Some may find this story hard to believe. I mean, I lived it and I still have trouble believing it sometimes. Maybe, someday, I'll do a Ricki or an Oprah and tell the world about my experience. Or not...I'm having too damn much fun to spoil it now.
So why am I telling you about it? Good question. I guess that I want to keep all of the facts straight. And who knows, maybe the Enquirer will want to buy it from me. Now, where do I begin? I guess that names and descriptions are a good place to start. My name is Suzi Blake. The events in this story began when I was twenty-three. I was working as a secretary at McGill, VanDyke, Kingmann, Sloan and Howell, a fairly large law firm in the Los Angeles area, wasting my years of education (I had just gotten my M.B.A. from UCLA) in a job that was far, far beneath me, trying to earn enough just to get by. I am what most men would call beautiful (I'm not bragging here; I've had my share of men, and most of them referred to me this way....usually just before saying "So, wanna fuck?" As you might suspect, such behavior does not rank too highly on my list!). I have just enough tan to look healthy, my hair is honey-blond (with a few man-made highlights; hey, I said I was beautiful, not perfect!) and comes down to just below the bottom of my shoulder blades, I stand 5'7", measure 37"- 23"-35", and weigh a trim 112 pounds. My friends all tell me that I remind them of Crystal Bernard, the actress on "Wings." Since I think she's cute, I don't mind the comparison. I'd taken the job with MVKSH just after I graduated. I had bills to pay: school wanted to be reimbursed for my tuition, the utility companies all wanted their share of my paycheck, as did the auto loan place, insurance company, apartment landlord....need I go on? I'd never intended to stay more than a few months; I figured that I'd be able to find a better job in a financial area, but, after a year, nothing had opened up. So there I sat, answering the phone, typing letters, taking the occasional dictation. Very boring, very beneath me, and very low-pay. I believe that it was a warm afternoon in late May when my life took a huge 180. I was sitting, as usual, typing away at a letter that Mr. Kingmann had written (by the way, I realize that it is not my place to say this, but I really think that lawyers should be required to know how to spell before they receive their law degree. I was not hired to be an editor!). There were two clients sitting in the waiting area; a gentleman whose name escapes me at the moment (sorry about that!), about forty-five, short, fat, and balding, and a stunning woman by the name of Carlotta Chapel. She looked to be about twenty-eight, around 5'11", wearing a tight, clingy dress that easily cost what I was making in a month, with a mound of the darkest, waviest hair I had ever seen artfully arranged in a cascade that came about two inches below her shoulders. She looked a lot like Gina Gershon, the actress, but just a bit taller. RING! The phones at MVKSH were set to maximum loudness, probably so that old man McGill could hear them. Every time they rang, I jumped. "Hello," I said, in my M.B.A.-trained voice, "McGill, VanDyke, Kingmann, Sloan and Howell. This is Suzi. How may I help you?" "Suzi?" a voice rasped on the other end of the phone. "Suzi Blake?" I immediately pictured a Mafia "enforcer," about thirty-five or so, impeccably dressed, who'd taken one too many punches in the throat in his earlier days. "Speaking," I tentatively replied. "How may I help you?" "This is Mario at Tartaglia's Auto Loans. I'm callin' about your delinquent auto loan." Oh shit! I hate having bill collectors call me, especially at work, even more especially when there are clients in the waiting area. "Mario," I said, "listen. I'll be sending in a payment soon. I know that I missed last month's payment, but I really needed to buy some food and...." "Suzi," Mario interrupted, "don't give me any bullshit. We don't care why you were late, just that you were." My hands began to shake. I pictured a knock at my apartment door late tonight, and two men dressed in dark pin-stripe suits coming in and breaking my kneecaps! I know, I've got too vivid an imagination for my own good. I reached for my purse and grabbed my checkbook and my cigarettes. I lit my cigarette with trembling fingers, then quickly opened my checkbook. One glance at my balance -- $13.45 -- told me that there was no way I could pay Mario before my next paycheck. "Now," Mario continued, oblivious to my actions, "when should we expect our payment?" "Well, gee, I guess in about ten days. You see, I don't get paid until...." Mario cut me off again, the rude bastard! "Ten days is....unacceptable. We'll give you forty-eight hours...." "Forty-eight hours!" I cried. "There's no way that I can." "....to get us our money," Mario continued, not missing a beat, "or we'll have to come over and take your car back." "Please, isn't there something we can work out, some way that...." Damnit, he'd hung up. I took a deep drag on my cigarette. Thank God that MVKSH didn't mind it if their employees smoked at their desks. I really needed this cigarette right now. I know, they're bad for my health, but what isn't anymore. Lots of things I do could be bad for my health, like being late on my auto loan! "How am I going to come up with $627.50 in two days?" I thought to myself. "Maybe...." "Excuse me." I looked up, right into Carlotta Chapel's eyes. Her makeup was perfectly applied, probably by a professional. She had two large diamond stud earrings in each ear, easily a carat apiece. She was even more beautiful close-up than she was from a distance. "Uh, yes ma'am, may I help you?" "I'm sorry," she smiled, "but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Please call me Carlotta. Money's tight?" I just smiled sadly and nodded my head slowly up and down, taking another drag on my cigarette. "You could save some money if you quit smoking," Carlotta said, still smiling. "I know, and I tried a few months ago, but I gained weight, and I decided that it was cheaper to keep on smoking that it was to buy an entire new wardrobe." "Believe me, I understand," Carlotta said, smiling wider. "That's one of the reasons that I still smoke myself." "I apologize," I said, blushing, "I should have taken that call somewhere else." "Think nothing of it," she said, her smile still on her face. "And don't be embarrassed. We've all been there." Carlotta paused, then leaned closer to me. "Suzi," she whispered, "could I talk to you for a minute? In private?" Well sir, this was getting weird. "What is this," I thought to myself, "some lesbian come-on?" I hesitated, but then I looked Carlotta straight in the eyes. I saw something there, some glimmer that told me to trust her. "Sure," I said. "Follow me." I lead Carlotta into Mr. Sloan's office and closed the door. Carlotta sat down, crossing her long, lovely legs. As I sat, she opened her purse, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. "You have very lovely hair," Carlotta said. "Thank you," I replied, thinking that this small talk was probably unnecessary. "You wanted to talk?" I said. "Yes," she replied. She smiled warmly. "How would you like to make a very quick $500?" Oh my God! I was right, this was going to be some kind of lesbian come-on! I felt very apprehensive and almost stood up. "Oh, I'm sorry," Carlotta said, "that probably sounded pretty strange." I guess that I must have looked as apprehensive as I felt. "Let me tell you what you'd have to do for the money. It's all on the up-and-up, I can assure you." I started to relax a little. "Go on," I said slowly. "To earn the money, all that you have to do is have your hair cut, exactly to my specifications." I paused. Things were getting weird again. "How do you want me to cut it?" "I'll tell you that later, after you agree. There are a couple of more rules, if you are still interested." "What the hell," I said, grinding out my cigarette. "What else is there?" "Once you agree," Carlotta continued, "I'll tell you what kind of haircut to get. If you refuse to cut it exactly to my specifications, then I get to have your entire body shaved completely hairless and you owe me $500." "What?" I shrieked. "Are you nuts?" "No, I'm not nuts," she said, smiling again. "In addition, if you allow your hair to be cut exactly to my specifications, then you get to tell me how to have my hair cut. If I refuse, the same rule applies -- I'd have to have my entire body shaved completely hairless -- but I'd owe you an additional $5,000. I've got it here, in cash, right now." With that, she opened her purse and pulled out a wad of bills. I blinked. I gulped. I damn near fell out of my chair! I could picture having $5,500, all for a haircut. I figured that the money would be mine. After all, I knew that I could come up with a haircut that Carlotta would refuse to get. But what about me? Hell, I was desperate! There wasn't a haircut known to man or woman that I'd be afraid of for $5,500. Except, maybe, for bald. I wonder if Carlotta really understood the dilemma she was placing me into with her offer. I needed the money and she knew it. But I needed my hair, too. It took me years to get it this length, and the last thing that I wanted to do was cut it. "But you need the money," my checkbook cried. "But you need your hair," my hair cried back. "But you need the money," my checkbook cried louder. "But you really need your hair," my hair cried, practically in tears. This puzzle whirred around inside my head for what seemed like hours, though it was only for a few moments. In the end, my hair won. "Carlotta," my hair said through me, "it's a tempting offer, but I'm going to have to say 'no.'" Then, before I knew it, my checkbook chimed in, saying "...now, if you'd offered me $1,000 instead of $500...." "Done!" she cried. "You have your hair cut exactly the way I specify and I'll give you $1,000." To dramatize this, she counted out ten $100 bills from her wad, placing them on the table. "And if I don't have my hair cut exactly to your specifications, then I'll give you another $10,000." Before my hair had a chance to get back into the conversation, I heard my checkbook say "It's a deal!" "Great!" Carlotta exclaimed. "Here, sign this." She pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me along with a pen. "What is this?" I asked. "A contract. It outlines our agreement in detail." I signed the thing. Every strand of hair on my head was screaming at me, "Suzi, you stupid idiot, don't sign that thing!" But my checkbook beat my hair to the punch, and I wrote my name across the contract with a flourish. It was only after I'd signed the contract that my hair's protestations came through. What did I just sign? I didn't even read it. Quickly, I read through the contract. "Wait a minute," I said, "you never said anything about video tape!" "No," Carlotta said, smiling wide, "I didn't. I assumed that you would have been smart enough to read the contract before you signed it." "Wait," I said, "this clause isn't fair. I have to maintain whatever haircut you tell me to get for a month and I can't wear a wig?" "The same rule applies to me," she said. And she was right. We were both treated equally by the terms of the contract, except the monetary amounts each owed the other in case of refusal to cut our hair according to the other's specifications was different. But this clause.... "You never said anything about friends!" I shrieked. "What is going on here?" "Yes, five other women will be joining us. And the same rules apply to them. Except the first one. The six of us will put our heads together and come up with a new hair style for you. If you refuse, then you owe each of us $1,000. If you proceed with the haircut, we'll owe you $6,000. You then tell each of us how to have our hair cut. The same rules apply for all of them as they did for me." I started to tear up the contract, but Carlotta stopped me with her words. "Just think of it," she said. "In a few hours, you could be $66,000 richer." I stopped and slowly put the contract down onto the table. "Carlotta," I smiled, "you've got a deal." Carlotta picked up the contract and put it in her purse. "Great!" she exclaimed, reaching out to shake my hand. She was practically beaming. "I'll pick you up around eight tonight. Wear your nicest dress, please. I'll just need your address." We walked out of the office and back to my desk. I grabbed one of my cards and wrote my home address on the back. "Here you go," I said, handing my card to Carlotta. "Fantastic. I'll see you around eight." She started for the door. "Wait, who were you here to see?" I asked. "Silly," she said, flashing me her smile once again. "I was here to see you!" With that, she turned and walked out the door. Are you, dear listener, as confused as I was? Why was she there to see me? What in the world would have caused her to come up with such a weird contract? And not just her, but five of her friends. By the time I've finished my tale, you'll understand. Wait! Don't skip to the end! You won't find the answers there anyway....I've carefully placed them somewhere in the middle, or maybe I've not included them at all, but instead I've provided an address to send away for the answers to this damnable puzzle. Just stick with me. Anyway, these, and about a bazillion (an actual number! Honest!) other questions ran through my mind. I could barely concentrate on the letter I was supposed to be typing. I managed to finish it, though, just at quitting time. My drive home to my apartment was uneventful, albeit long. The damn freeways out here are just worthless at rush hour! Anyway, the drive was a long one, and it gave me plenty of time to think. And smoke. And worry. And second guess myself. At one point, as we crept along on the freeway, I thought to myself, "I'll just not show up. I'll claim that I signed the contract under duress, which should void it. Yeah, then I won't have to worry about what 'Crazy' Carlotta wants to do to my hair." I actually perked up at that point, and the butterflies that had been in my stomach ever since Carlotta walked out of the office finally settled down. This feeling lasted almost an entire minute, just long enough for me to pass a billboard for Tartaglia's Auto Loans. "Which would you rather have?" I asked myself, "a potentially bad haircut or potentially broken kneecaps and no car?" Sorry, hair, but you'd lose that tradeoff. "That's OK, Suzi," it seemed to say, "I think I'd rather have functional knees and a car myself." As I got ready for the evening, not knowing what was going to really happen, other than some haircutting was going to take place, I began to wonder just what kind of haircut Carlotta and Co. were going to select for me. "How bad could it be?" I wondered aloud. I tried to imagine bad haircuts. Thoughts of botched coloring jobs, over-permed hair, and horrible split ends filled my mind. "I think I could handle that," I thought to myself. I sat down in front of my mirror to fix my hair and do my makeup. Quickly, I pulled my hair back, holding it tightly at the back of my head. I tried to imagine myself with short hair. "I'd probably look pretty cute," I thought (somewhat vainly, I admit). In thinking about it now, I realize just how limited my haircutting thoughts were at the time. I got an education, believe me! I worked hard on my makeup. I knew that Carlotta was rich, and beautiful, too. And I had every reason to suspect that her friends were equally wealthy and attractive. I didn't want to feel out of place or awkward, so I spent a lot of time on my makeup and hair styling, probably more time than I should have. I glanced up at my clock. It read 7:58. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed. I rushed over to my closet and selected my favorite fancy dress, a slinky, strapless black number, slit high on the thigh. I had just enough time to put my makeup, brush, cigarettes, and keys into my purse when my intercom rang. "Hello," I said. "Ms Blake, Ms Chapel is waiting for you," said a deep male voice. "I'll be right down," I replied. I started for the door and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stared at myself. I really did look good. Who knows what I'll come home looking like? As I pulled the door shut, I realized that I'd left the contract in my work purse. I rushed back in, grabbed that damned piece of paper, and left. A limo was waiting outside my apartment building, its passenger door open, a tall, solid-looking chauffeur standing at attention beside it. As I neared the limo, Carlotta stepped out. As unbelievable as it might seem, she was even more attractive than she had appeared that afternoon. She, too, had chosen black for her attire, which set off the creaminess of her skin. Her hair was immaculate, pulled back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. I was in awe. "Suzi," she said, "you look absolutely wonderful!" She raised her right hand to her mouth. She was holding a huge cigar! She put the cigar in her mouth and extended her hand to me. "Welcome," she said, her speech somewhat distorted by the cigar. She took my hand and helped me inside, then followed me in. The driver closed the door and almost immediately opened his own door. I sat facing the driver; Carlotta sat with her back to the driver, facing me. "Stiles," she said, her voice still distorted by the cigar, "proceed to 18934 Mulholland." "Yes, ma'am," the driver replied. Off we sped. Carlotta took several deep drags on her cigar. The back of the limo was filled with the rich, reeking smoke. "Are you ready to have a fabulous evening?" she said to me. "You smoke cigars?" I said incredulously. Carlotta smiled and removed the cigar from her mouth. "Obviously. They're quite delightful, once you get used to them. I've been smoking them for years, ever since my summer in Europe." I reached into my purse and pulled out a cigarette. Before I could get to my lighter, Carlotta had lit hers and was offering me a light. I lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply, savoring my own particular vice. Carlotta took another drag from her cigar, then asked again, "Are you ready to have a fabulous evening?" "I guess so," I replied. "I'll be honest with you. I'm nervous as hell!" "I understand. Just relax; you're among friends." We sped along Mulholland, silently smoking. Tentatively, I said "Carlotta, may I ask you a question?" She smiled that warm, friendly smile. "Of course you may," she replied. "What did you mean when you told me you were in the office to meet me?" "Exactly what I said." "But how did you know I worked there?" "An acquaintance of yours told me about you." "Who." "All in good time." "When do I get to meet the other women?" "When we arrive at our destination. They should already be there, getting everything ready." "Exactly where are we going?" "To 18934 Mulholland." "I know that, but what is that place?" Just as I said that, the limo came to a stop, and our door was opened by the driver. "My dear Suzi," said Carlotta, stepping onto the street, "this is 18934 Mulholland." It was a barber shop! An honest-to-God, old-fashioned barber shop. It even had the little spinning red and white pole out front. The butterflies were running rampant all through my body. I couldn't do it. I couldn't go through with this. "Suzi," called Carlotta, "aren't you coming out?" "I'm sorry, Carlotta, but I can't. I just can't do this." "So you're refusing!" She poked her head back in the limo, her smile now taking overtones of a sadistic nature. She chilled me to the bone! "I didn't realize that you had so much money," she said. She backed out of the open door and called to the driver. "Stiles, hand me my razor!" "Wait!" I screamed. "I'll do it!" I jumped for the door and stood next to Carlotta. "Wonderful!" she said, all smiles once more. She put an arm around my shoulders. "Come on," she said, "let's go meet the others." Carlotta ushered me towards the door of the barber shop. Stiles opened the door for us, and in we went. The inside of the barber shop looked like the barber shop from "The Andy Griffith Show." There were four chairs on a white tile floor, and a mirror ran the length of the building. In front of the mirror, there was a shelf on which resided four sets of combs, scissors, brushes, electric clippers, straight razors, and shaving mugs. Below the shelf were four metal cabinets with temperature gauges on them. In addition to the barber materials, several video cameras had been set up around one of the chairs. A number of lights were also present, bathing the chair in strong pools of light. "Good evening, everyone," said Carlotta, "look who's here!" A chorus of "Suzi!" went out from the five women standing near the back of the shop. They headed towards us, all smiles and pleasantries. As they approached, I noticed that each of them, like Carlotta, was smoking a cigar. An attractive brunette introduced herself to me. "Suzi, it's so nice to meet you. I'm Hilary Martins." Hilary was about 5'4", around 110, had average measurements, and was a dead ringer for Shannen Doherty. Her long, dark brown hair was tossed wildly but effectively, making her look several inches taller than she was. She was wearing a tight green dress that helped to make the most of her body. Next in line was a blonde. "Jean-Marie Edmonds," she said warmly. She was several inches taller than me, and was probably the most curvaceous woman in the room -- her body was spectacular! She reminded me of that Playboy Playmate, Jenny McCarthy. Her hair was smooth and sculptured, with numerous seductive curls and waves, coming well below her shoulders. An off-the-shoulder white dress showed off her tan and blonde hair wonderfully. "Kate Timmons," said the redhead who next introduced herself. "Carlotta has told me so much about you," she smiled. Kate was an inch or so shorter than I was, and was dressed in a smart, navy, man- tailored suit, complete with tie. Her red tresses were done in full, soft curls, that extended at least a foot past her shoulders. When I looked at her, I immediately thought of the soap actress Tracy Bregman. Her smile was infectious, and I started to feel at ease. "These women really could be my friends," I thought to myself. A statuesque blond next appeared. "I'm Stacy Peterman," she said. "I've been looking forward to this night for a long time." I stared at Stacy for a moment, because, at first, I thought that she was Heather Locklear. Her hair was neatly trimmed to just below her shoulders, and was swept back from her face in a high bang that framed her delicate features perfectly. Her blue eyes sparkled, picking up the highlights from the light blue dress she was wearing. The last woman to introduce herself was stunning. Like Carlotta, she had porcelain features, and shared similar, highly arched eyebrows. "My name is Bambi, Bambi Silverman," she said. Bambi could have been Kristen Alfonzo's -- you know, she plays Hope on "Days of our Lives" -- twin. Her dark auburn hair was wavy, and was held back from her face with silver combs. At its longest, her hair reached the middle of her back. She was wearing a backless red dress, cut as short as was legal. She more than filled the dress in all the right places. I would have sworn that we were all straight from the pages of "Vogue"! "Suzi," said Carlotta, "I'd like you to meet our stylist for this evening. This is 'Red'." Standing before me was a gentleman in his late sixties who was probably a drill sergeant most of his life. He had short, white hair, and lots of it. His wrinkled, craggy face was pleasant enough, and he had a nice, kindly twinkle in his eye; he really reminded me of Brian Keith. "Nice ta meetcha," he said, shaking my hand. His grip was strong, but not too strong. "Why don'tcha have a seat right here," he said, leading me to the barber chair bathed in light. I sat down in the chair. It was cool on my back. Red turned me towards the cameras and away from the mirror. I clutched my purse tightly in my lap. God, how I needed a drink! Carlotta, Hilary, Jean-Marie, Kate, Stacy, and Bambi were all huddled together, talking quietly among themselves. It suddenly dawned on me what they were doing: they were deciding my new hairstyle! Red flipped a soiled black and white striped cloth in front of me and around my neck. He pulled it tight, then lifted my hair up over it and retightened it around my neck. "Don't want any hair gettin' on that pretty dress," he said to me. I opened my purse and pulled out a cigarette and my lighter, holding them under the cloth. The butterflies were back. This was serious! I was about to get God-knows-what kind of hairstyle, and the six quasi-covergirls huddled together not ten feet away were still anxiously talking back and forth. Suddenly, I heard Carlotta say "Wait, wait, wait, I think I've got it!" More hushed talking was exchanged, and then silence. They turned to me in unison, all smiles and sweetness. "This was not a good sign," I thought to myself. Carlotta motioned for Red, who walked over to her. Hilary, Bambi, and Kate walked over to the video cameras and turned them on, filming me. Jean-Marie and Stacy each picked up 35-mm cameras (I don't know how I missed seeing them in the first place, but I did), and snapped a couple of pictures of me each. I heard Red saying "Sure, I can do that" to Carlotta. "Great," she said, and they both walked over towards me. Red grabbed something behind me and started playing with my hair. I realized that he had grabbed a comb and was checking out the texture of my hair. "Suzi," said Carlotta, "you've read the contract?" "Yes," I replied. "You understand it completely?" "Yes." "Do you have any questions?" "No." "Super," she said, smiling warmly. "Are you ready? Remember: if you back out now, you owe us each $500, and we will hold you down while Red shaves you completely bald from head to toe." I took the cigarette I had been holding out from under the cloth, put it in my mouth, and, cupping my hands in front of it, lit it. I put my hands back under the cloth, leaving the cigarette in my mouth. "Let's do it!" I said boldly. "Red," said Carlotta, "go ahead. Give our friend Suzi here a super-thin mohawk." Holy Shit! I'd been thinking blue or green hair, or half a perm, or something like that! But nothing like a goddamn mohawk! I think my heartbeat went up to around 250 beats per minute. My eyes got so wide that I thought they'd pop out! "You're going to look great!" gushed Carlotta, lighting another cigar. "I think you'll love it," chimed in Kate. Red started by parting my hair straight down the middle. He then went back and reparted it, just slightly to the left, probably no more than a quarter of an inch, and combed that little strip of hair back to the right. I heard him pick up something behind me. With a short "click" I knew what it was: the electric clippers. I could hear the clippers coming. The "brrrrrrrr" sound they made grew louder and louder. I felt a sharp tug at the top of my head, then a tug down towards my temple. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my hair falling to the floor. Strands nearly three feet long drifted down. I didn't realize it at the time, but I bit through the filter of my cigarette, and it fell to the floor. "Hold it a moment," said Carlotta, who rushed in and grabbed my fallen cigarette. I was sitting there, somewhat in shock. "Come on, dear, open up," she said, pushing on the sides of my jaw. I opened my mouth and the little stub of filter fell out. Carlotta gently pushed on my chin, closing my mouth. She reached under the cloth and took my left hand. "Here, feel this," she said, moving my hand up to my head. There was a strange roughness that greeted my fingers. With a jolt, I realized that I was feeling stubble. Stubble on my scalp! The butterflies I'd been feeling totally disappeared, replaced with a deep anger. I hated everyone here, especially Carlotta. But I didn't want them to know it. Especially Carlotta. They'd get theirs soon enough. Especially Carlotta. "Are you ok?" Carlotta asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," I replied. "Say, would you mind if I had one of your cigars?" "I don't think you're ready for a cigar just yet," she replied gently. "Maybe later. Go ahead and light another cigarette if you wish, though." I reached back under the cloth and pulled out another cigarette. Bambi stepped forward and offered me a light, which I accepted. Red stepped back in and resumed my haircut. His clippers clicked on again, and a cold, sharp edge pressed once again against my scalp. I felt a brief tug down, then the edge moved further along the top of my head. "He's shaving a path up to the mohawk area," I surmised. It was funny in a way, sitting in a barber's chair, having my lovely long hair so cruelly clipped away. This had to be a dream, or it was happening to someone else, or somehow I'd fallen asleep and they'd put a wig on me and were cutting the wig. I mean, I just couldn't be getting a real mohawk! It was absurd. But it was also true. Red continued making his careful path, first along the top of my head, and then down the back of my head and along the nape of my neck. I glanced down at the growing pile of hair on the floor. I was still angry as anything, but I had a strange, empty feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach. If I hadn't been so mad, seeing my hair on the floor like that would have made me cry. I didn't cry, though; I wasn't going to give these sadistic bitches that satisfaction. Red returned to my temple with the clippers. He pushed them down hard against my scalp, and then quickly pushed them straight back, over the top of my head, all the way to the back of my neck. Huge amounts of hair fell to the floor as he did. A small wisp of hair landed on my outstretched hand. "How could you do this to us?" I heard it cry. "Shut up and join your friends," I thought to myself as I dropped the clump of hair to the floor. The clippers plowed a path through my hair. I looked up. Everyone there was smiling, offering me little words of encouragement. "This was really sick!" I thought to myself. "They actually believe that I'm enjoying this, and that I'll look good when Red's finished." Red moved forward suddenly, creating a slight breeze that I actually felt on my scalp. I don't think I can recall ever feeling a breeze actually cool my scalp. And I realized that it wasn't going to be the last time I felt that feeling. I heard water running, followed closely by a "sloshing" sound. It took me a moment to realize it, but Red had turned off the clippers. "What's he doing now," I wondered. I certainly didn't have to wait long to find out. A cold, wet, blob hit the side of my head, followed by another, and another, and another. All of a sudden, it came to me what Red was doing: he was lathering my scalp! He was actually going to shave me down to my skin! His next words confirmed it: "I'll just let that sit for a moment, and then I'll make it nice and smooth for you," he said, pausing to light a filterless Lucky Strike. My heart leapt into my throat. Stacy put down her camera and came over to me. "Are you ok?" she asked. "You look really pale." Her voice almost sounded concerned and, if I hadn't been so consumed with anger towards her and everyone else involved, I would have appreciated it. "Does it show?" I replied. "I guess that this haircut is affecting me more than I thought it would." "I understand," she said, bending over to pick up a handful of my hair. "You had such lovely hair. Was this your natural color?" "Mostly," I replied. "I'd highlight it occasionally." "Well, you did a really nice job," she said. "I'll gather the rest of this up for you." She bent down and began carefully picking up the shorn locks of my hair. She was keeping them all lined up, making a neat pile of hair. Once Stacy had gathered up all the hair, Red came back to me, straight razor in hand. He reached behind me and picked up a leather belt. For a moment, I feared that he was going to tie me down to the chair, but, instead, he began rubbing the razor up and down along the belt. "Like to keep my tools sharp," he said. He dropped the belt and turned back to me. He massaged the lather into the stubble. His fingers were strong and he pressed really hard, not hard enough to bruise, but almost. Before I continue here, I just want to mention that the feeling of the lather being rubbed into my scalp was absolutely the best! You know how just a light touch across your arm, or the back of your neck, or anyplace that has small, silky hairs can send a shiver of ecstasy down your spine? I'm sure you do. Now, multiply that a hundred-fold and you'll begin to understand the absolute sexual joy that I felt. I was surprised, I'll admit. I would never have guessed that something good, except for the money (of course!), could come from this haircut. Satisfied that the lather was worked in well, Red opened his razor. He started at the top of my head, just at the point where hair ended and stubble began. He pulled the razor across my scalp and down towards my ear. The scraping sound was so bizarre. As he continued to shave away the stubble, I looked at my "friends" closely. Not one of them showed concern that I was going ahead with their haircut plans. And why should they? Every one of them looked like a $1,000 expense was cheap. They were all actually smiling. Didn't they surmise what kind of haircuts I was concocting in my mind for each and every one of them? I was also looking for anything that was reflective. Even though I absolutely hated the thought of losing my hair, I was dying to see what I looked like. They cleverly had me sitting with my back to the mirror, and all I could see was a white brick wall. Red continued shaving away stubble. He bent my ear over and shaved around it with one practised motion of his razor. His breath tickled my naked scalp, and that, too, sent little shock waves of ecstasy down my back. Red's razor rasped along my scalp with almost alarming speed. I worried that he'd nick my scalp, but he never did. A cloth was rubbed against my bare scalp. Red was wiping up the excess lather. The towel felt so alien against my smooth skin. I'd had enough; I just had to see what I looked like. I started to turn in the chair, but Red grabbed my shoulders. "Hold still, Suzi," he admonished. "You keep squirming like that and I'll wind up cuttin' ya." "But I want to see what I look like!" I screamed. "Go ahead and show her, Red," said Carlotta, grinding out a cigar. "You're the boss," he replied, and spun me around. There are moments in your life that stay with you forever, no matter how long ago they occurred, and remain as vivid as the instant in which they originally happened. Moments like your first automobile accident, like graduating from college, like your first real kiss, like your first orgasm. Seeing myself half- bald was one of those moments. Even now, the image of myself, sitting in that barber's chair, is as clear as can be. I sat there, in an old barber's chair, with a slightly stained, black and white cloth draped over my shoulders and pulled tight around my neck. My mouth was slightly open. On the right half of my head, my blond hair hung well past my shoulders and shined with an almost unearthly glow. The left half of my head was bare scalp, a creamy, pale, shiny white that darkened into a tan around my left temple and forehead. I could see no trace of hair there what-so-ever. I noticed the gentle, sexy curve of my scalp as it came down towards my ear, then bulged back out slightly along my cheekbone, which seemed, somehow, higher and more beautiful than the one on my right side. The light reflected off of my naked scalp, giving it a radiant glow. My neck, now void of hair, was long and slender, and, with another sleek, sexy curve, came up and met the base of my skull. My ear hugged my scalp nicely. I stared at myself for an hour. I know it. That's how long it felt, anyway. (Carlotta told me later that I only sat like that for ten or fifteen seconds, but you couldn't prove it by me.) I took it all in, and came up with one conclusion: I am beautiful. I'd always considered myself pretty, as I mentioned before, but now, the image I was seeing was one of a stunning woman, someone that I never imagined I could be. Then, I slowly reached up with my left hand and touched my scalp. It was smooth to the touch, almost slippery. The feeling of my shaved scalp under my fingertips was remarkable. I ran my hand all over my scalp, feeling its form. I kept rubbing it, transfixed at the sight and touch. It was at that point that I noticed that my anger at receiving this horrendous haircut had totally disappeared. The butterflies in my stomach were gone as well. "How can this be?" I wondered to myself. "I actually like this haircut!" "Red," Carlotta said, snapping me out of my reverie, "turn her around and finish the job, please." "With pleasure," he replied, and whipped the chair around so that I now faced the brick wall, the cameras, and my friends. He ran a comb along the top of my head, flipping hair from the right side over onto my bald left side. The hairs being flipped over ticked my scalp and I giggled. "What do you think, Suzi?" asked Kate, lighting another cigar. "How do you like your haircut so far?" "You all were right," I said, giving Kate a genuinely warm smile. "I love it so far." While Red was still combing through my hair, I took the opportunity to light a cigarette. "How will your bosses handle it?" asked Jean-Marie. Oh my God. I work for the stodgiest group of lawyers on the west coast. They were going to absolutely freak out! Suddenly, all my old fears came rushing back; what good was the cash these crazy bitches were going to give me if it cost me my regular paycheck? I looked at Jean-Marie, and then at Carlotta. My bottom lip began to quiver, and tears rolled from my eyes. "They're going to fire me!" I bawled. "Please, can't I wear a wig? I've got to keep this job!" "Sorry," Carlotta said, smiling. "No wigs. Not for a month. It's part of the contract." Carlotta's smile was really getting to me. She was like a damned Cheshire Cat; somehow, the more I looked at her, the less of her I saw, but the more I saw of her smile. She had the eerie ability to convey both loving warmth and absolute cruelty with the same exact smile. "No wigs," I thought. "Fine. I'll make each and every one of you regret the day you asked me to be part of this crazy contract." And I fully planned to. I reached up and wiped away my tears. "Fine. I'll make do somehow. Red, finish it." Red's clippers whirred to life, and the now-familiar feeling of the cold edge pulling and tugging across my scalp returned. He followed the same pattern with my right side as he had done with my left, carefully clipping away hair along the top of my head and down the back of it to my neck, and then running long, rapid stroked from my forehead to the nape of my neck. As he clipped away, the ladies offered me more words of encouragement, trying to lift my spirits. Hilary actually commented that my bosses would be crazy to fire such an attractive secretary! "Then you don't know my bosses," I laughed, shutting her up. Red turned off the clippers and began making more shaving cream. While he did this, Stacy came over and gathered up my clipped-off hair, neatly piling it with the rest of the hair Red had removed. I never realized just how much hair I had until I could see it all there in a neat pile. It seemed so lonely, as if it longed for the days when it was attached to my scalp. A blob of shaving cream plopped against my scalp, then another, and another. Red massaged this cream in as he had before. I started to get the same shivers of ecstasy again as he rubbed across my stubble. "All in all," I thought to myself, "this may not be so bad, especially if I can get a man interested in rubbing my scalp!" Red brought out the leather strap again and ran his razor along it several times. He then tilted my head to the left and began to shave away the stubble. Red was a true expert with the razor, and I began to think of ways to let him explore his creativity on Stacy's honey-colored locks. He tilted my head forward and, while he shaved along the back of my neck and scalp, I decided upon Hilary's appropriate hairdo, which involved some creative use of Red's clippers. While Red shaved around my ear, the fate of Kate's tresses was determined in my mind. Bambi's new 'do became obvious as Red cleaned away the stray bits of stubble along the mohawk line. I had no trouble with selecting Jean-Marie's new style while Red wiped away the last bits of excess lather. I still hadn't decided on Carlotta's new cut. It had to be the best of all, something so hideous, so embarrassing, so distasteful to her that she'd refuse to get it cut to my specifications. But what could that be? "How do you want the 'hawk?" Red asked Carlotta. "Clip it short," she said. "No longer than a quarter inch." I heard Red open a drawer, and then something snapped behind me. I turned to see that he had placed a plastic guard over his clippers that would hold them about a quarter inch above my scalp. He turned on his clippers and began to trim off my remaining hair. "Wait," said Carlotta. "Only shorten the front and top. Leave it long from the crown on down. I want her to be able to tell people how long her hair had been before she cut it." That settled it. I now knew Carlotta's hairstyle-to-be as well. She made it too easy. Red pushed the clippers to my forehead and trimmed off the hair. He stopped just at the point where my head curves down to the back of my head and neck. Bambi moved in and gathered up the last of my shorn locks, placing them with the rest of my hair. Red turned off his clippers and removed the cape from around my neck with a flourish. "All finished," he said with a smile. "Oh Suzi," gushed Hilary. "You are absolutely beautiful." Red turned me around, and I now faced the mirror once again. I was stunned. Looking back at me was a nearly bald woman. A stunning, nearly bald woman. And that woman was me. Only a thin tuft of hair remained on the top of my head. Gleaming scalp shone on either side. I reached up to touch it with both hands. The utter smoothness of my scalp was so erotic, and the bristles on the top of my head reminded me of a soft toothbrush. As I reached around behind my head to touch my neck, I found the remnants of my once-long hair, which I flipped around over my right shoulder. This tail of hair came down and ended just below the curve of my breasts. As odd as it seemed, it made my near total baldness all the more appealing. "Once you get some sun on that scalp and even out your tan you'll be even lovelier," complimented Jean-Marie. "Thanks," I replied, still in awe with myself. "Suzi," said Carlotta, lighting another cigar, "you've completed the first part of our contract. Here's your money." She placed a pile of bills on the counter in front of me. I picked it up and counted it, not to be rude, mind you, but just to be on the safe side. $6,000, just for cutting my hair. Now, to make $60,000 more. I stood up out of the chair and walked over to Red. "Are you ready to cut some more hair?" I asked him. "You bet," he eagerly replied. "Who's first?" "Jean-Marie is," I said, lighting a cigarette. Jean-Marie promptly sat in Red's chair. Red brought his cutting cape over her head and tied it tightly around her neck. "Suzi," Carlotta said, putting her arm around my shoulders, "I hope you've been thinking of some creative hairstyles for us. I'd hate to be disappointed!" "Oh, I've been thinking all right." Red was busy combing out Jean-Marie's hair. I walked over to her, took a tuft of her hair in my hands, and gave it a firm tug. "Owww!" she cried. "Why'd you do that?" "Sorry," I said. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't wearing a wig." Jean-Marie smiled at me. "Oh, I wouldn't do that. I always abide by the contract. We all do!" What the hell did she mean by that? "Good," I said, as I took a long drag on my cigarette. "Red, give Jean-Marie here your finest, shortest, military flattop. Go right to the scalp on the sides, back, and crown. No hair remaining should be longer than an eighth of an inch!" "You got it," Red replied, as he clicked on his clippers. Red started at Jean-Marie's crown. He placed his clippers there and shoved them forward. Her long blond tresses began to rain down to the floor as she smiled widely. Red plowed a perfect path, as far as I could tell. There was almost no hair left on the top of Jean-Marie's head, but, towards her forehead, the hair was slightly longer, ending almost exactly with eighth-inch hairs at her hairline. He started a second pass across the top of her head. More and more hair fell to the floor. If Jean-Marie was nervous, it wasn't showing. She puffed on her cigar from time to time as her hair continued to fall. "Nice selection, Suzi," said Kate. "She would have made a perfect Marine." Red finished with the front part of Jean-Marie's head. He began on the back, pressing his clippers hard against her scalp. She was so blond that it looked almost like he had shaved her. It didn't take long for Red to finish with the back. He went back to the top for some last minute trimming, making sure that the front was perfectly flat. Satisfied, he clicked off his clippers and removed the hair cape. Jean-Marie rose, sticking her cigar in her mouth, and inspected her head carefully with both hands. She turned to me, smiling, while clenching the cigar in her teeth. "Suzi, I absolutely love it!" she exclaimed. "It's perfect. Thank you." "No," I replied, somewhat dejectedly, "thank you." I handed her $500. I couldn't believe what had just happened. Jean-Marie just lost nearly three feet of beautiful blond hair, and she was smiling about it! I had really expected her to balk at the haircut. Oh well, the night was still young, and I still had five more haircuts to proclaim. I rethought some of them, making them more drastic than I had originally planned. Bambi had moved in while Jean-Marie was admiring her new haircut and was gathering up all of the hair that was on the floor. She made a very neat pile of Jean-Marie's old hair and wrapped it up with a yellow ribbon. "What are you doing?" I asked her. "I'm gathering up the hair for posterity," she replied. "Red, can you do perms?" I asked. "You betcha," he replied as he lit up another Lucky Strike. "Great. Bambi, you're next." Bambi sat down in the chair as Red disappeared into the back. I lit another cigarette and walked over to Bambi. "Do you have any idea what kind of haircut I've got in mind for you?" I asked her. Bambi puffed thoughtfully on her stub of a cigar. "I gather you've got a perm in mind," she offered. "Close," I replied, grinning widely. Red returned with some curlers and bottles of solutions. "Well, Suzi," he said, "wha'cha got in mind?" "How long do you usually leave a perm on?" I asked. "About twenty minutes or so." "Ok. For Bambi here, to begin with, I want you to give her a double-strength perm, and leave it on for at least forty minutes." "That's going to really damage her hair," Red said. "I know. Do it, and use your tightest rollers." "What are you going to do after my perm?" asked Bambi, somewhat hesitantly. "Why, don't you want to go through with this?" "Well, it's just that my hair is really sensitive to perms, and...." "I think we have our first refusal of the night," cried Carlotta. "Ladies?" "Hold on a minute," said Bambi. "I didn't say I was refusing." She took several nervous puffs on her cigar, then flung it to the ground. "All right, Red, go ahead and perm me." Red grabbed a pile of his smallest rollers and began winding thin skeins of Bambi's hair around them. I watched him closely and noticed how tight he was pulling her hair; Bambi let out occasional "ow's" as he pulled on her hair. It took about ten minutes for him to roll up all of Bambi's brown hair. While he began to mix up the perming solution, Stacy came over to talk to Bambi. "Would you like another cigar, hon?" she asked. "That'd be nice," Bambi replied. "I could really use one about now." Stacy handed Bambi a cigar and then lit it for her. Bambi puffed nervously. I could tell that there was some real apprehension going on in her mind. "I think I'd like a cigar, too, Stacy," I said as I finished my cigarette. "Not just yet," said Carlotta. "You aren't quite ready for it." What in the hell did she mean by that? Sure, I'd never smoked a cigar before, but what did she mean that I wasn't "ready" for one yet? I had to find out, so I asked. "When will I be ready, Carlotta?" "Soon," she replied cryptically. "All in good time." With that, I reached into my purse and pulled out another cigarette. I lit it with disgust. Red finished preparing the perming solution. Normally, it's fairly thin, but what he had in the bowl was as thick as pudding. This was going to be good. He spread the solution all over Bambi's hair. It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that I heard it sizzle every time it touched some new hair. Perms smell bad usually, but this one STANK! As the first batch of solution hit her hair, a huge tear rolled down Bambi's cheek. I reached over and wiped it away, saying "Don't worry, Bambi. When your cut is done, you'll love it." I found myself smiling a Carlotta-smile. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, which confirmed it; yes, indeed, the almost-bald babe had learned to smile like Carlotta. Red really worked in the perming solution, rubbing and applying until he had used up the entire bowl of the mixture. He then set a timer for forty minutes. "Now what?" he asked. "Do we just sit here 'til the timer goes off?" "No, of course not!" I enthusiastically replied. "Bambi dear, why don't you move over to next chair while you're waiting. Hilary, you're next." Bambi stood up and moved into the next chair, while Hilary made her way into Red's chair. She kept her cigar in her mouth and stared at me with a defiant look. I realized that I'd surprised her with the hairstyle I'd dreamed up for Bambi, too. Maybe they all are having second thoughts now. Red draped another cape across Hilary's shoulders and pulled it tight around her neck. "Well, what's it going to be?" Hilary asked. "Red," I said, ignoring the brash Hilary, "let's start with a nice crewcut, no longer than an eighth of an inch anywhere. We'll make some adjustments from there." "No problem," Red replied, as he snapped a guide onto his clippers. He brushed out Hilary's hair several times, just to get a feel for it, and then started in with the clippers. He started at her forehead and plowed a path straight back over the top of her head and right down to the nape of her neck. Short stubble emerged in the wake of Red's clippers. He continued across the left side of her head, and then finished with the right. It was evident that Red must have been a barber in the military, because he wielded his clippers like an expert and wasted no motion. Even if Hilary had balked at the haircut I had in mind for her, she couldn't have gotten out of Red's chair fast enough! In about a minute he had clipped off all Hilary's long hair. Stacy came in and gathered up Hilary's shorn locks. She piled them up neatly and tied them with a ribbon. I still didn't understand why they were gathering up all of the hair, but I figured that I'd learn when the time was right. "Ok, Suzi, you've clipped me. Big deal. Now what?" "Red, shave away all of Hilary's bristles, except for a patch on the back of her head, about one by four inches. Leave that alone, but shave and lather the rest." "With ease," he said, as he removed the guide from his clippers and switched them back on. Again, he started at the front of Hilary's head and reduced the short hairs down to mere gray stubble on her scalp. He went just past the crown of her head and stopped. He repeated this process on the left side first, and then on the right side. He then went down the sides of the back of her head, defining the side areas of the patch, then removed the hair from there forward to Hilary's temples. He finished clipping away the hair under the patch, running his clippers along the nape of Hilary's neck. Red turned off his clippers and prepared some shaving cream. He applied the lather to Hilary's head and worked it in. He then grabbed his straight razor and, after a quick swipe across the wide leather belt on the back of his chair, he began to shave away the remnants of the stubble. I watched with fascination. Red really knew how to work a razor. Hilary remained stonefaced throughout the entire shaving, silently puffing on her cigar with annoying regularity. One-two-three, puff, one-two- three, puff, one-two-three, puff. Red wiped away some stray bits of lather and started to remove Hilary's cape. "Hold on a minute, Red," I said. "We haven't finished with her yet." "Sorry," he said. "What would you like to do now?" "Carve away the remaining hair, leaving the word 'BITCH' in capital letters as the only remaining hair on her head. Lather and shave clean anything you carve away." Carlotta and Jean-Marie began laughing out loud. Kate smiled at me and said, "Nice idea, Suzi. She needs some humility!" Hilary, of course, was fuming mad. I could tell because her puff cycle had gone to one, puff, one, puff, one, puff. I couldn't get her to refuse the haircut, so it cost me $500, but it was worth it to see the expression on her face! Red did a marvelous job carving around, making the letters out of Hilary's hair. He carefully shaved the area around the letters and, when he was finished, no stubble could be seen around any letter. He really was an artist! "Here you go, Hilary," I said, as I handed her her money. Red removed her cape and she stood, examining herself in the mirror. "I can't believe I've got to maintain this for a month!" she exclaimed, throwing down her cigar with disgust. She ground it out with her toe and went to light another one. "How much time is left on Bambi's perm, Red?" I asked. "About eighteen minutes." "Ok. Stacy, you're up next." Stacy handed her ribbons to Jean-Marie and sat in the chair. Red swirled a cape around her neck and tied it tight. "Well, Suzi," he said, "what shall we do here?" I lifted a handful of Stacy's golden blonde locks. "I think a monk's tonsure is in order here." "A what?" Red asked. "You know," I replied, "bald on top, a ring of hair around the top of her head not more than an inch high or half an inch long, and the rest below bald." "Oh, a St. Francis," he laughed and grabbed a brush. Red started at the crown of Stacy's head and brushed her hair away in a circle. He then clicked on his clippers and began to mow through the hair on the top of Stacy's head. He made a small circle, which he then enlarged, making sure that every cut was balanced out. A true master! "Is that low enough," Red asked me, motioning to the stubbly area on the top of Stacy's head. "Make it a little lower," I replied. Red continued to widen the circle. He soon reached a point that I was satisfied with, and I told him so. He then moved below the remaining hairline and pushed his clippers straight into Stacy's hair. He continued to do this all around her head, in much the same way that he made the initial border for my mohawk. At this intermediate stage, Stacy certainly seemed calm. I was getting frustrated; I hadn't gotten one of these bitches to balk at my haircut suggestion, and my money for getting my own hair cut was rapidly dwindling. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve, so to speak. I hadn't yet told Carlotta her hairstyle. Red had finished the border, and he began to clip away Stacy's remaining hair in earnest, making huge sweeping motions from the front of her head to the back. In moments, he had the bulk of her hair removed. He then put an attachment onto his clippers and went over the remaining ring of hair, trimming it neatly to half an inch. Red turned off his clippers and began to whip up some shaving cream. "I've got to tell you, Suzi," said Stacy while Jean-Marie stepped in to gather up Stacy's shorn locks, "I really admire your creativity. I would never have thought of such interesting styles. I really think I'm going to love this new look." "Why thank you," I replied. "It's nice to be appreciated." Red began to apply the shaving cream to Stacy's scalp. He massaged it in well, and then began to shave away all her stubble. He started on the top of her head and got it very smooth. The sides and back were next. "All done," said Red. "Not quite," I replied. "Shave off her eyebrows, too." "Uhhh," Stacy said, but, before she could get another word out, Red had already applied some lather to her right eyebrow. He ran his razor over it in one smooth motion, scraping it completely away. He repeated this process with Stacy's left eyebrow. "All done now?" he asked. "That should do it," I replied. Red removed his cape from around Stacy's neck. She stood and admired herself in the mirror. "I was right," she said, "I really do love this new look!" She paused, then added, "Even without my eyebrows." While Stacy was admiring her new look, I noticed something interesting. Stacy had a nice tan, not too deep, but just a healthy glow, much like mine. My scalp, though, was white as snow, and hers was as tan as the rest of her skin. Just as I was about to ask about this, the timer for Bambi's perm went off. "Thank God," Bambi said, "this is beginning to burn. And the smell!" "What now, Suzi?" asked Red. "I really need to remove the perming solution." "Go ahead and do that," I replied, "then bleach it. Bleach it pure white." "What!" Bambi exclaimed. "You can't be serious! It's already damaged enough, bleaching...." "Red," I said, ignoring Bambi's whining, "how long would it take to bleach her hair white." "As processed as it is right now," he said, "I'd guess it would take about five minutes." "Do it," I said, "but leave it on for ten minutes. And bleach her left eyebrow, too." "What about the right one?" Red asked. "Leave it black." "OK," he said, and wandered off to the back. "Carlotta," cried Bambi, "this isn't fair!" Red returned with the bleaching solution and the setting solution for the perm. He tipped Bambi's chair back over the sink and began to rinse off the perming solution. "Bambi," said Carlotta, lighting another cigar, "are you refusing Suzi's haircut?" "I didn't say that," she replied, "what I said was that this isn't fair. She keeps changing her mind." "Just like you did to me, Carlotta," I said. "And nowhere did it say that I had to specify the hairdo all at one time. Bambi, if you don't want to find out what I've got planned, then refuse the bleaching. I could use the money." Red applied the setting solution to Bambi's hair. The smell began to decrease as he did. "She's right," Carlotta smiled. "It's your decision, Bambi: go along or go bald." Bambi looked at Carlotta, then at me. "Bleach me," she said, somewhat disgustedly. As Carlotta walked away, Bambi whispered to me, "I hope you've got a sadistic hairstyle picked out for that bitch." "Oh," I said, "I think you'll like it." Red sat Bambi back up, then began to apply the bleach. He started to remove the rollers in Bambi's hair. "Wait," I said, "don't remove those yet." "But the bleach won't get to the hair evenly." "That's fine," I replied. "Ok." Red continued to apply the bleach to Bambi's hair, then to her left eyebrow. "Kate," I said, "you're next." Kate was in the process of lighting another cigar, but she hurried over and sat down as quickly as she could. She smiled at me warmly. "How 'bout a slight trim?" she volunteered. I lit another cigarette, inhaled deeply, then blew out the smoke at Kate. "Nice try," I said. "Red, let's give Kate here a nice, masculine hairstyle to match that masculine outfit she's got on. Give her a comb-over." Red grinned widely, but Kate looked at me quizzically. "What's a comb-over?" she asked. Red was busily combing a part into Kate's hair and brushing it up over the top of her head. "Red," I said, "make the part at least another inch lower." "What's a comb-over?" Kate asked again, appearing somewhat nervous. "Ever see a forty-five year old man?" I asked her. "Lots of 'em," she replied. "Ever notice how many of them comb their hair over their bald spot?" "I don't see what....oh. Oh!" She smiled at me and blew cigar smoke in my face. "This should be fun!" "Suzi, how thick do you want the comb-over?" asked Red. "Keep it really thin," I replied. "I want to make sure that we can see that the top of Kate's head is totally smooth." Red completed the part, which started below Kate's temple and extended to the back of her head. He then clicked on his clippers and, beginning at the part, pushed them up then just past the top of Kate's head. Her red tresses began to fall to the ground like a shower of copper wire. Once the hair along the part was removed, Red continued around the top of Kate's head, making the shaved areas on both sides of her head match. Red put down his clippers and started making some lather. Jean-Marie swooped in and gathered up Kate's shorn tresses and tied them with a white ribbon. Red returned and began to lather the top of Kate's head. As he started to make his first pass with the razor, the bell went off for Bambi's hair. "I need to remove the bleach," Red said. "No you don't," I replied. "Finish here first, then move back to Bambi." I heard a tiny whimper slip from around the cigar in Bambi's lips. "I'll be quick," said Red. When he said quick, he meant it. His razor literally flew across Kate's scalp. I touched it to make sure that it was as smooth as possible, and it was. "Now, make the comb-over," I said to Red. He ran a comb along the edge of Kate's hair not more than a quarter of an inch down past the shaved area. He flipped these hairs over the top of her head. She giggled a bit, and squirmed in her chair. "That tickles," she replied. "Leave the crown bald," I said to Red, just as he was about to flip over some more hair. "How does that look?" he asked me. "The thickness is perfect. Now, trim up the rest; make it no longer than a half an inch, and take it right to the skin on the nape of the neck." Red snapped an attachment to his clippers and began to trim off the remaining long hair on Kate's head. He had to push away the comb-over in order to trim the hair underneath. Once that was done, he removed the attachment and shortened the hair at the back of her head, making it go down to a hint of stubble along her neck. He then rebrushed the comb-over and trimmed the ends to make it blend in with the rest of her hair. "All done," he said, and spun Kate around. Kate let out a large "Oh!" as she glimpsed her partially bald self for the first time. Then, slowly, a smile came over her face. "I love it!" she exclaimed, lifting up the flap. As she did that, I noticed that, like with Stacy, Kate's scalp was the same color as the rest of her skin. They wouldn't have had time to apply any make-up to conceal their white scalps. I was very confused. "Bambi," I said, "now we can finish your cut." Red tipped Bambi's chair back over and began to rinse away the bleach in her hair. The hair that I could see was as white as snow. Red let Bambi's head drip dry for a moment, then wrapped a towel around her head and tipped her chair back upright. "What now?" asked Red. "I want you to shave away some of the hair rolls." "Which ones?" "I don't care," I replied. "Shave 'em at random. But make sure that you shave away at least ninety percent of them. If you can, try and have the remaining ones somewhat scattered all over her head." "Ok," he replied, and grabbed his clippers. Red clipped away clump after clump of hair. Each time he applied the clippers to Bambi's head, she let out a faint whimper. Tears began rolling from her eyes. "Bambi," I said in my most soothing tone, "don't cry. Everything will be OK when it�s done. You'll see." "I'm sure that it will," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's just that my scalp is really tender right now from the perming and bleaching. Those clippers kind of hurt." "Oh," I said. "I'm really sorry. Red'll be done soon, though." "I'll hang in there," she said. Red finished with the clippers and was preparing some shaving cream. "I'm not certain," he said, "but I'd be willing to bet that this will sting a bit, too." He applied a blob of cream to Bambi's scalp, which was a bit pink, and moved on to another. Bambi winced a bit, but gamely kept on going. Soon, Red had her scalp covered with cream and he began to shave her smooth. Kate offered Bambi another cigar, which she eagerly accepted. I didn't ask for one this time, as I was tired of being told "Not Yet" by Carlotta. I was starting to appreciate the aroma from these cigars. The smoke was strong, yet sweet, with a hint of some spice that I couldn't quite place. Red finished Bambi's shave. "What about the remaining hair?" he asked. "Undo the rollers, then tease the hair. We'll trim it from there." Red began to unroll the remaining hair from Bambi's head. As he had predicted, the bleach wasn't able to totally penetrate, and her hair was somewhat striped, going from white blonde to black. It was also the tightest curl that I have ever seen. It reminded me of a spring. As Red began to tease Bambi's hair out, I noticed that it was thinning out on her head and was clumping up in his comb. "What's going on?" I asked. "Her hair's so damaged from the perming and bleaching that it�s breaking off as I comb it. Do you want me to stop?" "Not at all," I replied. "Keep on teasing it. Try to make it stand up away from her scalp." This request proved to be very easy, as her remaining hair was so damaged that it was more like straw than hair. Soon, he had teased all of her hair out, and she resembled a dandelion. "Red," I said, "it looks perfect. Just one more thing. Shave away the sides of her eyebrows, leaving just the center portion above her eye. Make it just a little tuft about half an inch wide." Red grabbed his razor and applied lather to Bambi's brows. He then shaved away the sides and wiped away the remaining lather. "Great," I said. "Now, turn her around." Red did so. Bambi shrieked when she saw herself. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "This is so cool!" What?!? Did she say "cool?" Could it be that she actually liked this abomination of a hairstyle? I guess so, because she next said, "I can't believe this is me! I look so exotic! Thank you, Suzi!" I handed her her $500; she handed it back to me. "I can't accept that," she said, "I love this new look too much!" I didn't know what to say. "Are you sure?" I asked. Bambi nodded her head vigorously and smiled widely. "Keep it," she said. I looked around. Every one of us ladies now had parts of our scalps hanging out, except for Carlotta. I know that, before this started, I thought that we all looked like we were from the cover of "Vogue" or something, but now, I thought that each and every one of us (again, except for Carlotta) was more attractive with our new hairstyles. "Carlotta," I said, "I do believe that it is your turn." I don't think that my tone could have been more mysterious. Carlotta stepped up to the chair and sat. She had just lit a cigar and sat there smoking it, proudly defiant in her posture. "What hairstyle have you selected for me?" she asked, then blew a perfect smoke ring towards me. "Yeah, what do you have in mind?" asked Hilary. "Is it a good one?" questioned Jean-Marie. "I think you'll all appreciate this one," I replied. I paused, and the room grew silent. Everyone in the room was waiting for my decision. I'd kept an ace up my sleeve, and I played it now. "Red, shave Carlotta totally bald everywhere. Head, face, body; everywhere!" "WHAT!?!?!" Carlotta screamed, jumping up out of the chair. "You can't be serious." Several of the other ladies were laughing so hard that I thought they'd get sick. Carlotta was getting redder and redder. "Of course I'm serious," I replied, giving her back her almost-patented smile. "This way, you get the same haircut whether you refuse it or not. Pretty clever, eh?" "But they'll think that I refused a cut! I've never refused a cut!" Carlotta was nearly hysterical. "Please, Suzi, I'm begging you. Please reconsider. I've got a reputation to maintain." "Sorry," I said, "but you know the rules. Accept my decision, or refuse; either way, you're going to get the same cut." Carlotta stared at me for a moment, then reached behind her back and pulled down the zipper for her dress. She let her dress slide to the floor, then removed her panties. She stood there, totally nude, cigar clenched in one corner of her mouth. "Red," she said as she sat in his chair, "you may begin." Red wrapped his black and white cape around Carlotta's neck and closed it tight. He reached for his clippers and clicked them on. "Red," I said, "shave her face first." Red shrugged, clicked off his clippers, and reached for his mug of lather. He whipped up a batch and began to apply it to Carlotta's cheeks, chin, neck, and upper lip. He tipped the chair back so that Carlotta was almost lying down in it. Red then reached below his counter, opened a metal cabinet, and pulled out a towel with a pair of tongs. As he unwrapped the towel, I noticed that Carlotta expertly transferred her cigar from the corner of her mouth to the center without using her hands. Red wrapped the towel around Carlotta's face, completely covering it. All that could be seen was her cigar, which stuck out of the center of the wrapped towel. I could see steam coming from the towel; there was some smoke, too, but the towel had been steaming long before Red put it onto Carlotta's face. Red grabbed his razor, pulled up his stropping belt, and began to sharpen his razor. He worked carefully on this, making sure that the edge of the blade was as keen as possible. Finally, satisfied with the sharpness of his tool, Red removed the towel from Carlotta's face. He re-lathered her and worked the lather in well. Then, starting at her throat, Red began to shave Carlotta's face. He moved up from her neck to her chin with a slow, even stroke. He pulled on her cheeks, and shaved those areas with the same smooth stroke. Her upper lip was shaved clean in much the same manner. Red ran practiced fingers over Carlotta's face, searching for any hint of hair. Of course, she didn't really have any to begin with, so he was doing this more out of habit, I suppose. But Red was a perfectionist, as I had noticed all night, so this examination didn't surprise me in the least. "Nicely done," I said to Red. "Now, her head, please." Red reached to the back of Carlotta's head and began to remove the hairpins that held her bun in place. As he did, long strands of black/brown hair began to swing forward. Soon, he had her bun completely undone and began to brush out her hair one last time. That finished, he clicked on his clippers and got to work. He started at Carlotta's forehead, right in the center, and ran his clippers over the top of her head and down to the back of her neck. Sleek hair slid down to the floor. Red went back to Carlotta's forehead and began another path. He worked the right side, then the left side, then back to the right, and so on, widening the gap between the dwindling clumps of hair still on Carlotta's head. Throughout the entire clipping, Carlotta's face remained totally calm, almost emotionless. But I noticed something else; her nipples became erect just after Red began using his clippers. "Is it cold in here, Carlotta," I asked, "or are you enjoying this cut?" Carlotta looked at me and gave me a faint, slightly embarrassed smile. She also blushed, which I took to mean that she was actually enjoying what was happening to her. Red finished clipping away Carlotta's hair. She sat there, nearly bald, looking as calm as she could, save those screaming nipples. She had not removed her cigar from her mouth yet; she kept it clenched in the right side of her mouth. "Red," I said, "don't forget her eyebrows." He acknowledged my reminder by running his clippers over Carlotta's eyebrows, rendering them down to merest stubble as well. He turned off his clippers and began whipping up more shaving cream. As he did this, Jean-Marie came in and gathered up Carlotta's shorn locks, neatly tying them into one presentable package with a red satin ribbon. Jean-Marie had a huge grin on her face as she did this. "Jean-Marie," I asked, "what's so amusing?" "Seeing Carlotta in this position," she grinned. "Her calm posture is all an act." With that, Carlotta shot her a fierce glare and said "That's enough, J-M." But Jean-Marie ignored this warning. "She's never going to live this down," she continued, laughing. Damnit, this was getting irritating! Every time one of them talked, I felt more confused than I did before I'd asked a question. I wanted some answers, and I wanted them now. "Carlotta," I said, "I've had enough of the bullshit. What is going on?" "I'll tell you all about it very soon," Carlotta said, as Red began to lather up her scalp. "Just as soon as my cut is finished." I seethed with anger, but let it pass. "Red," I said, "make sure you shave her as close as possible. I don't want there to even be the hint of a hair on her head, or anywhere else. Understand?" "Perfectly," he said, as he began to shave Carlotta's head. He started at the top and began to shave down and around, working one direction, then another. As he progressed, gleaming scalp was left in his path. As before, I noticed that, unlike my scalp, Carlotta's scalp seemed to be as tanned as the rest of her skin. Red folded over one of Carlotta's ears and ran his razor behind it in one smooth motion. He then repeated this process behind her other ear. He had her tip her head forward slightly, then shaved the back of her head and neck. He lastly ran his razor over the stubble of her eyebrows, making that area smooth as glass as well. He put down his razor and began searching Carlotta's scalp for rough spots. He finished his search, and then began to mix up another batch of lather. I stepped over and touched Carlotta's scalp myself. I pushed hard all over it, but could find no trace of hair. "Red," I asked, "why are you making more lather?" "I'm going to shave her head again," he said. "I could feel a slight bit of hair in several areas." With that, he re-lathered her head and shaved it again. This, of course, prompted a great deal of laughter from the other ladies. Red then lifted Carlotta's right arm. He lathered her armpit, going several inches up her arm and down her side, and then carefully shaved the area smooth. He repeated this process under her left arm, making it smooth as well. Next, Red tipped the chair back, allowing Carlotta to recline. He began to lather her left leg, starting at the hip, and going all the way to her ankle. Then, with practised strokes, he shaved her leg. As he got toward her ankle, he grabbed his lather mug again and lathered her toes. Carlotta giggled from the tickling of the brush. As Red began to shave Carlotta's toes, I asked him, "What's with the toes?" "She's got a bit of hair on 'em," he said, "so I thought I'd shave 'em." More laughter erupted from the other ladies. I must admit that I laughed, too, at the thought of Carlotta having hairy toes! Red finished with the toes, then lathered and shaved Carlotta's right leg, toes included. He put down his razor and mug, then said, "Carlotta, it's time; I need to shave your pubes." Carlotta sat up slightly, cigar still clenched in her mouth, and reached down and grabbed her ankles. She then pulled her legs apart and held them there, quite immodestly, I might add. Red picked up his lather mug and began to apply the wet lather to Carlotta's pubic area. When he was satisfied that the area was well lathered, he picked up his straight razor and began to shave away Carlotta's most private fur. He worked slowly, carefully, making sure that he didn't accidentally nick her. As he continued to shave, I noticed very slight shaking in Carlotta's legs. If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn that she was quivering with sexual pleasure. Red finished Carlotta's shave. Carlotta let her ankles go, brought her legs together, and stood. She turned to look at herself in the mirror. "Red," she said as she ran her fingers across her scalp, "you do excellent work." "I believe this is yours," I said to Carlotta as I handed her $500. She reached for the money, but I pulled it away. "First," I said, "I want some answers." Carlotta smiled her Cheshire-Cat smile at me. "I agree," she said. "Let me put on my dress, and we'll talk." She first pulled on her panties, then stepped into her dress, zipped it up, and then motioned to me. "Come over here," she said. Lighting another cigarette, I obliged her. "I understand that you have a number of questions," Carlotta began. "You're damn right I do," I replied, somewhat forcefully. "Let's start with this afternoon. You said that you were there to see me. How did you get my name?" "Do you remember Linda Andersen?" Carlotta asked. "Of course I remember her," I replied, "we worked together for six months. She quit about a month ago." "She gave us your name. She knew that you were financially strapped, as she was, and that you might be eager to pick up some quick cash." "You mean that...." I started to say, but Carlotta cut me off. "Linda, come out here, please." From the back room, a figure emerged. I recognized the face; it was Linda (who was grinning from ear to ear, I might add), but I almost didn't recognize her because her hair was so different. When Linda and I worked together, she had a huge mound of the reddest, shiniest hair I had ever seen. She usually got two or three compliments about it daily; each one caused her emerald green eyes to sparkle. But now.... Now, Linda was nearly bald. She had nine areas of hair left, one on the top of her head, and eight that circled the sides of her head. Each area had been left long, and was then braided. The top area had a short braid that split off into eight smaller braids and went down into each of the eight remaining areas. These were braided into each other, creating the illusion that Linda was wearing a woven basket on her head. I must admit that I shrieked when I saw her. But I didn't feel too bad, because she shrieked when she saw me! "Linda!" I screamed. "They did this to you, too?" "They sure did," she replied. "But I was more desperate than you; I settled on five grand for my haircut." We both laughed at that. "What have you been doing this past month?" I asked. Linda lit a cigarette, then replied, "I've been hanging around with Carlotta and J.M., mostly. And...." "....And I think that's enough for right now," said Carlotta. "Linda, it's time to burn your contract!" With that, Kate walked over and handed Carlotta an envelope. Carlotta reached inside and pulled out a piece of paper. "I believe that this is yours," she said, handing the paper to Linda. Linda looked at the paper carefully but quickly. "It sure is," she replied. "It is my contract." "Which," Carlotta noted, glancing at her watch, "has just expired. Congratulations! You did it!" The other ladies in the group came over and gave Linda a hug; congratulatory words were spoken as well. "Now," said Carlotta, "are you sure that you aren't interested in a second contract?" A second contract? What was that? Linda smiled warmly at Carlotta, then said "I'm positive. This last month has been a lot of fun, but I don't think that I want to continue." "Ok," said Carlotta. "Red, would you do the honor of removing the remains of Linda's hair and shaving her scalp?" "It would be a pleasure," he replied, as Linda sat down in his chair. Red clicked on his clippers and ran them through the nine tufts of hair still on Linda's head, freeing the basket of hair. He handed the braids to Hilary, who began to unbraid them and pile the hair into a neat bundle. While Red lathered Linda's head and shaved her bald, I decided to ask Carlotta some more questions. "Carlotta, what's this about a second contract?" "It's an employment contract," she replied. "We have a copy for you, too." She handed me a piece of paper. Having been burned once by this crazy bitch, I decided to read this contract very carefully. What I read amazed me. It was an offer to work for The Haircutters Club. I would work with three to six other women every six weeks in much the same fashion that Carlotta, J-M, and the others were working. My group would concoct a haircut for another woman, have her get that cut, and then allow our hair to be cut however this new woman saw fit. "Well," said Carlotta after I had read through the contract, "what do you think?" "Every six weeks?" I questioned. "If we have to maintain the selected cut for four weeks, we'd only have stubble after six weeks." Carlotta grinned. "Not exactly. After the fourth week, we all shave our heads completely and stay that way for about ten days." A knowing expression crossed my face; Carlotta noticed it and grinned wider. "So that's why all of your scalps are nice and tan, while mine is...." "White as snow!" Hilary chimed in. "The mark of a true virgin!" We all laughed at that. As we did, Laura came over and joined us. Her freshly shaved scalp glistened in the light. I noticed that she had "virgin white" spots where her braids had been. "Well," she said to Carlotta, "I guess that does it for me." "Are you sure that you won't come to work with us?" Stacy asked. "As tempting as it sounds, I don't think so," Laura said. "Of course, if you ever want me to get another cut...." "I'll keep that in mind," said Carlotta, handing Laura a piece of paper and a lighter. "That's your old contract. Go ahead and burn it if you wish." Laura flicked on the lighter and touched the flame to the contract. "With pleasure," she said. In seconds, the contract was nothing but ash. "Now," said Carlotta, "how long would you like it?" "Longer than when I met you," said Laura. "About three or four feet long should be fine." Carlotta opened her purse and pulled out a small pill bottle. She uncapped the bottle and shook five pills out into Laura's outstretched hand. "That should do it," Carlotta said. Bambi handed Laura a glass of water, and Laura took the pills. "How long will it take these to take effect?" she asked. "Just a minute or so," answered Kate. "You better sit down; when they take effect, you'll feel dizzy for awhile." "Carlotta," I asked, "what did you give her?" "Her contract said that she had to maintain the selected haircut for thirty days; it never said that she couldn't change it after that point." "You mean...." "Watch." I did. Right before my eyes, Laura's hair began to resprout. As red as it was, it looked more like an eruption of hair coming out of her head. It grew at least a foot in thirty seconds. Another wave of recognition hit me. "That's why you only give yourselves four days at the end of the six weeks." "I think Suzi's seen the light," said Bambi. In minutes, Laura's hair had regrown completely and was at least three and a half feet long. She studied herself in the mirror, feeling the hair carefully. "I can't believe how thick and soft this is," she said. "All part of the pills," said Carlotta. "Laura, this is for you." Carlotta handed Laura a check. "$100,000?" Laura exclaimed. "What's this for?" "Let's just call it 'severance pay,'" said Carlotta. "You'll find a limo outside waiting to take you home." "Thank you so much," Laura cried, hugging first Carlotta, then Kate, then the others. "I'll never forget you guys!" "We'll keep in touch," said Carlotta, "I promise." With that, Laura walked out the door, into the limo, and sped away. "Now," said Carlotta, "I suppose you have a few more questions." Well, I certainly did, but I won't bore you with recounting them here word for word. In summary, Carlotta confirmed my guesses regarding the Haircutters Club. The club was a group of wealthy individuals -- doctors, lawyers, politicians, businesspersons -- who got off on seeing women having their hair cut in strange ways. As my first contract outlined, I had to keep my cut, as did the rest of the group, for thirty days. What it didn't state was how that thirty days would go by. During my cut, I thought that I'd maybe start to let it grow, not knowing who would ever know. As it turned out, there was no way possible to do that, as the seven of us got together every day for most of the day. I learned more in that month about hair care than I would ever have imagined. Our days were spent mostly relaxing, keeping up our tan levels, and talking. Our nights were typically one party after another. I quickly grew accustomed to the best wines, expensive foods, and the "jet-set" life. In that first month alone, we all flew to Paris, Madrid, Tokyo, and Sydney. And those were only the out-of-country trips! We also went to Dallas, Chicago, New York (twice), and Las Vegas. These nightly parties were entirely funded by members of the Haircutters Club, who wanted to see our latest styles in person. I learned that they had already seen our cuts by both videotape and from still photographs. Everyone I met wanted to touch my scalp. At first, I found this a trifle insulting, but I grew to like it (especially in Madrid, when a massively handsome businessman gave me an hour-long scalp massage that generated at least five separate orgasms on my part -- I don't know how many he had!). And, as she suspected, Carlotta did take quite a bit of ribbing about "refusing" a haircut. I learned later that one of the "employees" may be offered a bonus as an incentive to refuse a haircut. I know that I've jumped a bit ahead here, and you, dear listener, are probably wondering if I got my kneecaps broken, or perhaps you are wondering how my bosses received my new hairstyle. In answer to the former, no, I kept my knees and my car. I went down to Tartaglia's the next morning and paid them, in cash. I borrowed a dress from Carlotta that was split so far up the sides that it felt like it was just draped over my head. The slightest breeze pulled it away from my body and showed off my legs (did I mention that I've got beautiful legs?). I don't know what surprised the thug behind the counter more; my dress, the fact that I wasn't wearing any underwear (and yes, I still had my pubic forest, although I do keep it in a neat "bikini" trim), or that I was sporting a mohawk. I've had men stare at me before (at nightclubs, in bars, even at work), but in no way was I prepared for the ogling that I received. I couldn't believe how much I enjoyed it! My bosses were another story. I called in sick that next morning, and went in late that evening to clean out my desk and leave a letter of resignation. I know that I took the coward's way out, but I just couldn't face those old codgers. I know they would have fired me on the spot because of my new hairstyle, and I felt so good about the cut that I didn't want there to be any reason for me to regret it. I did get a very abrupt letter from old man Sloan that stated they were disappointed in my actions but that they would give me an adequate referral should I need one. Towards the end of the month, when Carlotta asked me again about joining the group, I knew there was no way I couldn't. I had grown to love these ladies like sisters; in fact, we were closer than sisters. When I told them that I'd sign the employment contract, there was much rejoicing; that is an understatement -- the party lasted for two days! And you may be wondering about the "mystery of the cigars." As it turned out, they were supplied to the "employees" of the Haircutter's Club by one of the members. They were very expensive, as I learned, and were to only be smoked by the "employees," which is why, until I signed the second contract, I wasn't allowed to smoke them. And smoking them wasn't a requirement of employment; rather, it represented a bonus. Apparently, not only did this member enjoy bald (or nearly bald) women, but he also enjoyed cigar-smoking women, and he personally paid each one of us for each cigar we smoked. Did I mention the pay? As I mentioned before, Laura, when she completed her contract, got $100,000 as a parting gift. I'm not going to mention any actual dollar amounts here -- I don't want to brag -- but our yearly salary is in the high six figures. Plus, we've got tremendous benefits, including room, board, and a $7,000 per month clothing allowance. Well, that's my story. As I said, this started when I was twenty-three; I just turned twenty-six. The group of employees has grown from the seven I've introduced you to here to nearly twenty. Carlotta heads up one group, Hilary heads another, and I head up the third. Each group has a haircutting party once every six weeks or so. So far, I've sported four more mohawks, had six flattops, had my hair dyed black and white once, found myself the "victim" of "male-pattern baldness" three times, wore a crewcut with a tic-tac-toe game carved into it, and had my head shaved completely bald nine times; I've also had one or both eyebrows shaved off fourteen times. To be honest, I find that I prefer myself bald now. But there's still something to be said for having long hair down to your waist...as long as it gets cut soon! Do I think that I'll be doing this much longer? Of course I do! I've had a ball the past three years, and, with the way the club is growing, I can imagine that I'll be here for several more years. Then, when I "retire," I'm going back to my old law firm, totally bald, and offer to buy the place. If that isn't sweet revenge, then I don't know what would be. And, the next time you see as stunning young woman walking around with either a shaved or partially shaved head, go up to her, introduce yourself to her, and compliment her on her haircut. You could be talking to someone from the Haircutter's Club, and, if you're really lucky, she may just invite you to join.
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