though she had never met him, Bob had earned a bit of trust.
She was about to learn if that trust was deserved, because the electric clippers snapped to life.
Carol had no idea what to expect from this machine. She certainly had never felt them on her head of hair. She didn?t know if they would tug, or hurt, or tickle, or what. Bob started at the nape of her neck, pushing them up in to her hair. She heard them hit home, and ever so quickly felt a good sized section of hair bounce down her back to the floor. But she hadn?t expected the machine to feel gentle, to almost feel like a kindly masseuse as it removed her tresses. Her dread was quickly turned to surprised curiosity at the sensation of the machine. If anything it felt?.good. How was that possible? It was removing all her beloved hair!
The machine was making short work of the back of her head. She could feel her neck was now totally exposed, and the lightness back there almost made her want to tilt her head forward, so conditioned was she to having the extra weight pulling her head backward.
For some reason this extreme haircut wasn?t bothering her, but when Bob stepped to her right side and started outlining her ear it struck home that she would leave here looking drastically different. Especially since the clippers seemed to run up nearly as high as the straight part in her hair.
Before she even had time to get used to the sensation, Bob was at her left side, quickly running around that ear too. Huge handfuls of hair came flying forward over her shoulder, coming to a rest on her lap. Then the clipper went silent. Bob came over with a strange brush that whisked all the stray hairs off her ears, neck and face. Then he once more combed through the remaining length, which felt significantly shorter now, patting the top in place. The top of her head hadn?t been touched yet. It had to look quite out of place since it was surely all so much longer than what remained.
Bob was quickly back with his clippers, though he seemed to spend some time fidgeting with them first. Then he went over the lower back again. This time he was much slower, and even gentler. She couldn?t feel a lot coming off though could tell he wasn?t leaving much behind either. He spent basically all his time on the hair on the lower half of her head. The top part he seemed satisfied to leave alone. But as he spent more and more time on the lower part, she wondered if she would have anything left. The clipper still felt wonderful, but she was getting alarmed about the outcome now.
As the clipper once more outlined her ears, and she felt a very precise sideburn taking shape, she realized she was death gripping the chair. She was almost grateful she couldn?t watch in a mirror now.
Both ears were attacked ferociously by the machine, and then it went silent again.
Bob returned to his counter, and for a few moments Carol just held still, taking in the new sensations of having so little hair. Her head felt much lighter, and much cooler. Having her ears so exposed was bothering her though. She missed the feel of having them covered. As they were now they felt huge. In many ways she couldn?t believe she was actually going through with this, and since she couldn?t see her reflection it was easy to stay in denial.
Bob returned with his water mister bottle, giving the top of her hair a few more squirts. Then he stepped forward of her, combing her longish bangs, still reaching past her nose, straight down over her face. She watched as he slid a pair of scissor in and chopped them off. All she knew is that they no longer reached her eyes, though they felt far shorter than that. They were then combed over once more across her head and patted in place.
Bob then stepped to her side and, using his comb to lift her hair, started snipping away with his scissors at the top and crown. He would snip a little, then comb it all in place, only to repeat this again and again. On occasion some small clippings would fall forward to her lap. By themselves they weren?t enough to alarm her, but she wondered how much more would come off.
Bob returned to his counter again, returning with a different pair of scissors with funny looking teeth. These dug in to the top hairs again. Carol became alarmed as she saw clippings several inches long falling forward of her face. But what difference would it make to say something now. The damage had most certainly already been done. She heaved a sigh of relief though when she heard the scissors returned to the counter.
That nervousness came back instantly when the clippers roared to life yet again. The barber was attacking the back again, extending it up a little higher, or so it seemed. And it felt like the sides were being taken up even higher too.
The clipper fell silent, and Carol anticipated the moment was at hand for her unveiling. But it wasn?t to be. Not yet at least. Bob returned putting warm shaving cream around her ears, on her neck and her lower hairline. Carol had seen every other customer go through this procedure but hadn?t anticipated actually experiencing it. She held perfectly still, even though she was sure Bob was being much too eager with the razor around her ears. It felt kind of good on her neck though.
A towel took off all excess, and the whisk broom struck again. Then she winced as she felt a very pungent smelling type of product massaged into her hair, mussing up the part that Bob had been so diligent at keeping. The barber quickly reformed the part and combed it all back in place. It felt like some type of thick gel to Carol, though the odor was very much like the odor of this shop itself: very male.
?OK, let?s see if this will do the trick for you,? said the barber, and slowly the chair was turned around.
The reflection Carol saw shocked her for several reasons. 1) Her ears didn?t look as big or gaudy as she imagined them to be. She also had more hair than she expected to see based on the feel of the whole experience. 2) Her hair was so much shorter than she had ever had it before, though it did basically match the picture she had given the barber. The top was probably a bit longer, though the sides, especially around the ears, were a bit shorter than she envisioned. 3) The product Bob had put on her hair not only made it shiny, almost greasy, but also made it lay flat to her head. She kind of looked like a greaser from the ?50s, though it really didn?t look bad. It was also like the picture. 4) Her head and face looked totally different from the change of hairstyle. She looked smaller and younger. In fact, with the right outfit and makeup, she absolutely believed she could come across as a young boy.
?So is this the Businessman?s cut or Little Boy?s Cut?? she asked Bob.
?The Little Boy Cut.?
?What?s the difference??
?The sides and back are tapered instead of blocked, meaning they end up a bit shorter, but the top is left longer. Plus the bangs and top are cut in a way that make the side part really the only way to style this. That?s to make it easier for little boys to comb their hair correctly.? Bob handed Carol a small mirror. ?Let me show you the back.
He turned the chair around so she could see the reflection of the back in the big mirror. The longer length on the top of her head was in sharp contrast to the extremely short taper on the bottom. It was dramatically different then she imagined, but seemed very appropriate.
?What do you think?? he asked.
?I look really different.? She reached up and touched it for the first time, taken aback at the greasy texture and how little of it there now was. ?It?s so short!?
?Yeah, well, it kind of had to be.?
?No, no, I?m not upset, just kind of freaked out that I really did this.? As she said it she touched the short tapered part of the back, actually enjoying the sensation of the extremely short hair. In fact her hand lingered for quite some time.
?Will that be all then.?
?Yes, I suppose so.?
The robe was removed and a huge pile of clippings fell to the floor. As Carol stepped down she couldn?t help but notice how much hair she left behind. It looked like even more than she believed she had to lose. Also, she got to see herself for the first time without the robe around her, but in her T-shirt and jeans. She realized her makeup and shapely figure (hidden by her baggy shirt) were the only things stopping a person from thinking her to be a young boy. After she paid Bob she left the shop, noting a customer entering at the same time did a double take on her, first believing her to be one sex, then recognizing he was wrong. She wondered if he first believed her to be male or female.
Carol drove home constantly touching her hair and checking her look in the rear view mirror at every stoplight. It was just so very different. It was strange not feeling anything over her ears, nor any hair falling across her face, or even her forehead. What she was most surprised about was how much she enjoyed touching the very short tapered sections in back.
When she got home she spent a long time in the bathroom studying her new look, then took a shower to wash out the product from her hair as she wasn?t so keen on the scent. Used to having so much more hair, it was quite a shock to Carol to have so little to wash now. It was nearly dry by just rubbing it with a towel, and at that point she could see how easily the part would be formed, as the hair on one side was several inches longer than the hair on the other. She tried combing her hair in other styles, such as her accustomed center part, but it looked horrendous like that, totally unbalanced. Like it or not, this haircut had only one option: a right side part. She combed it back in place quite easily, noting her hair felt?thinner than before. Then she remembered the funny looking scissors the barber had used. Thinning shears. It all made sense now. However her hair now seemed so lifeless, with so little body, it looked quite a mess when left to its own accord. It was obvious that even though it was short, it still needed some kind of product to hold it in place.
She applied a little gel to her new style, easily recreated the part sweeping the top over to one side, and then spent some more time studying and touching it.
Carol was flooded with questions, comments, and stunned looks the next few days about her radical sacrifice for the production. While not overjoyed with the limited ways this style could be worn, she was getting used to her new reflection now and rather liked how easy it was to wash and care for. She used a fair amount of gel each morning so it would hold all day, even opting for the type that kept a glossy, almost wet, almost greasy look. It was similar to the way the barber had arranged it, though without the masculine odor. It was funny to her how, when dressed up with makeup, this slicked down look came across not only as very feminine but even quite sexy.
The play went off wonderfully, with many of the critics and V.I.P.?s talking to her after the show, including exchanging E-mails and business cards. It was almost frightening how well she pulled off the role, and how believable she looked with her short ?little boy?s cut?. For the record, one of the other actresses? hairpiece came off mid-performance, her long braid spilling down certainly ruining her believability as a male. It was at that point that Carol was very glad she hadn?t gone the wig route.
By the end of the play?s run, she was totally comfortable in her style, even liking the way it forced her to part it on the side. It was so easy to care for.
In the weeks that followed, she found herself going quite heavy on the gel, much preferring the super slick, glossy look. She never realized how much her previously longer hair with her long bangs falling over her face had covered up how pretty her eyes, her cheekbones, and even her ears were. Eventually her hair was starting to get long enough to cover her ears again, and yet she found herself just slicking it back making sure nothing would cover them up.
The back was now long enough to start reaching down her neck, and the thrill of stroking the short taper was well behind her now. Her bangs were now getting long enough to once again poke in her eyes if she didn?t slick them over, but she always did. Still, in a few more weeks her current style would look quite disheveled no matter how much product was applied. She needed to decide soon what she wanted to do with her hair. Of course initially there had been no question that she wanted to grow it out to at least her shoulder length choppy flip, but recently she wasn?t so sure she was ready to give up short hair. She went through her photo albums, critiquing each of her looks. While she looked great in all lengths, she felt she actually pulled off short hair the best. She thought she looked more mature, confident, and even sexier.
Secretly, she also missed the feel of the short taper in back. She seriously considered getting another ?Little Boy?s Cut? if only she weren?t limited to the side part. She looked on web sites at short haircuts, noting all the women?s ones were longer, especially on the sides, then what she was looking for. In fact the men?s sites seemed to offer her more to choose from. She even found herself perusing sites like military schools, noting the female cadets shorn in their induction cuts not looking any less feminine for the experience. She wondered what it would feel like if her entire head was cut short, such as in a crewcut. Would it all feel so delightful to the touch?
Then, while out at a party, she saw a guy walk in with the haircut she wanted. It was fairly short on the sides and back, while the top was several inches longer. Although his was just gelled straight back it seemed to have the possibilities of being parted on the sides, or the center. She might even be able to have some bangs. She struck up a conversation with him, learning his name was Michael, and tried to pay attention to the conversation although her mind was stuck on his hair. It was all she could do not to reach up and stroke it.
All weekend the hairstyle stuck in her mind, and by the next weekend she was more than ready to get one.
She strode purposely back to Bob?s Barber shop, knowing she wouldn?t be able to experience the clippers going to her old salon. She stepped in more confidently this time, noting three others in the shop ahead of her including?Michael. His hair wasn?t slicked back now, instead just standing up rather haphazardly, perhaps looking even a bit shorter on top than she envisioned. She immediately determined it looked far better slicked back, which also probably made it look longer. She sat down next to him exchanging rather uncomfortable hellos. It was odd for her to admit this was now the place that she got her hair cut. There was little time for him to talk as Michael was next up in the chair.
?Hey Mike, haven?t seen you for a while.?
?Yeah, it?s definitely been too long.?
?The usual??
?You know it.?
And with the Carol watched Bob literally attack his hair with the clippers, the sides and back being taken down to almost nothing. The top, which he saved for last, was now revealed for what it was, cut in a level (if grown out) plane. However this was soon taken down extremely short too, though it was still level. Then the upper sides were done to make a harsh transition from top to sides. The result: a very short, very definitive flattop. Carol was fascinated, unknowing that such the cut could grow out so beautifully. Her own cut looked so shaggy in comparison, and would need some major reshaping if she ever wanted to once again grow it out long without having a major ugly phase.
After paying for his cut, Michael said a few parting words to Carol. She was busy studying his flattop up close, still in disbelief that the look she so liked was just a grown out version of this drastically short style.
?Is this the way you always get your hair cut?? she asked, surprised to find her hand reaching up and touching his fresh cut. Her senses were overwhelmed, as the attentive top had been sprayed stiff and almost prickly in place. It was an amazingly pleasant sensation to Carol, so much so her hand probably lingered a bit too long.
?Yeah, for years now. Why, don?t you like it??
For the first time Carol thought about his look now versus how he looked walking in the shop. Quite honestly, though he looked sensational prior to the cut, the way he looked right now was even better. Plus the way it felt?
?It looks terrific.?
Michael waved goodbye to her as he left the shop, and Carol returned her attention to the next customer in the chair. It was a little boy, and this time she got to witness the start-to-finish process of a ?little boy?s cut.? She smiled a bit recalling each step on her own hair. The end result seemed shorter than she remembered, noting the back ended up only a little longer than Michael?s flattop. She reached up and stroked her own hair, which had only the slightest amount of product in it to make things easier for the barber. She didn?t recall him having a sink here to wash hair if she put in too much. She couldn?t believe how much it had grown in the past three months. Of course when it was so short the growth was much more obvious. She swept her bangs sideways over the top, unused to not having a great deal of gel keeping them there for her. They were long enough now to poke into her eyes. That felt so long to her now.
Once the boy was clipped, shaved, and slicked he was on his way, and then the last customer before Carol stepped to the chair, and old balding man with only a rim of hair. It wouldn?t be long before Carol would have her turn. She was grateful that once again no other customers had come in to watch.
As she expected, it took only about 5 minutes to finish the elderly gentleman, and then Bob beckoned her to the chair.
?Hi, remember me??
?Sure, you were here for a play or something right? The little boy??
She was amazed he had such a good memory. ?Yes, that?s right.?
?So how did the play come out??
?Great, in fact I got a full scholarship to college because of it.?
?Congratulations!? He put the cape around her, along with the almost too tight neck tissue.
?I really hadn?t figured I?d see you again.?
?Neither did I, but the strange thing is I like having short hair.?
?It sure is easier than long hair.?
?Absolutely, but more than that I like the way it makes me look.?
?So what?ll it be? Another ?little boy cut???
Why was she hesitating? Because she was actually considering something else altogether. But she wasn?t ready to go there.
?Yes, I think I will have another.?
?Just like last time??
?Please.?
And so Carol sat there as once again the clippers ran up the back of her head and around her ears. Clippings much longer than she expected to see fell down her lap, yet she relished the whole sensation, especially as she felt him working on blending the longish top to the tapered sides and back. It all seemed to happen so fast now, especially since this was something she was enjoying rather than dreading. The shaving cream was soon applied and removed, as was the masculine smelling hair tonic. She felt it all being combed quite harshly into place. The one thing she didn?t experience this time was the thinning shears. She figured her hair hadn?t grown out enough from last time to necessitate the process.
And then she was spun to the mirror, once again to gaze on herself in the short, masculine hairstyle. It was not such a shock this time, looking very much as she remembered. But something looked different too. She had watched that little boy earlier get this same cut, but somehow his seemed different.
?Why does mine look different from that boy who was just in here??
?Oh, you mean little Toby? He likes his cut shorter than I would usually do.?
Carol was shown the back again, and reached up and touched it, treasuring the feel of the short tapered section. Yet it looked quite long compared to Toby?s.
?Could you cut mine like his was??
Bob had a hard time hiding his surprise at the request.
?Sure, if you want.?
Carol couldn?t believe she had actually said that, but she had and strangely didn?t regret it. Heck, it was only hair. It would grow back.
?Then let?s try it.?
She handed him back the small mirror and then felt the robe fastened once again. Then the clippers came to life and she felt them attacking the back, this time taking it up a good deal higher. The sides were also brought up a bit higher and shorter. Small little clippings less than half an inch long fell down the cape. The top had little taken off, just enough to blend into the now shorter sides and back. The chair was wheeled around to reveal a clearly shorter version of the cut. She touched it, loving the result, especially in the back which was short almost clear to the top.
She grinned. ?I love it.?
She was quickly robed and out the door. On the drive home one hand never left the top of her head: constantly exploring her new short style. It especially liked the short back and sides.
All the rest of the day she found herself constantly checking her look, constantly feeling it, amazed she didn?t dislike it at all. She even thought she looked better with this shorter style. In fact, much better.
Her love affair with her short hair continued all throughout the week. Each day she in fact woke a bit disappointed to find her locks had grown that tiny fraction of an inch taking away from her enjoyment of the feel of short hair. After two weeks she was itching to be back in the barber chair once more, and found herself noticing every barber shop she drove or strolled past, even trying to get a look inside.
It became an obsession, occupying much of her free thought each day. Not only did she think about getting her own ?little boy?s cut? again, most certainly the shorter version, but she even pondered other styles shorter still. She recalled the surge of energy she got when touching Michael?s freshly cut flattop.
Suddenly she started noticing every time she saw a man with a flattop, and then they seemed to be everywhere. She sought them out on the web, spending hours enjoying pictures of fresh cuts, before and after pictures, etc? When she found a sight showing photos of women with the same haircut (though some were admittedly left quite long and looked to be done in a salon) she was ready to go experience it herself. At least most of her was, though some was fearful.
Two weeks later she could stand it no longer, she needed at least another haircut to keep her current style the way she liked it. She was back in Bob?s barber shop again, deliberately picking the busiest time of the week so she would get to watch many others get theirs cut too.
Much to her enjoyment, the man just before her was having his slightly grown out flattop (not nearly as grown out as Michael?s had been) redone, and she got to see the process once more from start to finish. As with Michael, Bob sprayed the finish style so it ended up stiff and at attention, and Carol was aching to rub her hand over the top though she couldn?t since he was a complete stranger. And then it was her turn.
?Hello again Carol,? said Bob. She was impressed with his memory for names.
?Hello,? she said as she gave herself a quick glance in the mirror prior to twirling around and having a seat in the big barber chair. Her hair looked so long to her now, and she couldn?t wait to feel the nice short back and sides again.
The robe was placed and secured with the tight neck tissue.
?The usual?? he asked. It seemed so odd that he should be putting it that way, but since this was her third trip to the shop he was perfectly right in saying it.
?Is there an even shorter version of a ?little boy?s cut??? she found herself asking.
Bob grinned. ?Not really.?
Carol didn?t miss a beat. ?In that case give me a flattop like that last man.?
Bob stopped in his tracks. ?You?re kidding, right??
?No, I?m quite serious.?
?You realize how short that?s going to end up??
?Yes, and I?m actually looking quite forward to it.?
?I can cut a long version for you, so if you don?t like it you?ll be able to have some options in a few weeks.?
?Thanks, but I want it exactly like his.?
?The top of his had a landing strip?. That means a section cut clean down to the skin.?
?I noticed. I want that too.?
?Well, OK if you say so. First time I?m ever given this haircut to a woman.?
Carol strangely wasn?t nervous at all as the clippers came to life, and she even grinned a bit as she felt them pushed up the back of her neck, mowing through what little length she had back there. Bob was being very deliberate, retracing his path often with even a little pressure against her skin. It was almost like a massage, relaxing her.
?For the record, how much shorter will it end up back there??
?Quite a bit. Your ?Little Boy?s Cut? was done with a number 4 attachment. This cut uses a #1.?
?How much different is that??
?Let me put it this way. A zero attachment means I?d be taking everything off.?
Carol swallowed hard as the clipper ran a bit farther up the back of her head than she expected, realizing what she was getting into. But since it felt so good it really didn?t bother her at all.
Bob attacked the sides next. Carol saw clippings much longer than she thought possible raining down the robe to her lap. Plus the clippers ran up a bit higher that she was used too. Again he constantly retraced his path, pressing quite firmly against her skin with the machine. Then it was silenced as he returned to the counter.
Her top hair was misted with water, and then a blow dryer came to life and her top hair was brushed every which way quite harshly. Whatever kind of brush Bob was using was really grabbing it so that it was being forced straight and vertical. It was actually quite a fun sensation. All too quickly the procedure was done. Then Bob was back with clippers and comb. He positioned her head with care.
?Try not to move,? he said as the clippers came to life.
Carol held perfectly still, quite eager to experience the next few moments, when her crown hair would be transformed into a flat surface. She had imagined this, dreamed this, so many times in the past weeks she wondered if it would live up to her expectations.
He started in the back with a quick run over the comb, the clippings flying forward onto her robe. They looked several inches long. She didn?t know she had that much hair up there. The thing was she didn?t feel the comb against her scalp, or feel like she was getting the cut she had asked for. It was almost disappointing. He brought the comb forward for another pass, again with a sizeable amount falling across her face. It was happening, but she couldn?t tell. She almost wished she could at least see it in a mirror. Three more passes and he had worked clear to the front. It did feel shorter up there, but not like she expected.
He quickly combed through what was left, fluffing it up or something. Then he started at the back again, repeating the whole procedure. She still couldn?t feel it against her skin, but could sense it getting shorter. The clippings were only a half inch long this time. Once this pass was done he ran a whisk broom over it, getting all the stray clippings off the top and her face.
?Are you done up there??
?Not hardly if you want it as short as you said. Have you changed your mind??
She grinned with confidence. ?No, I was just wondering. It felt too long still.?
?Well, it won?t feel that way for long.? With that she felt the comb lying tight to the back of her crown, and the clipper run over it. More clippings rained down. A rush of adrenalin ran through her body. Now it felt like what she expected. Maybe even better. As the comb crept forward her enjoyment increased. He went over it several times, stepped away for a good look, and then attacked it some more. Then he started blending in the sides to the top. He worked quite quickly as more and more kept coming off. Carol was enjoying every second.
A few minutes later Bob turned off the clippers and stepped in front of her, giving his work a long hard look. Then he repositioned her head purposefully once again, and turned on the clippers again.
?Hold very still,? he said, and Carol found herself holding her breath. She felt the clipper very delicately working on the top, only this time there was no comb. He was doing this freehand. Toward the back of her crown, she felt the machine touch down against her skin ever so gently. She saw no clippings fall and could barely hear anything happening, but she could feel it this time. She was getting that ?landing strip?.
Bob again redid the blend from the top to the sides. Then he put away his clippers and whisked her down once more. The shaving cream along the sides and back was applied and professionally removed with a razor.
Next he applied his favorite gel to her hair, and with a blow dryer in only moments had it all perfectly at attention, very stiff, almost prickly to the touch, and a layer of spray made sure it would stay that way for quite some time.
?Let?s see if this works for you.? The chair was turned to the mirror.
Every expectation Carol had of what she would look like in such a cut was instantly fulfilled and surpassed. Besides the initial shock that she had almost no hair left anywhere, she absolutely adored her new reflection. In spite of the fact she had very little hair left, it was most definitely a flattop as her head now looked absolutely level. She was a bit nervous when she first saw her landing strip, as for the first time ever she had absolutely no hair on a portion of her head. But once she touched the top she was in love. It was rigid and the spray may it feel quite stiff. The back and sides, now little but stubble, felt amazing. She was hooked. She couldn?t imagine ever having long hair again.

The Case of the Missing Bald Wife

I was late again for my usual 9.00am Wednesday meeting with my editor. The reason was always the same: after my early morning swim, it took ages for my hair to dry and style. I knew this was a childish reason. It would have been better for me, especially in my line of work, to get a shorter, more practical haircut, but I had never had any urge to do it. I was rather pleased with the thick chestnut locks that reached down to my mid-back. It was the kind of vanity and weakness that in other people I usually held a mild contempt. But, hey, I'm a journalist, so I'm allowed a little hypocrisy and self-righteousness: newspapers can't operate without them.
 My editor is Henry Decker, a foul-mouthed 35 year veteran of this business. As usual, he greeted me with a curt: "you're fucking late again", but his bark is worse than his bite. I have known him since I joined this newspaper fresh from university 5 years ago and he is really a softie at heart. He moved straight on to business: "I want you to look into something for me. There may be a story in it, or maybe not; you know how it goes!"
"Okay, what is it?", I asked.
"I feel bloody embarrassed about asking you to do this", he lied, being as hypocritical and self-righteous as the rest of us. "Do you know Franklin Dodd?"
"The fridge magnate?", I replied. Henry made a sour face at that. "I've only read about him. He's the city’s biggest seller of electrical white goods. He’s never out of the society pages of this paper. His trophy wife is on the Museum’s board and is always running dinners for one charity or another?"
"Actually, it's his fucking wife that this is all about. She’s not quite the dumb-blonde that you think she is or, at least, I never got that impression whenever I’ve spoken to her; although, I don’t know now. It seems that she's up and left him and gone and joined some freaky cult or something, or so he says. He's my bloody wife's cousin and he’s been crying on her shoulder about it all. In turn, she has been bending my fucking ear to do something to help the moron. I can’t stand him by the way; he’s an ignorant creep. I doesn’t surprise me that she’s left him. If I was married to him I would be tempted to leave him too; even join a cult, if necessary."
“So, what’s this got to do with me?", I asked. “I’m an investigative journalist, not a gossip-columnist?".
“Well my bloody harridan of a wife is pestering me to do something about it and, I must admit, this cult angle might be interesting. Dodd is really trying to find information to discredit his wife in any future divorce proceedings, the little shit. He’s looking to keep his fortune out of her hands and this cult business might help him. If he can show that she’s gone doo-lally, then that will help his shysters. I’m not interested in that side of it, but I hate these fucking brain-washing cults and if one is operating in this city then that’s our business. I want it exposed."
“Okay", I replied, “I’m interested too. What leads do you have? Where do I start?"
“Good girl!. Well, his wife, her name is Anne, by the way, left him six nights ago. She had been out that day somewhere, he knows not where, and when she returned she was bald."
“BALD?"
“Yeah, when he left her that morning to go to his office she had a full head of hair. The next time he sees her, she’s as bald as a hard-boiled egg. She had it shaved off, she told him. She also apparently said, “I’m free of hair now and soon I’ll be free of you", and then she walked out. He was so stunned, he says, that he couldn’t move for ages. By the time he did she was long gone. He hasn’t seen her since and doesn’t know where she went. He’s asked all her friends, but no one knows anything or, at least, if anyone does they’re not telling."
“Then how do I pick up the trail? There must be something I can go on".
“There is this", Henry replied and handed me a business card. “Dodd says Anne dropped it as she left the house."
The card was printed on both sides. One side showed a line drawing of a woman’s head in profile. It was in an art-deco style and the only remarkable thing about it was that the woman’s head was bald. Underneath the drawing was the following sentence: Calva que Pulcher. The other side had more writing: an address, but nothing else. The address was 15 Whitetop Road in the University part of town; a leafy area given over to student housing, second-hand clothes shops and bars and cafes.
Henry added: “There is no hard evidence that Anne has joined a cult. That’s Dodd’s wishful thinking, perhaps. He saw her shaven head and immediately started thinking of the bloody Hari Krishnas, I bet. However, the University district would be a good place for a cult to lodge themselves, for obvious reasons. Also, The text on the card, Calva que Pulcher, is Latin for “bald and beautiful". The type of mumbo-jumbo that cults spout always sounds better in Latin. Helps to confuse the victims – they think they are getting some ancient wisdom for their money. So, by adding two and two together to make seven, we might have a cult on our hands. Or, maybe she’s having a mid-life crisis or just got sick of the creep and left him for someone else. Who knows, but I want you to find out".

I went first to the newspaper’s archive and dug up all the information that we had collected on Anne Dodd, née Harris. She was 31 years of age now. She married Dodds 10 years ago, not long after obtaining a first class honours degree in Art History from the local university. Her expert knowledge and his money had helped her get on to the board of the city’s Museum and they had long been big fish in the city’s high society pond. She was also quite beautiful. The many photographs showed a slim, fit-looking and confident woman. I took notice of her hair: it was thick and dark blonde and varied in length at different times between waist length and shoulder length. In the most recent photo, dated two weeks ago, her hair was piled on top of her head in a very elaborate style. I took that photo so that I could show it around when making my enquiries.
I next drove down to Whitetop Road. It was now 11.00am. It was a fairly quiet street and I was lucky to find a parking spot about 10 metres down from Number 15 and on the opposite side of the road from that address. I could see the sign above the large front window, which said “What’s the Buzz?", and then the red and white pole which revealed the premises to be a barber’s shop. I googled the business’ name using my phone and discovered that the owner/manager was a lady called Calpurnia Jones.
I decided to have a walk past the shop to see the lay of the land, so to speak. I quickly glanced in as I passed the window. I saw a small but bright well-lit room. I saw that the barber was a woman, probably Miss Jones, and that her one customer was a woman too. I did not stop to watch but quickly moved on, so I did not see any detail of what was happening. I returned to my car from where I could spy on the shop through the car’s dark tinted windows.
After 10 minutes the lady customer left the shop and crossed the road near my car. I saw that she was fairly young and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, which indicated that she was probably a student at the university. I noted that her black hair was extemely short in a mannish flattop style. Indeed, the sides and back of her head looked almost white; the contast with the longer hair on the top of her head making the difference look very stark. However, there was nothing else mannish about her. She was very pretty and looked very assured, feminine and at ease with herself.
The next two-hours passed without much to report. Five short-haired men entered the shop, one after the other, and exited in the same order some time later with much shorter hair and, in one case, with no hair. So, obviously, this was a place where one could get a complete head shave. However, my problem was that I saw nothing suspicious at all.  There were no signs of “cultish" activity, such as polite bald-headed weirdos loitering around and bothering passersby. It looked like a barber shop and acted like a barber shop and that, probably, is all that it was and nothing else.
I broke off my vigil to get some lunch. I walked further up the street to a bar that served food. Bar staff are usually willing to provide information and I hoped to find something useful there, as well as food. I did – my waitress, Alex, was a bald woman in her 30’s. I was surprised by her appearance at first and I must have stared at her head for longer than was polite. She became self-conscious and passed her hand uncertainly over her scalp. She asked me again about my order. I apologised for my poor manners and I ordered a caesar salad and lemonade. When she returned I complimented her on her appearance, for she was quite attractive. She smiled warily.
“Do you like it. I got it done yesterday. I’m not sure I like it. It’ll take a lot of getting used to."
“It looks very nice, really. How long was your hair before you cut it and why did you do it, if you don’t mind me asking?"
“This time last year it was as long as yours is now. However, I started getting it cut a little shorter on each monthly visit to the local barber shop. My last visit was yesterday. Before that I had what’s called a No.4 buzzcut, about a half inch long. Why did I do it? I’m not totally sure. I initially felt that I just didn’t want very long hair again. But I could never decide on how short I wanted to go. I certainly like it very short and I think I will grow it out now to a more respectable length, perhaps 3 or 4 inches long. Ironically, my husband, who initially didn’t want me to cut it at all, loves it like this. I’ll never understand him."
“Where did you say you got it done?, I asked.
“Oh, in Calpurnia’s place, the barber shop across the road. Cal is a regular customer here. She has been very supportive. She loves cutting hair, the shorter the better, but she never tried to force me to make one choice or another. A lot of women and girls go to her for short haircuts. Often they are emotionally distressed; you know, after breaking up with boyfriends and such. She has a bit of a reputation as an Agony Aunt and quite often she sends them away without a drastic cut if she thinks they don’t really want that. She’s a lovely person. Are you thinking of getting a short haircut yourself?"
The question made me pause for some unaccountable reason. I hesitantly answered: “Er...no", and I changed the subject by showing her Anne’s photo. “You wouldn’t have happened to have seen this woman by any chance", I asked. “No, sorry. She’s very pretty". I believed her.
I went back to the car. This was turning out to be a different kettle-of-fish, it seemed. Alex’s story tended to confirm that there was no actual cult angle to this story, but I still need to eliminate that possibility. What was all that “Calva que Pulcher" business about? Calpurnia Jones, I thought. Isn’t Calpurnia a Roman name? And, where the hell was Anne Dodd?
The afternoon passed almost like the morning and only one visitor to the barber shop made me sit up and pay attention. It was around 4.00pm that I noticed her first. She was walking slowly down the street towards in my direction but on the opposite side of the road. A few metres before she reached the barber shop entrance she upped her pace and crossed the road. She slowed her pace again while she passed opposite the shop and she looked at it attentively all the while. As she passed my car I got a closer look at her. She was a pretty lady in her mid-20’s of slim build. Her light blonde hair was in a ponytail that reached to the top of her shoulders. She looked highly-strung for she gave a little startled jump when a car horn sounded further along the road.
I saw her the second time about 10 minutes later. This time she was walking up the street in the opposite direction to her last journey. She stayed on the same side as the barber shop this time and she looked through the window the whole time it took her to pass it by. She then stopped about 10 metres beyond the shop where there was a bus stop. She let two buses stop without getting on. All the while she watched the shop. After 15 minutes. a freshly shorn man left the shop with a smile on his face. Obviously another happy customer. The young woman then moved slowly towards the shop’s entrance. She paused at the door and took a deep breathe before entering.

Thirty minutes later she left, and she was completely bald now! However, this time she was smiling and appeared to be feeling a good deal more comfortable than before. She crossed the road in my direction. I took some photos of her. I’m not sure why I did that, but I was intrigued by this turn of events. I had never seen a bald woman in real life before but here today I had seen two in person. Self-consciously and with some unease, I touched the bottom of my hair.
At 5.30pm, the last person left the shop and closed up. This was Capurnia Jones, I assumed. She was a tall Amazonian-type of woman in her 40’s, with a kind face but she was not especially good-looking. Her head was completely hairless too. I took some photos of her, “for the record". She got into her car and drove off. I followed her to a residential street a couple of miles away. She went inside a modest but clean and well-maintained apartment building. I sat in the car and watched the building but she did not leave it again. I saw no Hare Krishna’s nor other bald “space-cadets" in the neighbourhood, so at 11.00pm I left for home too. I lived alone, married to my work.
Before going to bed I fired up my PC and uploaded the photos I took that day. I found myself staring at them intently, especially at the smiling features of the younger woman, Caplurnia’s last customer, after she came out of the shop newly shorn. She seemed so happy. I self-consiously touched my own hair again and again.
I stood close to the full-lengh mirror in my bedroon and considered my appearance. My hair fell to just below my breasts. I had never had it shorter than shoulder length in all my adult life. I wondered...

I woke early, or rather I didn’t really sleep, and made my way over to Whitetop Road by 8.30am. I found a parking spot on the opposite side of the road again but slightly closer to the barber shop. Capurnia Jones arrived around 9.00am and opened the shop for business at 9.30am. I had formed a plan for today. I would watch the activity around the shop until lunchtime and then, if nothing happened, I would simply go in and speak to Capurnia to see if she knew anything about Anne Dodd.
Something happened at 10.00am! Anne Dodd happened at 10.00am!
She was walking quite calmly towards my car on my side of the road. It was obviously her. She was dressed in a bright summer dress which showed her figure off to good effect, but what really set her apart was her almost bald head. It had been seven days since she first shaved it and now a layer of short dark stubble had grown back. She looked stunningly beautiful and happy. When she was a few metres away from my position she crossed over the road and without hesitation went into Calpurnia’s barber shop.
I phoned Henry and told him. He asked me what I intended to do. I said that I would follow her after she left the shop. I asked him not to inform Franklin Dodd yet.
Thirty minutes later Anne and Calpurnia emerged from the shop. Anne was completely bald again; her white scalp gleaming in the morning sun. She gave Capurnia a light kiss on the cheek and was off, walking in the direction she initially came from. I watched for a few seconds and then followed on foot.
She did not go far. She entered a small cafe further down the street and sat at an open air table. A waiter brought her a cup of coffee and she settled to read a newspaper (my newspaper, in fact).
I decided to end this. I wanted to find out what had happended to her and taking the bull by the horns was the best approach.
“Mrs. Dodd? Hi, I’m Sarah Wellington from the Mail. May I speak to you? Some people in our newsroom are asking questions about your whereabouts."
She looked up at me, startled at first, but then she smiled resignedly. “I suppose this was going to have to come out sooner or later. Now’s as good a time as any. Please sit down Sarah and call me Anne. Would you like some coffee?"
And it was as simple as that. She told me the whole story. There was no cult. She had simply grown tired of her philandering, boorish husband and had walked out on him. She was temporarily staying nearby in the apartment of an old university room mate who now worked as a lecturer in Art History at the university. Her friend was away at the moment in Europe, so Anne had the place to herself and that was helping her to find some space to collect her wits.
“Why did you shave your head? I’m sorry to be blunt, but I have to ask."
She smiled and replied: “It is just one simple step that I am taking to help me get control over my life again. Franklin tried to manage too many aspects of my life and appearance. His own entry to the social world we moved in depended on my contacts. I lent him respectability and he wanted to keep that under his tight control, so that I could never embarrass him, for example; although, God knows he needs no help from me there."
“It also reminded me of the time when I was last fully in control of my life. That was before I married him, when I was at unversity. In those days I shaved my head soon after I arrived here. I kept it bald on-and-off for a couple of years because I quite liked it that way. I’ll keep it this way for a few weeks, I think; it really makes me feel free and I love rubbing my hand over it. It takes me back to a happier time."
“What does “Calva que Pulcher" mean? Your husband thinks you joined a cult?"
She laughed. “Oh, “bald and beautiful": that’s just an old in-joke between me and Calpurnia, the lady who shaved my head. She owns a barber shop just up the street there, but I suspect you already know that. She’s owned the shop for many years and it was she who used to shave me when I was at university. I studied some Latin in those days and I had those business cards made up as a present for her one year. She still has some around and she gave me one when I visited her last week. We had a good laugh about it."
“One final question: would you mind if I touched you scalp?", I asked. Anne laughed and lent forward. I reached out slowly and touched the hairless skin with the tips of my fingers. I shivered and my stomach lurched. Anne laughed again and said: “Maybe you should have a word with Capurnia".
And so, that is why Anne Dodd left her husband. There was no great mystery after all. No great scoop for an intrepid investigative reporter. The story went to the gossip-columnists after all. Anne immediately reverted back to using her birth name of Harris and moved back into “society" and her charitable works, but without Franklin whom she divorced. She didn’t need him for anything.

After speaking to Anne, I headed back to the car and phoned my findings through to Henry. He laughed and apologised for wasting my time. It was Thursday, so he told me that he did not want to see me in the office until Monday.
I sat in the car for a while and pondered. Eventually I crossed the street and entered Calpurnia’s shop when I knew that she had no other customers.
“Hello love, have a seat", she said, pointing at the red chair in front of the large mirror. I took a deep breath and sat down. “What do you have in mind?", she asked.
“I...I...I’m not sure" and then a flood of information burst out of me: about how I had come to be there, about Anne and how I felt when I remembered her appearance and that of Alex and the other women who had visited the shop.
Calpurnia laughed loudly: “Oh dear, you aren’t half confused about this. So, you are considering whether to shave your head. It’s a tough decision; I’ve seen women in this situation time-and-time again and sometimes they don’t always make the right choice. In your case, I think it would be best if we do not do it today. You should not rush into this."
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s compromise and do a little test. I’ll cut your hair shorter, let’s say 4 or 5 inches so that it reaches down to the top of your shoulders. I will also give you a fringe. That may help you to decide whether you feel comfortable cutting your hair and wearing it shorter in public. It will allow others to get used to it too. You might decide later that you would prefer to take it shorter incrementally as Alex did, or the moment might pass and you might decide that you would rather not go shorter at all."
“Also, and this is the special part of the test, I will undershave the back of your head in the occiptal area. It will be completely hidden from the view of other people, but you’ll know its there. You’ll be able to rub it and that might help you decide finally if you are ready for the whole lot to come off. How about it?"
So, that is what we did. The best part was the undershaving. She used clippers and then lathered the quite large denuded area and shaved it clean with a safety razor. It was like a roller-coaster ride. My stomach was in my mouth the whole time and for hours afterward.
At home that night, I could not concentrate of anything. Neither TV nor books could hold my attention. My hands kept reaching for the shaved area under my hair.
What pushed me over the edge was the wine!

I stood before the mirror as I had done the night before, although this time I was just a little drunk on alcohol and pent-up nervous energy. I thought initially that the new cut was not short enough. It reached the top of my shoulders, which was quite the shortest it had been for many years. But, I was ready to cut another inch or two off it.
I used the sharp scissors that I kept in the kitchen. I cut each side first, an inch to begin with and when that did not satisfy me another inch. I looked intently at what I had done and it gave me more courage. I cut both sides again up to the base of my ears. I quite liked how I looked now.
The problem came with the back. It was difficult reaching round to cut a line that was level with the sides. Also, I hardly had a steady hand by now. The result was a mess, to say the least. The line of hair was jagged and, worse, went too high in some places with the result that the bald patch under the occipital area was clearly visible in places now.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit", I mumbled. There was only one solution: I opened another bottle of wine. I decided not to do anymore cutting, but instead to return to Calpurnia tomorrow to see if she could repair the damage in some way.
But before eventually going to bed, I had another look at the damage. By this time the second bottle was working its effects. I picked up the scissors again and tried to even the line. That, of course, only made it shorter and more jagged, with nearly all of the bald area exposed now.
I stood for several long minutes drunkenly contemplating my appearance in the mirror. All the while I rubbed the bald area with my fingers. Finally the dam broke and I started cutting all of the remaining hair away.
I kept some bic razors and shaving cream in the bathroom for my legs. I went there next and spread a layer of cream over my head. I looked at myself in the mirror; and sometimes at a booze blurred face. Taking a deep breath, I brought the razor to my head and started scraping.
 I forgot to tell you one last thing about Anne. One year has passed since I solved the “The Case of the Missing Bald Wife" but she has kept the bald look; still regularly visiting Calpurnia. The gossip-columns were excited about her appearance for a while but, you know, last week’s news is history and the Press moves on.
I must end now. I’m off for my regular Friday appointment with Calpurnia. I’m never late for appointments now.