H a i r c u t S t o r i e s
The Price Of Stardom
story written and contributed by
Sabrina S.
| We've got everything booked and HAVE to start
filming the week after next. Is there any way you can learn the part of
Phoebe? You don't know this, but it was a toss up at the auditions whether
we'd give you Phoebe's part or Clara’s. Please say you can.” If filming
was held up Jeff and his backers stood to lose a lot of money, but that
was the last thing on Nathalie’s mind. “Yes!” she screamed down the phone.
“Yes! Yes!” Nathalie worked frantically with her drama coach for the next
fortnight, and dreamed of wearing the gorgeous costumes. Luckily she was
a similar size to Anna Andrews, who'd been originally chosen for Phoebe,
and the costumes didn't need much altering. Two days before shooting commenced
Nathalie was on set for final costume fittings. “Gorgeous!” Byron, the
bleached, bespectacled director, ran his hands down Nathalie’s chemise
dress and admired her Louis heel pumps. “Fits you like a glove, sweetie.
Now only one thing left to do. Off to hairdressing with you. We're doing
publicity shots this afternoon so it'll be makeup after that.” “Oh, to
see all the ways I can put my hair up?” Nathalie wriggled out of the dress
behind a screen. Byron might be gay but she still wasn't keen on him seeing
her body – unless it was on film, Robert was the only man who got lucky
there. “Oh dear, didn't you realize?” Byron sounded worried. Nathalie threw
on her jeans and t shirt and emerged from behind the screen. “Clara was
a servant, and dressed in a very traditional manner, with her hair in a
bun. Phoebe is a fashionable lady, darling. A flapper, a bright young thing.
This is the 1920s, when fashionable women cut their hair. You MUST know
it's the decade that made the bob famous.” Nathalie blanched. “Cut my hair?
What are we talking about? A bob?” Byron wouldn't meet her eyes. “Now don't
go all tizzy on me, we can't afford to lose you. We've already lost one
Phoebe and shooting starts in two days. Your contract says you'll comply
with what we want to do with your looks. You wouldn't want word to get
around that you're difficult to work with, would you?” He said it with
just the merest hint of a threat. Nathalie stroked her hair. God! She'd
spent the last five years growing it, particularly as Robert adored long
hair. What would he say if she came home with a short bob? And what would
it do to her career if she said no? “Can't I have a wig instead?” she pleaded.
“I don't think all these long locks of yours will fit under one,” Byron
said, picking up a handful of her hair. “It's too thick. I really think
it'll sit better if it's cut. Now don't be silly, Nats. Just think, Sigourney
Weaver shaved her head for Alien 3 and then there was Demi Moore in GI
Jane. We're not asking you to do that. You'll get a lovely fashionable
haircut – free of charge!” Byron gave her an orthodontically enhanced smile.
He put a hand on Nat's back and propelled her out the door. “Let's go to
Hairdressing.” Hairdressing was located in another building in the studio
complex. Byron called cheerily at the door, “Hello crimpers! We've got
Phoebe here!” “Won't be a minute!” There was only one hairdresser working,
a slim, red-haired women who was busy cutting a man's hair. Nathalie recognized
the leading man, Philip. Or rather, didn't recognize him. Last time she'd
seen him he had shoulder length, wavy hair. Now his dark blond hair was
being clipped quite short at the back and sides, with longer waves left
on top. “Jeez,” Philip said, as the stylist put the clippers down and started
to snip away with scissors. “Haven't seen my ears in ages!” The hairdresser
laughed and cut Philip's hair quite close around his ears. Nathalie looked
at the pile of cut hair on Philip's shoulders and lap, and tried not to
feel nervous. “Heavens,” said Byron, squeezing her arm. “You'd think we
were about to inflict surgery on you without anesthetic! Don't look so
frightened, Nats. It's only a haircut, and you can grow it again when we've
finished filming.” Byron’s own hair was a white blonde crewcut which saw
the clippers at least once a month. “There you go!” The stylist put down
the edger she had used to shave his neck and sideburns. She dusted Philip's
neck of clippings, and unclipped the cape. Philip ruefully ran his hands
through his newly shorn hair. “Thanks, Marla. I think!” “Think of your
career, Philip darling!” Byron said playfully. “And you look sooooo masculine!”
he called to Philip's departing back. He turned his attention to Marla,
the stylist. “Now, Marla, this is Nathalie, who's playing Phoebe in Jazz
Baby. She's our leading lady, so she has to have the most stylish haircut
of the era.” “Eton crop,” Marla nodded. “Agree totally,” said Byron. “What?”
said Nathalie. “What's an Eton crop? Is that a bob?” “Just sit down darling,
and let Marla cut your hair.” Byron pushed her into the chair. Nathalie
was aware her hands were sweating as Marla fastened the cape around her
neck and lifted out her long, shiny, seal brown hair. “Great hair,” Marla
said conversationally. “In a way it's a pity to have to cut it all off.”
Nathalie was feeling sicker and sicker. She'd never had her hair shorter
than shoulder length, in fact she didn't really like short hair on women,
and thought it quite unfeminine. Marla brushed her hair while Nathalie
watched in the mirror. She saw her own face was quite pale with what had
to be fright. Marla gathered the lovely hair into a ponytail and fastened
it with a rubber band. It hung down almost to the seat of the chair. Then,
before Nathalie knew what was happening, Marla had produced a pair of scissors
from the pocket in her smock, had opened them and begun to close the blades
on the thick ponytail. Nathalie felt a tugging near the collar of her T-shirt,
and heard the scissors straining to cut her sheaves of hair. Skkkkkkrrriiiiiiik!
Skkkkrrrrrriiiiik! In horror she watched as short locks swung forward to
caress her jawbone. “My hair!” “You can keep the ponytail,” Marla offered
kindly, still forcing the blades into Nathalie’s hair. Crunch! Crunch!
Nathalie heard the sounds of her hair being cut off magnified a hundred
fold. Unable to stop herself, Nathalie felt tears swimming in her eyes
and then running down her cheeks. Her lovely hair! Was this the price of
stardom? And was it worth it? The tugging continued as Nathalie’s ponytail
was slowly severed. Marla had an expression of extreme concentration on
her face as she hacked away. With one last tug the last of Nathalie’s long
hair was liberated. The rough bob swung around her face and Marla breathed
a sigh of relief and massaged her fingers. Marla carefully placed the glossy
ponytail on the cabinet in front of the mirror. Looking at it, Nathalie
hiccuped a sob and Byron wordlessly handed her a box of Kleenex. “Darling,
I hope you're made of sterner stuff than this! It's only a haircut!” “Is
it over?” Nathalie whispered hopefully. “”Fraid not,” Marla said in a cheerful
voice. “You won't recognize yourself by the time I've finished.” “That's
what I'm afraid of,” Nathalie sobbed. Marla patted her shoulder and parted
her hair firmly on one side with a practiced flick of her comb. “Look,
don't worry, Nathalie. Only the most beautiful women could get away with
an Eton crop. You've got a lovely hairline and a well shaped head. You'll
look fantastic! Far better than Anna would have, just between you, me and
Byron.” “Agree TOTally,” Byron said enthusiastically. Marla pinned up some
of the back of Nathalie’s hair, and wet the hair hanging down her neck
with a sprayer. Then, to Nathalie’s horror, she picked up a straight razor.
“W-what are you doing?” Nathalie gasped. “Giving you an authentic Eton
crop,” replied Marla. “In those days women got their hair cut off in barber
shops. Barbers would use razors like this as well as scissors. They also
had hand operated clippers and in the 20s electric clippers were just starting
to come in. So I'm trying to stay true to the period. Aren't you glad I
did my 1920s research, Byron?” “I'm very impressed,” said Byron, pulling
up the chair next to Nathalie, sitting down and crossing his legs. Marla
combed out a lock of Nathalie’s hair, held it firmly, and began to stroke
it with the razor, cutting it to about half an inch long. Nathalie couldn't
see what she was doing, but felt the razor pulling at her hair. Then the
pulling stopped and Marla dropped a handful of hair to the floor. “Might
be better if you bent your neck forward a bit,” Marla suggested, positioning
Nathalie’s head. Nathalie felt very vulnerable, imprisoned by Byron at
her side and the razor-wielding Marla behind her. She had no idea how short
her hair was being cut, but was aware that the middle of her neck felt
naked. Marla combed out more hair and shortened it swiftly with the razor.
It fell neatly into place against Nathalie’s head. “Is that short enough,
Byron?” Marla enquired. Byron ran his fingers through Nathalie’s hair and
Nathalie gasped as she realized there wasn't much hair there to run them
through. “Fine, Marla. Are you going to expose her hairline at the neck?”
“That's the style,” Marla agreed. “I’ll taper it a bit.” Marla kept working
at the back of Nathalie’s head. Nathalie felt more and more hair get razored
away at her nape. She shuddered as she felt the razor shearing away the
hair behind her ears. This was a serious haircut! It felt like it was shorter
than her own husband's! Nathalie bit back another rush of tears as she
heard the blade rasping against her locks. The razor was down near her
hairline now. Marla gently tapered the hair with little strokes of the
razor until the “m” of Nathalie’s hairline was clearly visible. Marla let
the rest of the hair out of the clips and it tumbled down Nathalie’s head.
It was only when she felt hair against her neck again that Nathalie understood
just how short her hair was being cut. Then her hair was sprayed and combed,
and the razor tugged at it, apparently not cutting it to half an inch all
over, but forming some kind of step rather high up at the back. Nathalie
didn't know what an Eton crop was, but she was extremely relieved it wasn't
a first cousin to a crewcut. “That's looking better already,” Marla commented,
running her fingers through the back of Nathalie’s cropped hair. “Long
hair is all very nice, but personally I think you need a bit of texture
in a hairstyle.” Her own red hair was a short, layered cut that framed
her face in points and feathers. Marla prepared the side of Nathalie’s
head, wetting it thoroughly and pinning some of it up. Now Nathalie could
see what she was doing, and was aghast when Marla simply combed out a thick
lock of hair above her ear and dove the razor into it, stroking away until
the lock was severed and dropped to the floor. The cut hair sat almost
just above Nathalie’s ear. “Nice and short,” said Byron approvingly. Marla
cut away the hair in front of Nathalie’s ear in the same method, holding
it taut and brushing the super sharp blade against it till it was shortened.
The pinned up hair came down and was cut in long layers to a point somewhere
above Nathalie’s ear. She couldn't see for the tears flooding her eyes
again; she could only see the chopped off locks dropping to her shoulder.
“Nats, darling, do stop crying, there's a dear,” said Byron, patting her
hair covered shoulder. “Remember we've got the photo shoot today, can't
have our star with red eyes.” His voice was sounding a little strained.
Taking a deep breath, Nathalie tried to pull herself together and not mind
that her hair was being forcibly cut short with an instrument usually used
on men's’ beards. Marla had moved to the other side, wetting, pinning,
and razoring. Nathalie wordlessly watched her transformation in the mirror,
not daring to blow her nose in case Marla missed and cut her ear. She noticed
her ears looked neat and small and well shaped. Maybe the haircut would
suit her after all. Rasp, tug. The razor biting at her hair sounded loud
and not unlike Robert shaving his face in the morning. Nathalie heaved
a sigh of relief when Marla put down the razor and wiped the clippings
from her hands. She had a long lock of hair reaching almost to her ears
as a fringe; the top was, in retrospect to the rest of her hair, quite
long. “Is that it?” “Not quite, I’ll just blend it a bit with the scissors.”
Marla homed in with comb and scissors and cut Nathalie pointy sideburns;
then she placed the scissors flat against Nathalie’s cheek and cut away
the slight dark down that grew in front of her ears. It was a new experience
for Nathalie and her eyes widened. She felt herself blushing. Marla snipped
away all around Nathalie’s head, cutting tiny bits of hair off here and
there. She began to cut the sides shorter and shorter until Nathalie’s
cape was covered in tiny clippings, the scissors snipping as swiftly as
a barber's. Nathalie watched spellbound as the hair around her ears was
scissored close to her head. Then Marla bent Nathalie’s head forward and
began to taper the nape even closer in a scissor over comb motion, moving
the comb up the back of Nathalie’s head and snipping rapidly all the while,
cutting off more and more hair until Nathalie began to wonder if she had
any hair left back there. Her skin felt tight and tingly where her hair
had been cropped very short. She felt clippings fall against her cold,
naked neck. Marla snipped off the hairs growing below Nathalie’s hairline
at the back. “I don't think we'll shave it with a razor,” she said, “I
want the hairs on her neck to look rather natural, she has such a well
shaped hairline. I’ll just tidy it up.” With that Marla flicked on a pair
of clippers and ran them carefully up Nathalie’s neck, buzzing off the
stray hairs growing low on the woman's neck. Nathalie jumped when she felt
the vibrating blades against her skin; this was totally alien to her. She
had to admit she rather liked the feeling though, and was almost sorry
that Marla only stroked her neck with the clippers three or four times.
Finally Marla scooped up a fingerful of pomade, and smoothed it into Nathalie’s
hair. She combed Nathalie’s long fringe back behind her ear, and slicked
down the sides. “That's it,” Marla pronounced. “Gorgeous!” exclaimed Byron,
getting up and walking in a circle around Nathalie. “LOVE the back, darling!”
Marla picked up a mirror and showed Nathalie the back of her head. Nathalie
gasped when she saw how short her hair was, cut like a boy's around the
hairline, shingled short up the back of her head. She said as much. Byron
and Marla hooted with laughter. “That's why it's an ETON crop, darling!
It's the haircut the schoolboys at Eton used to have,” Byron explained.
“Fashionable ladies decided they'd get their hair cut like that too. But
not many of them wore it as well as you do, Nats.” Marla unfastened the
cape and dusted the clippings from Nathalie’s neck. Now she could see herself
in her own clothes, Nathalie gasped. She had no idea she'd look so good!
Her neck looked long and graceful, her eyes huge with the hair drawn back
from them. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe short hair could look good
on a woman after all! Nobody could accuse her of looking unfeminine, even
with her slicked back short boy's cut and her unisex jeans and t shirt.
And in Phoebe's stunning clothes? She'd look a knockout! Nathalie grinned,
touching her cropped hair. “I can't wait to get to makeup and wardrobe,”
she said. “Thank heavens for that!” exclaimed Byron with an exaggerated
hand-over-heart gesture. “I was afraid you'd go off in a hissy fit!” Marla
winked at her behind Byron’s back. “Don't forget to come back in a few
weeks for a trim, will you?” She handed Nathalie the cut off ponytail.
“I’ll be back,” Nathalie promised, still fingering the shorn hair at her
nape in disbelief. Byron slipped his arm into hers and dragged her off
to makeup. The photo shoot went well. Nathalie and Philip giggled at each
other's short haircuts, especially as Nathalie’s was even shorter than
Philip's, until the photographer snapped at them and told them to behave.
“You look very sexy,” Philip murmured to her as they posed in their period
clothing with a vintage Packard automobile. “As your leading man I’ll have
no trouble with the love scenes.” “I hope my husband feels the same,” Nathalie
murmured back with her smile still fixed at the camera. She was nervous
as she drove home, negotiating the traffic on autopilot. The ponytail sat
on the passenger seat. Already it seemed part of another life. Nathalie
found it hard to believe that she'd had long hair only that morning. By
now she was used to the feeling of her short, shingled hair cut close to
her nape, and her slicked back image in the mirror. The memory of the clippers
shaving her neck made her almost shudder in pleasure then she brought herself
back to earth. God, what if Robert hated her hair? The last thing she needed
was a major row with filming due to start in two days! The lights weren't
on in their semi-detached cottage, and Nathalie breathed a sigh of relief
as she parked the car. She took a special package from the back seat, and
raced inside, estimating Robert wouldn't be far behind her. She opened
the package and slipped into the clothing it contained, touching up her
makeup as she heard Robert's key in the front door. “Darling, are you home?”
he called. “Be there in a minute,” she replied, her heart thudding. Checking
herself in the mirror, she walked steadily into the living room where Robert
was tugging at his tie. He let out a long, low whistle. Nathalie was wearing
one of the costumes from Jazz Baby, the elegant pale blue beaded chemise
dress with spaghetti straps, and high, strappy sandals. She had a beaded,
feathered headband fastened around her forehead, and had outlined her eyes
in kohl and painted her mouth in a scarlet cupid's bow. She held her hands
behind her back. “Fancy a Charleston?” Nathalie said shakily. “Sod the
Charleston,” Robert replied. “I fancy you, it's even sexier than the schoolgirl
costume!” In two long strides he was across the room with his arms around
her. Nathalie tensed as Robert felt up and down her back, and then her
head. “Where's your hair?” he gasped, pulling off the headband and pushing
his fingers into her short crop, brushing his fingers up the shingled,
shorn nape in disbelief. “Here,” Nathalie said, whisking out the ponytail
from behind her back. “I had to cut it all off for the film. I didn't know
until today.” She hesitated. “Do you mind too much?” Robert smoothed down
her hair where he'd rumpled it and studied her carefully, stroking her
short hair and caressing her naked ears. Nathalie held her breath. “Actually,
it suits you,” he said finally. “I’d even venture to say it's rather sexy.
Especially in that dress. Speaking of which, how quickly can you get out
of that dress without damaging it?” Nathalie grinned, throwing her arms
around him and burying her fingers in his brown hair. (She was right…her
hair was shorter than his at the back) “I’ll show you,” she said. Epilogue
Six months later Jazz Baby was released and proved to be a box office smash,
catapulting its relatively unknown leads to stardom. The film was tipped
to win an Academy Award. Even the soundtrack was a hit, with jazz suddenly
cool on the Top 40. Nathalie’s Eton crop was the haircut of the year as
far as fashion followers were concerned. Teenage girls and young women
flocked to salons to have their long locks shorn in a look that transcended
even Jennifer Aniston’s Rachel cut in popularity. Street fashions, too,
echoed the movie, with Phoebe's long line chemise dresses and wide legged
pants selling like hot cakes. And Nathalie Rourke, the hottest new star
on the block? She kept her trademark Eton crop, even after filming was
over. These days she visited her hairdresser every month and had the sides
and back cut with clippers, because she adored the feeling of the blades
buzzing her hair. Her next role paid six times what Jazz Baby did, and
required her to have long hair. She couldn't wait until the day's filming
was over to pull the wig from her head, ruffle her short crop and feel
the fresh air on her neck again. The long ponytail that had been cut from
her head had long since been consigned to its rightful place – the garbage.
© Copyright 1999, Sabrina S.
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