Three weeks after her high school graduation Andrea Olsen found a job in the claims adjustment department of Hometown Mutual Insurance Company.  The department consisted of fifteen male “outside adjustors” who investigated accident claims and an equal number of female “inside adjustors” who reviewed the reports prepared by their male counterparts, entered records in the computer data bank, and made sure payments were properly processed.

Andrea’s supervisors soon realized that their new adjustor was an exceptionally meticulous and conscientious worker; just the kind of employee they prized but rarely found.  Most newly hired clerks made frequent mistakes in their first weeks, but no one ever discovered an error in Andrea’s work.  Before long, when other women encountered a difficult case, they said, “Ask Andrea, she’ll know.” The “outside adjustors” also learned that her advice was always correct.  It seemed that she had memorized the entire two-volume set of regulations governing their work.  She progressed from trainee to senior adjustor in record time.  After two years she was put in charge of the other women and, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, when her manager retired, Andrea was selected to be the youngest and first female department head in the company’s history.

Andrea took her job very seriously.  She was the first to arrive at the office each morning and, when the other workers departed at quitting time, she frequently stayed after hours, making sure that all tasks were completed.  With the exception of a one-week vacation each July, she never missed a day of work.  The president of Hometown Mutual, William Anderson, appreciated his exceptionally dedicated employee.  “That Miss Olsen is a gem,” he often remarked.  “I wish we could clone her.”

The other women working in the claims adjustment department respected their manager’s knowledge and expertise, but behind her back they whispered.  “She’s the youngest spinster in the world,” Fanny observed.  “Before I met her I didn’t think it was possible to be an old maid at twenty-five, but she definitely is one.” In the early days her co-workers asked her to go with them to Friday evening happy hours.  Andrea always declined, claiming that she was needed at home to care for her elderly father.  It wasn’t long before the invitations ceased. 

Each day she ate her brown bag lunch in the company cafeteria, sitting alone at the same table, reading a novel until it was time to go back to her desk.  Andrea soon gained a reputation as an aloof, no-nonsense authority figure, caring for nothing except perfection in her work.  She was unfailingly proper when dealing with subordinates, but unforgiving when she encountered careless or sloppy work.  She tolerated no foolishness during work hours.  From nine to five the atmosphere in claims adjustment was “strictly business.” Productivity was high; so was turnover.  Only a few equally dedicated women stayed in her department for more than a year.

Andrea’s stern professional demeanor was reinforced by her austere appearance.  Everyone agreed she was an attractive woman. Standing five feet ten with a fashion-model-thin figure and a flawless complexion, she drew admiring glances from men wherever she went.  Except for a hint of lipstick, however, she made no effort to enhance her features.  A simple wristwatch was the only jewelry she wore.  Following her promotion to department head, Andrea’s attire consisted entirely of tailored business suits and crisp white blouses.  Her shoes were sensible pumps with one-inch heels. 

Andrea’s most striking feature was her rich strawberry blonde hair.  From her very first day at Hometown Mutual she wore it in the same fashion—parted down the middle and gathered at her neck in a neat bun.  “If I had hair like hers I wouldn’t hide it, I’d flaunt it,” sniped Liz the receptionist.  “It’s like she’s a nun without the habit,” added Cathy from accounting.  “Has anyone ever seen her with her hair down?” asked Peggy, who had worked in the office for less than a year.  “Never,” the girls replied.  “Her hair is always the same.  I wish just once she would let her hair down.”

Andrea’s life outside of the office was a mystery to her co-workers.  They knew her mother had died when Andrea was a child and her father passed away a few months after she began working at Hometown Mutual.  Mary in Personnel revealed that she lived alone in the house her parents left her in a quiet neighborhood not far from the airport.  She had no dependents, no boyfriends that they knew of, and no companions except her cat, Yolanda.

If they had followed her home, the women in the claims department would have had their suspicions confirmed.  Andrea occupied a modest two-bedroom bungalow that dated from the 1940s.  It was the home she had been raised in.  The rooms were sparsely furnished and immaculately kept.  In the summer months elderly neighbors occasionally observed her tending a weed-free flower garden.  Many had known her since she was a young girl.  They exchanged friendly greeting in passing, but nothing more.  None of them knew her very well.  Like her colleagues at work, the neighbors concluded Andrea was a very private person.

Her morning routine never varied: up at six, feed Yolanda, a breakfast of granola and tea, read the newspaper, catch the eight-fifteen bus; enter at the office precisely at ten to nine. Evenings she arrived home between six and seven depending on the demands of work, fed her cat again, fixed a simple dinner, usually Lean Cuisine in the microwave, then played classical music on the stereo and read until retiring at ten-thirty.  Before going to bed she sat in front of her dressing table and removed the pins that held her hair in place.  Freed from their restraints, the long blonde strands tumbled down her back, past her slender waist.  Every night without fail she counted out one hundred strokes, just as her mother had done when she was a little girl.  Brushing imparted a sense of calm contentment and helped Andrea sleep untroubled until the alarm rang seven hours later.

Andrea didn’t own a television or a car.  “Don’t need one,” she remarked when Fanny asked why she always rode the bus to work.  “Don’t need a television either,” she explained. “We had one years ago, but books are much more interesting and you don’t have to endure those dreadful commercials.”

Andrea’s orderly world turned upside down the day Maria came to work at Hometown Mutual.  Mr. Anderson escorted the new employee to Andrea’s sparsely furnished office.  “Miss Olsen, I’d like you to meet Maria Iannucci,” he said as the two women shook hands.  “I hired her to fill the vacancy in your department.  I know you’ll teach her everything she needs to know.” Andrea groaned inwardly.  Orienting new employees was the part of her job that she disliked the most.  This young woman appeared to be a more formidable challenge than most.  She was short, about five feet two, with curly dark hair pulled back into a loose pony tail.  She wore a long flowing skirt, dangling earrings, and sandals on her feet.  A low-cut peasant blouse revealed a generous bosom.  She looked more like a refugee from Woodstock than an insurance adjustor.  It seemed that Maria had never been briefed on the corporate dress code.  Andrea wondered how she had made it through the personnel scree
ning process until Mr. Anderson cleared up that mystery.  “Take special care of Maria,” he said.  “Her father is my tailor and her cousin cuts my hair.”

As soon as the new trainee opened her mouth, Andrea blanched.  “Hiya Andy.  I’m Maria,” she said.  Her supervisor detested this breezy informality.  No one ever called her Andy, but she was too taken aback to correct this brash young woman.  As she explained the job to her new charge that morning Andrea discovered that Maia was bright and eager to learn.  She was full of questions that revealed a quick comprehension of her duties.  By noon Andrea’s opinion of her disheveled trainee had changed completely.  Three hours of orientation convinced the boss that this free spirit would be a welcome addition to her staff.

At lunch time the trainer escorted the trainee to the employees’ cafeteria.  Andrea took her brown bag to her usual seat while Maria went thought the line.  The young woman soon emerged with a tray loaded with pizza, pasta, and salad.  “Mind if I join you?” she cheerfully asked without waiting for a reply.  She pulled out the chair opposite Andrea and for the next twenty-five minutes Maria talked non-stop while her supervisor set aside her book to listen.  Usually Andrea had little patience for idle chatter, but for some reason she found Maria’s spontaneous, uninhibited commentary amusing and sweetly charming. 

For the next four days their routine was the same.  Each day Maria appeared in a slightly different version of her hippie garb.  Andrea resisted the urge to tell her young trainee to dress more appropriately, figuring her family’s connection to Mr. Anderson gave Maria a special dispensation.  By Friday afternoon her basic training was done.  “You learn very quickly, Miss Iannucci.  I’m sure you’ll make a fine adjustor,” Andrea congratulated her at the end of the day.

“And you’re an excellent teacher, boss,” Maria replied.  “I think we should go out to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Andrea asked.

“To celebrate the completion of my training.  Call it a graduation party,” Marie replied gaily.  “My uncle runs a restaurant not far from here.  Do you like Italian food?”

Under most circumstances Andrea would have declined the invitation, but she was certain Maria would be offended if she refused.  Besides, in the week they spent together Andrea had developed an unexpected fondness for this carefree young woman.  In most respects they were completely different—short and tall, dark and fair, Italian and Scandinavian, uninhibited and reserved—proving once again that opposites attract. 

They walked three blocks to the Café Italia where the proprietor greeted them like his most valued customers.  “Any friend of Maria’s is a friend of mine,” Uncle Luigi boomed in his loud bass voice.  They occupied a corner booth and dined on antipasto, linguine with clam sauce, and cannoli for dessert.  Although Andrea usually didn’t drink, this evening she helped Maria polish off a bottle of Chianti. 

“I ate so much.  That was the best meal I’ve had in years,” Andrea exclaimed as the waitress cleared their plates.

“Well, if that’s true, you definitely need to get out more,” Maria admonished her.  “Let me drive you home.”

As Andrea stepped out of Maria’s  battered Honda she confessed, “I really enjoyed myself tonight Maria.”

“We’ll have to do this again Andy,” Maria promised before she drove off. 

Watching the Honda’s taillights fade in the distance, Andrea felt a sudden twinge of sadness.  Under normal circumstances she would have looked forward to a solitary weekend, free from interruptions, but spending Saturday and Sunday alone now seemed unbearably bleak.

On Monday Maria reported for work at her own desk in the claims adjustment department.  Andrea restrained an impulse to check to see how her young friend was doing.  At lunch they found each other in the cafeteria.  “Hi Andy, how’ya doing,” Maria beamed.  “Have a good weekend?”

“I missed you,” Andrea admitted, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one else had heard.  As soon as the words left her mouth she blushed in embarrassment at her uncharacteristic directness.

“I was thinking ‘bout you too,” Maria smiled pleasantly.  “You free this Saturday?  I’ve got a plan.”  Without waiting to hear any details, her supervisor readily agreed.

Despite Andrea’s daily entreaties, Maria refused to disclose her plan for the weekend.  “I’ll pick you up at noon and we’ll make a day of it.  Don’t wear your best clothes,” was all she would say.

Andrea was standing at the front door when Maria pulled up.  Neatly dressed in a beige silk blouse and cream colored slacks, she had been waiting for thirty minutes.  “You’re way too dressed up,“ were the first words out of Maria’s mouth.  “Don’t you own a pair of jeans?”

“I have a pair of slacks I wear for gardening,” Andrea offered.

“Good, change into those,” Maria ordered. 

Ten minutes later Andrea emerged wearing a sharply creased pair of black slacks and a flowered shirt.  “These are my gardening clothes,” she announced.

“I guess that will have to do,” Maria replied, still not pleased with her companion’s choice of clothing.

“Where are we going?” Andrea asked as soon as she buckled her seat belt.

“Can’t tell you.  It’s a surprise,” Maria said with a twinkle in her eye.

Twenty minutes later they pulled into a large parking lot next to a Catholic school.  Carnival rides crowded the playground.  The aroma of sausages cooking over a charcoal fire filled the air; lively music blared from loudspeakers.  “What’s going on?” Andrea inquired.

“It’s the feast of San Genarro.  He’s the patron saint of Naples where my family comes from,” Maria explained.  “Each year we have this festival to celebrate our heritage and raise lots of money to keep the school going.”

They walked through the grounds until they came to a large tent bearing the Café Italia banner. Uncle Luigi stood near the entrance.  “Where you girls been?” he demanded.  “We got lotsa customers and no one to serve them.”

“Sorry uncle,” Maria apologized.  “Andrea had to change her clothes.”

“Well, you better get to work,” he said, handing each woman a large apron and a white cap.  “Maria, you show your friend what to do.”

Andrea held the apron with a puzzled expression on her face.  “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

“Put it on, silly.  We’re going to be waitressing today.  Everyone in the family pitches in on the feast of San Genarro,” Maria explained.  “Just watch me; you’ll catch on in no time.”  Andrea was astonished.  She had never done physical labor of any kind.  Never before had she envisioned herself working as a waitress, yet here she was donning an apron and taking orders from her young employee.  Even more astonishing was her easy inclusion as an Iannucci family member. 

That day it was Maria’s turn to be the trainer while her boss was the trainee.  Although Andrea had never worked any place other than Hometown Mutual, it didn’t take her long to learn the routine.  For the next six hours the two women toiled non-stop taking orders, carrying heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs, and clearing dirty dishes when the customers
were done.  Maria teased Andrea who struggled to lift the heavy trays she carried so effortlessly.  They laughed over Andrea’s inability to distinguish among seven varieties of pasta.  They flirted shamelessly with the elderly Italian men and swatted away the inquiring hands of their sons who tried to feel their butts.  When Uncle Luigi finally discharged them that evening he gave Andrea a big hug.  “Andy, you should quit that insurance job and come work for me.  You’d make a bundle in tips from those young stallions.  You sure you don’t got a little Pisan blood in your veins?”

As dusk descended over the bustling festival, Andrea and Maria strolled the grounds, taking in the sights and enjoying each other’s company.  “I never worked so hard or had so much fun,” Andrea admitted.  “Whoever thought I’d be a waitress?”

“Andy, you’re a natural,” Maria enthused.  “That’s why I keep saying you’ve gotta try new things.” When they came to the Ferris wheel, Maria grabbed Andrea’s hand.  “I absolutely love this ride,” she shouted.  “When you get to the top you can see the entire world.”

After three trips on the Ferris wheel Andrea begged for relief.  “Enough already,” she pleaded.  “I can’t stand much more fun.  Take me home.” As they walked back to the parking lot Andrea felt Maria’s warm hand slip inside hers.  She was not entirely at ease with the unanticipated affectionate gesture, afraid someone might see them together, but she did not pull her hand away.

Maria chatted merrily on the ride home but when they stopped in front of Andrea’s house she switched to a serious and confidential tone.  “Andy, I’m worried.  Next month I have my final evaluation.  I really need this job and from what some of the girls are saying, I’m afraid I won’t score high enough to stay on.”

“Nonsense, Maria, you do excellent work.  I’m sure you’ll be kept on.  Besides, you’ve got a friend in the presidential suite.”

“Haven’t you heard, Andy?  Mr. Anderson is leaving at the end of the month.  He’s being replaced by Mr. Kincaid.  I won’t have that friend around when I really need him.”

Andrea knew Kincaid’s reputation as a stickler for rules.  She suspected he would not grant Maria any leeway.  “That is troubling, Maria, but the performance evaluation I’m writing for you will be very positive.”

 “It’s not the work I’m worried about, it’s my appearance.  I understand that counts for one-third of the evaluation. Sarah Cavanaugh in Personnel does that and I can tell she doesn’t like me much.” Andrea nodded in agreement; she had heard the same thing though the office grapevine. “Andy, can you help me?” Maria pleaded.

“Well, I can’t tell Miss Cavanaugh how to rate you, but there may be some things I can do to help,” Andrea agreed.  Normally she didn’t interfere with personnel decisions, but this was different.  She now was an adopted member of the Iannucci clan; Maria was family.

Monday at lunch Andrea told her young friend, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot after work.”

“Where are we going?” Maria asked.

“We’re going shopping,” Andrea informed her.  She directed Maria to drive to an exclusive suburban mall and park in front of the Brooks Brothers store. 

“Isn’t this a men’s store?” Maria inquired.

“They sell women’s clothing too; respectable clothes for business women. This is where I buy all my outfits.  We’re going to get you some new clothes.”

Maria made a face as if shopping for a new wardrobe was as painful as a visit to the dentist, yet she obediently followed Andrea into the store.  After two hours in and out of the fitting room Maria exited Brooks Brothers laden with packages.  She carried two business suits, one pinstriped navy blue, the other charcoal gray, two pair of sensible shoes, and four blouses.  Andrea would have preferred that all of the blouses were white, but Maria insisted her new wardrobe must include some bright colors.  She selected shirts in various hues—cinnamon, chartreuse, lavender, and ivory—the last one a concession to her friend’s taste.  As they stood at the cash register, Andrea discreetly slipped the saleswoman her credit card.  When Maria dug her checkbook out of her purse she was discreetly informed, “It’s been taken care of, madam.”

“I wish you would let me pay for these clothes,” Maria said to Andrea when they reached the car.

“It’s my pleasure, Maria.  I know how much you earn. I can afford it much better than you.”

An audible murmur arose from the claims department cubicles Tuesday morning when Maria marched into the office in her new attire.  Not only was she wearing a crisply tailored business suit, but her hair was pulled back into a modest bun, and small gold studs replaced the dangling earrings she usually wore.  “What happened to your clothes?” Fanny asked.

“My fairy godmother waved her wand and look what happened,” Maria playfully informed the other women. 

Fanny gave her a knowing smile. “I guess we know who that fairy godmother might be,” she said.

Over lunch Maria and Andrea discussed the reaction to her new look.  “You should have seen their faces when I walked through the door.  They just stood there with their mouths hanging open, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.”

“I can hardly believe it myself.  You look so different—so professional.”

“It’s all thanks to you, Andy.  But there’s still one problem.”

“What’s that?” Andrea asked.

“My hair.  No matter what I do, it won’t behave.  Even when I pull it back it won’t stay put.  See how it’s starting to come undone already.”

“Yes, I see,” Andrea agreed as she noticed the strands that had slipped free of their restraint.  “What do you propose?”

“Maybe I should get my hair cut,” Maria suggested.

“But I love your hair like it is,” Andrea protested.  “It’s so natural, so genuine.  I can’t imagine what you would look like with another hairstyle.”

“Neither can I, but it wouldn’t have to be permanent.  After I pass the evaluation I can always let it grow back,” Maria told her.  “Besides, change is good.  You might like me better with a new haircut.”

Andrea didn’t think that was possible, but she agreed a more conservative hairdo would help Maria gain Miss Cavanaugh’s approval.  “Well, I suppose that might be a good idea,” she conceded.

“Good, that settles it,” Maria declared.  “Today after work I’m gonna to get my hair cut.”

Andrea had no experience with hair salons, but she suspected that more advance notice was needed to arrange a haircut.  “But where will you go?  Won’t you need an appointment?” she protested.

“Nah, no appointment needed.  My cousin Tony runs a barber shop.  He’ll be happy to fit me in,” Maria brightly informed her.

“A barber shop?” Andrea proclaimed in horror.  “I would never dream of going to a barbershop.”

“Tony is a skilled professional,” Maria replied, somewhat defensively.  “He cuts my mother’s hair and my sister-in-law’s too.  Why pay a stranger when there’s someone in the family who will do it for free?”

“I’m sure your cousin is a very good barber,” Andrea continued. “But aren’t you afraid that you’ll wind up looking like a guy.”

“Would that be so bad, Andy?  Wouldn’t I make a cute guy?” Maria teased.

Andrea fe
lt her face redden.  She sensed the sexual innuendo behind Maria’s light-hearted banter.  She found her dark-haired colleague an attractive and fascinating companion.  After their weekend together she began fantasizing about Maria as an intimate partner.  Andrea had never been involved in a relationship with anyone, male or female.  She spent most of her teen years resisting the advances of high school hotshots.  She could have had her pick from among the most popular and handsome young men, yet she never found any of them attractive.  Women were much more interesting.

Despite Maria’s youth, Andrea understood that her friend was more sexually experienced than she was.  Off-hand comments suggested that Maria had enjoyed romantic relationships with both men and women.  Now she was hinting that she also might take pleasure in a bit of gender bending.  Andrea was shocked, but not completely offended.  In her mind’s eye she pictured her young companion dressed in boy’s clothing, with a short, masculine haircut.  It was not an unpleasant prospect.

At quitting time Maria marched to Andrea’s office.  “Time to go, boss. I called the shop and Tony’s ready for us.” They drove across town to an older neighborhood of modest homes and corner taverns.  Maria pointed to a small white building with a revolving red, white, and blue barber’s pole outside.  “That’s Tony’s place,” she announced as they got out of her car.  Andrea was a bit hesitant about entering this all-male bastion, but Maria was insistent.  “Come on, Andy.  You’ve got nothing to be afraid of; you’ll be among family.”

“Hiya Tony,” Maria called cheerfully to her cousin as they entered.  “This is my friend Andy.”

“Yes, I heard about you, Andy.  Pop says you’d make a first-class waitress if you ever want to give up the insurance game.  Sorry I couldn’t be there to help out, but Saturday is my busiest day here.” Andrea realized that Tony was Uncle Luigi’s son. 

“I’ll be with you ladies in a couple minutes,” Tony said to Maria.

The two women sat side by side watching Tony put the finishing touches on a haircut for an elderly patron.  Maria soon got bored and stood up to inspect the many framed photos arrayed along the wall.  Andrea recognized many of the famous actors and singers in the pictures—Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Marlon Brando, Perry Como, Al Pacino, Robert DiNiro, Sylvester Stallone.  “This is Tony’s Italian-American hall of fame,” Maria pointed out.

“Where are the women?” Andrea asked.

“Over here,” said Maria, directing her to a much smaller collection.  “See, there’s Gina Lollobrigida, Sofia Loren, Anna Magnani, Patti LuPone, even Annette Funicello and Connie Francis.”

“Who’s that?” Andrea asked, gesturing toward the image of a stunning, dark-haired beauty sporting a brief boyish haircut with short irregular bangs.

“That’s Isabella Rossellini,” Maria declared, “but she’s only half Italian on her father’s side.  Her mother was Ingrid Bergman.  Italian and Swedish, just like us.  She’s been in lots of movies.”

“I don’t see many films,” Andrea replied, “but she’s very beautiful.”

“So what can I do for you ladies today?” Tony asked, interrupting their conversation as the old gentleman shuffled out of the shop.

“Like I said on the phone, I need to get my hair cut,” Maria reminded him.

“So, you’re finally ready for a decent haircut,” Tony declared with evident satisfaction.  “It’s about time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Maria answered with an air of resignation. “Mom and Pop have been bugging me for years to get a respectable haircut,” she confided to Andrea.  “I’m sure they’re going to be very happy.”

Tony spoke up.  “You know I don’t do any fancy hairdos, Maria; nothing like you’d get in one of them high-priced beauty salons downtown,” he cautioned.

“That’s okay, Tony.  Something short and simple is what I want.  This mop has got to go,” Maria boldly declared as she tossed her tangled locks from side to side for emphasis. 

“So, Maria, there’s all kinda short haircuts.  I gotta know how you want to look,” Tony insisted.

“When you’re done I want to look like Isabella Rossellini,” Maria boldly proclaimed, pointing to her photo on the wall.  “That’s the haircut Andrea picked out for me.  She wants me to look beautiful, just like Isabella.”

Andrea felt a sudden rush of emotion.  What was Maria doing?  She had said nothing of the sort, of course.  Why was she making her responsible for this fantastic idea?  Still, she couldn’t deny that the prospect of seeing Maria wearing Isabella’s breathtaking haircut was turning her on.  How had Maria sensed that she was drawn to that haircut?  Was it that obvious?

Tony instantly recognized the actress and her trademark pixie hairstyle.  “Well, I might be able to give you a haircut like Isabella, but it’s gonna take more than that to make you look like her,” he kidded.  “You might need plastic surgery on that nose of yours.”

“Okay, Tony, I’ll settle for Isabella’s haircut,” Maria jovially assented, not the least bit offended.

“That’s gonna be a great look for you, cuz,” Tony agreed.  “Andy made a good choice.  Let’s get to work.”

Maria eagerly hopped up into the big barber chair.  She held her hair up as Tony wrapped a tissue around her neck.  He spread a white cloth over her shoulders and fastened it behind her neck.  He pumped the chair up several notches until her head was within his easy reach.  Then Tony selected a long lock from the top of Maria’s head and stood poised with scissors in hand.

“Whatcha waiting for, Tony?” his cousin asked.

“Just want to make sure you’re ready.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.  Go ahead.  Work your magic.  Make me look like Isabella,” she commanded.

Andrea couldn’t believe how casually Maria regarded her impending transformation.  She felt a knot forming in her stomach and she was only a spectator.  Andrea held her breath as Tony closed the scissor blades and removed a foot-long curly strand from Maria’s crown.  It dangled from his fingers like a thick black ribbon before falling to the floor.  She tried to imagine what it must feel like to sit submissively while a man hacked away at her crowning glory.  If it had been her in the barber’s chair she would have been petrified.  Maria, however, seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.  She winked at Andrea and joked with Tony as he reached for a second strand.  “Make in snappy, cuz.  We don’t have all day.”

Andrea watched in amazement as Tony systematically cropped the top of Maria’s head until the longest hair was no more than four inches.  Never in her life had she witnessed something so profoundly unsettling.  On the way to the shop she tried to persuade Maria to consider some other alternative—having her hair straightened perhaps, or even wearing a wig to work.  But Maria would not be dissuaded.  Now that the haircut had begun, Andrea found herself getting aroused as she never had been before.  She couldn’t wait to see how Maria would look with her hair cut radically short.  She wanted to pick up the long strands Tony was casually discarding and save them away with her most precious belongings, but fear of being too conspicuous kept her frozen in her seat.

Tony casually snipped lock after lock of Maria