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She walked the street alone, looking at a sheet of paper she held in her hand. She looked so concerned. This is not something she was looking forward to doing but she had been told that she had to do it. Not so much the wedding that bothered her but the idea of all the work her future husband wanted her to do.

The numbers were getting higher. 1000. 1014. 1020. 1026. A little further yet. Soon she would find it. She continued her walk. Her long unkept black hair swinging across her back. Soon it would be perfectly styled and she would look perfect for the wedding ceremony the next day.

She looked up the street and saw a flashing gold neon sign. There is was. She had been told to look for a golden pair of neon scissors. Well she had found them. She had not been told how much she was going to have to pay for the transformation but she had been told that she better make sure she took enough money to pay for the job. Her soon-to-be new husband told her specifically "I don't know if he will charge you just for the cut or if he will charge by the hour, but I really want you to be beautiful. So be prepared."

She agreed and figured that if she took $100.00 she would have enough to pay the bill. No way would a stylist charge anymore then that, she told herself. And she knew how important it was to be able to please him. She wanted to please him. So whatever he wanted she was willing to do. Besides, how often does a young country girl find a man of the city who really wants to make her happy and make her his wife? Maybe in dreams but for her it was soon to be reality.

She entered the salon reluctantly but soon was put at ease with an invigorating massage and a mud wrap in the spa. Everything felt so fantastic. She had never ever dreamed about being pampered like this. This was totally not normal for a country girl from the lower provinces. After an hour in the spa and a shower, she was brought out and shown into a room where she was put under a heat lamp and treated to a hot oil treatment. Then another massage and a pedicure. That took a good three hours before she was finally brought into the salon and given a manicure.

Then the stylist came out and took her to the change room where she undressed and after a few minutes came out dressed in a nylon smock. She was taken to the wash basins where she was given a special shampoo and a conditioning treatment and topped with a hot oil treatment. Next it was into the salon where the stylist waited for her to give her a basic cut before giving her to the colorist.

After the colorist and some red streaks in her black hair, she was returned to the stylist who commenced cutting and styling her hair. Her hair was left long but soon she found herself in rollers and sitting under the dryer. Then her hair was brushed out, styled and sprayed and then she was pronounced finished. The stylist took the cape off and she stood up and moved away from the chair. She looked at her reflection in the large mirror. "Wow, that is amazing," she said out loud. She looked at the pile of hair that was on the floor beside the chair. She reached down and picked up a swatch of long black hair. She tied the ends together and placed the swatch in her purse.

She walked over to the desk where the stylist was standing with the receptionist. He looked at her and smiled. "A nice piece of work," he said. "I am sure your husband is going to be very happy with the change." She nodded her head. He opened up an invoice book and wrote out his bill. He handed it to her and rang up the sale on the cash machine.

She looked at the bill and froze. "You are kidding!" she said.

"No," he said. "You have been here for 6 hours. Full treatment is what your soon-to-be husband ordered. That is what I charge. 6 people worked on you. Each one gets paid."

"I don't have that kind of money with me. I was not told you charged by the hour and that each person got a cut. I only brought $100.00," she said.

"Well you better find some way to get the rest of the money," the stylist said. He looked at the receptionist. "Make sure she does not leave until she pays her bill." The stylist walked back into the salon where he picked up his next customer.

She looked at him as he stood beside the desk with his hands at his waist. She went and sat in the waiting room. She took out her cellular phone and tried frantically to get a hold of her soon-to-be husband but she had no success. She tried to call her freinds but all she could raise was an extra $40.00. She walked over to the receptionist's desk. "Please, can't you help me out here? You look very reasonable," she begged.

"No, you have to pay," she was told.

She tried again to get her boyfriend but she was not able to connect. She phoned her parents and they were not home. She sat down in the waiting room and cried.

Time kept clicking by. The stylist returned with his customer and he saw her still sitting in the waiting room. "You still have not paid your bill?" he said.

"No, I tried to raise the money. Really, I did," she said. "Please, can't you give me till tomorrow morning? I promise I will go to the bank first thing and I will return with the money in full. I will give you my engagement ring to hold until I come back."

The stylist shook his head. "No, I am not into charity," he said. He waved his hand and six junior stylists entered the waiting area. They encircled the young lady and held her down in the chair. The stylist walked over to his cubical and returned carrying a pair of electriic clippers in his hand. "Take her wallet and see if she is holding out," the stylist said to one of his juniors.

The junior grabbed her purse and walked over to the receptionist's desk. He opened it up and emptied the contents on the desk. He found nothing more then the $100.00 she had said she had. He returned to the stylist and shook his head. "100.00 like she admitted and a black book with phone numbers. Keys, no credit cards, address to some small town in the province. That is all," the junior said.

"Please, I am not lying. Please let me go. I promise, I will come back in the morning. Just give me a chance," she begged. The stylist flicked the switch on the clippers. "No," she begged. "Please, don't hurt me. Please, just give me till the morning. I promise I will come back with what you want. I am not holding out. I swear."

"I don't know if I trust you. How do I know you won't screw me for the bill? No, I think I will just take back my hard work," he said. He raised the clippers to her hairline and as she shook her head and cried, he nodded to two of his juniors. One of the juniors held her shoulders down hard so that she could not move or squirm. The other junior held his arm around her neck, holding her head up so that the stylist had complete control of what he was ready to do. He placed the teeth of the clippers to her forehead. He pushed the clippers into the curls and he pushed the clippers back through her crown. A clump of thick black hair fell to the floor.

She burst out in tears as he continued to take away her thick hair. Her tears rolled down her cheeks and messed her makeup. His clippers slowly denuded her head and the black curls he had spend so much time on, fell to the floor infront of the chair. The stylist pushed her head from position to position as he showed no mercy in taking away her beauty. "You don't pay, you don't get the end product," he said as he took the guard off the clippers and got ready to run the clippers over her head a second time. He lifted her chin in his hand and smiled.

The second time over her head went a lot faster. The clippers had less hair to deal with and by now the young lady had resigned herself to what was happening. She had no fight left as she just sat and sniffled. The stylist placed his hand on the back of her neck, pushed her head down so that she was looking into her lap and he rendered her head bald in less then 10 minutes. He turned off the clippers, dusted her head with a brush, ordered his junior stylist to take off her cape and send her back to the changing room to get her clothes.

Shew came out of the dressing room after 10 minutes. She stood in the middle of the floor, looking very confused and very sad. Her black hair was being swept off to the back room. The junior stylist looked at her. "Sir, we cannot send her out looking like this," he said.

"Are you feeling sorry for her? She does not pay! You know the rules. Give her a wig!" the stylist said. The junior walked over to a closet and returned with a short black wig. The stylist threw it to her. "Put it on and get out of here while you have a chance. I am tempted to phone the police but I will give you a head start. Don't ever let me find you back here in my salon or even near the salon because I will pull you in and do it to you again. Give her her wallet. Everything." The junior gave her back her purse and wallet. "I am going to turn my back and count to fifty. If you are even near the salon when I finish counting, I will call the police."

She placed the wig on her head, wiped the tears off her cheeks and ran to the door as he started his count. She ran as fast as the wind could take her; never to return and never to return to her partner.

author: hairman001 Copyright protected (c)2004 Registered (r)2000 JCWP DESIGN SERVICES Not to be downloaded for personal use unless you have authorization by the author. Nor to be forwarded to any other site without legal permission.

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