H a i r c u t S t o r i e s
Chloe
story written and contributed by
Spike Dee.
| I met Chloe at one of Sarah famous house parties.
I was new to that circle so I only knew a few of the people there, but
it was a good crowd and I talked and listened and drank a little.
After some time I found myself talking to a gorgeous young lass with a
wicked sense of humor and a very nice blonde crop.
She turned out to be a hairdresser and, being how I am, I couldn't resist getting her to talk shop. Go on then who, apart from you, has the best haircut here? I asked cheekily. Well, she said looking round. Look over there. In the short black dress. I like that cut, technically challenging. She definitely has a good hairdresser; There was a twinkle in her eyes as she finished and a conspiratorial smile played at the corner of her lips. I followed her gaze and picked out a tall and vivacious girl with her hair bobbed short at the neck and expertly cut to fall just onto her ears. Suspecting that she had selected one of her own clients, I paid the genuinely enthusiastic compliments I felt. She talked on freely about her work and ambitions and I was oblivious to the rest of the party. Now. We've done the best, what about the worst? I said after fetching fresh drinks for us both and moving to a more convenient vantage point. How about that lanky girl with the afghan hound look? Or that hideous home perm over there; Chloe looked about theatrically before looking me square in the eyes and saying. No, rude person. Its yours! With a smile that took some of the sting from her words. I was dumbstruck. Taking pot shots at the other guests had had backfired with a vengeance and left me truly hoist by my own petard. I had probably just insulted some of her friends. Oh God. How crass of me. I blundered and then with a flash of inspiration, There only one thing for it. You must cut my hair. Any way you like. Whenever. I throw myself on your mercy. I can help you; she said, cutting in, earnestly, and grinning again. I can even help you now, but I only do one style at parties and there are three conditions. OK. What's the style? She reached up and turned my head about, flicked at my hair a bit and then stared me straight in the eye. Shaved. Completely. It exactly what you need. My heart leapt or missed a beat and I was gripped at once by fear and longing. Longing to agree, fear that I would, then fear again that I would not. Was it possible that she knew how I had always wanted to shave my head, had fantasized about it for almost as long as I could remember? The conditions?; I breathed, hardly able to speak. One.; She started, ticking off the numbers on her fingers. You mustn't be drunk. I don't think you are but that's always my first condition. Sarah will test you with one of her tongue twisters. Two. I don't start until you've raised at least a hundred pounds for charity.; And three?; Ah. Well, I don't actually tell you the third condition until you've satisfied the first two. You can back out then, but I wouldn't want it to cloud your judgment. She said this with a most salacious grin, a grin that communicated a whole lot about what the third condition might be. Think about it while I go and talk to Sarah. And she slinked off in the direction of the kitchen. My heart was beating so hard that I was sure everyone in the house would hear it thumping as I wrestled with my secret and shameful desires. I finished my drink in one and began to look for another. Then I remembered that I must not be drunk. I ducked into the hall and took a guilty glance at myself in the mirror. How many times had I done just that before a haircut, only to sit and mumble for the most boring of trims. The thought firmed my resolve and I went back in search of Chloe. She was still in the kitchen with Sarah, wearing another of her wicked grins and holding a hat full of money. Look! She began, as I gaped at the heap of notes, and went on in a gleeful voice, I didn't tell them about the hundred pound limit so we've actually got about two fifty. How did you know I was going to agree?; I asked, staring rather stupidly from Chloe to Sarah and then back to the hat. I'll tell you the third condition now. She said by way of distraction and leaned close to whisper. Sarah sniggered as I blushed and then smiled and nodded. I was seated in the largest room and, while the guests piled in to watch, Chloe massaged oil into the roots of my hair. Amid much hooting, laughter and good natured banter she produced a straight razor and displayed it with a flourish. Then, in total silence, as all eyes followed the steely blade, she drew it smoothly from front to back. As she finished that first sweep a cheer went up and the background susurrus began again. A gamut of emotions swept over me as Chloe shaved the rest of my head, gently but quickly. I felt at once humiliated, then anointed, foolish, then purified. Suddenly it was done and I came back into the world by stages. Someone brought me a drink. Everyone wanted to feel my new head. People congratulated me, and I felt a fraud. Others took the Mickey, which was easier to take, especially as there was no rancour to their teasing. It seemed ages before I faced Chloe again and we got back to getting to know each other. Then when we looked up and everyone had gone, Sarah said to go home or we'd be arrested for doing something indecent on the way. So I walked Chloe home, in delightful and expectant silence, where I fulfilled her third condition, to her evident satisfaction. Several times, in fact, which is a record for me. |
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