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“Whoa,” I choke out. The thought of not havin’ anything on the top of my head would bring me to my knees if I weren’t being held hostage by Annie and her magical fingers.
“No Jasmine, that’s too much.” This voice has a soft sweet lilt to her tone that makes me think of Haley, King’s ol’ lady. “I think he’d look gorgeous with maybe an inch on top and the sides shaved. The beard goes but leave a sexy shadow.”
The fuckin’ beard goes? Don’t I get a say?
There’s a collective sigh around the room as Annie sits me up and wraps a towel around my head. “Don’t need to wash the beard, I guess, if it’s all coming off.” She shifts her attention.
“Daisy, gonna need your chair, if you don’t mind moving to Bab’s. You have another twenty minutes before the dye gets rinsed.”
“No problem,” Daisy says as she gathers her bib with her hand and switches chairs. She’s the one with the soft voice. Pretty too, about 50, her hair in curlers with a bunch of white papers.
“You gettin’ a dye job?” I ask because I figure I need to say something.
“Highlights,” she smiles. “Goddamnit, Babs,” she says to the middle-aged woman who’s fussing with the rollers. “Of all the times to be married.”
Babs laughs loudly. “I told you to divorce the bugger.”
“I should’ve listened.”
Shit, now they’re objectifying me.
Annie steers me to the chair and twists it so I’m looking in the mirror.
“I got an ugly mug,” I say, thinking now’s the time to escape, towel in my hair and all.
“Let me see,” Jasmine says as she puts down her scissors and turns on… I mean… to me. She shoves her hands in my beard and feels around my face, chin, and neck.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growl, thinking to swat her hands away but I’m immobilized by the fucking bib.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Laura says from the waiting room. “Jasmine’s a face whisperer.”
There’s a chorus of agreement.
I forget myself. “What the fuck’s a face whisperer?”
“Jasmine can feel a face and know just like that what works.” The lady with the smoker’s voice says from two chairs over. She’s gettin’ her nails done by a small woman who’s almost jailbait.
I catch the girl’s eye and she smiles and quirks her eyebrows at me. She ain’t flirtin’ though and I feel offended. I’m in the fuckin’ twilight zone, I decide. It’s my charm though, that gets attention and for some reason, it’s gone missing. “Mrs. Jennings is right,” she says as she nods towards her client. “Jasmine’s the best.”
Jasmine steps back. “There’s a fine face under all that hair.” She looks me over from my boots to my ripped jeans, which is all she can see ‘cause the rest of me is covered by the bib. “It’ll go nice with that fine body.”
“Hey!” I protest with ironic offence. “Kind of unprofessional talkin’ about me like I’m a piece of meat.”
“You love it, baby,” Jasmine says to the loud laughter of the women.
I’m thinkin’ I’ve just about had enough when I hear the snip of the scissors and see a large chunk of my hair fall to the floor. Fuck!
“There’s no turning back now,” Annie says like she’s reading my mind. I catch her eyes in the mirror, and become afraid, very afraid. I’ve become their project, and I won’t get to leave until they’re ready to let me go.
“Does he have scars?” Laura from the waiting room asks Jasmine.
“You could ask me,” I say with a note of irritation.
“You might lie,” Mrs. Jennings observes.
“No scars,” Jasmine confirms.
“Then why’re you hidin’ that mug under all that hair?” Babs asks.
