Kim
I like Sarah, I really do.
As the head of human resources for our agency, I value her as a good worker - she's not only exceptionally competent at her job, but she's also easy to get along with. She's not in the least bit high maintenance and, in an area where we have a fair amount of internal conflict, no one has a bad word to say about her. On a personal level, she's fun to have around. She can be quiet and sort of low key and then she'll say something that will have everyone burst out laughing.
But, . . . well nobody's perfect and she does have some annoying qualities, too.
Sometimes, when a bunch of us are just chatting in the office, someone will complain about what a pain her hair is, she can't get a good cut, it gets frizzy whenever it's humid out (and when is it not humid in New Orleans?), she can't get it to grow very long, well you know the sort of thing I mean. And Sarah always joins in, about what a pain her hair is. Except, you know what? If you look in the dictionary for "good hair" you'll see a picture of Sarah's hair. It's this gorgeous chestnut-y red. It comes down to around mid-back when she lets it down, and it's thick all the way to the end. She gets it cut to that length because she says it's the longest she can grow it and still be able to put it up in a bun. And that's what she does with that gift of beautiful hair - almost every day she has it twisted up in a bun. The only time I've seen her with it down is sometimes she complains about the comb she uses to put it up digging into her head. Then, she'll walk around with her hair swinging loose, but never as normal thing. Yes, it looks professional and I'm sure it's more comfortable in the heat, but if I had hair like that I know I'd be showing it off every chance I got. So, when I hear her complaining about how heavy it is, or how long it takes to dry, well, yeah that can get pretty irritating.
Then, there's another thing. Somehow she always projects this attitude like she's some free-spirit who does what she wants and doesn't worry about what other people think. But she works for a government agency, same as the rest of us, wears a suit or business clothes to work and isn't exactly throwing it all away to go join the Peace Corps. I can't really explain it, it's not like she exactly brags, or anything, but, like, today after work for example. A group of us had gone out together. One of our co-workers, Kirstin, had found a lump in her breast and she was definitely freaking out about the possibility that it might be cancer.
Kirstin: 'This is so awful, I'm so scared I can't even call my doctor to make an appointment. I mean, what if they say I have to have surgery and then have chemo. Omigod! Chemo! I'd lose all my hair and look like a freak."
Sarah: "But, you know even if if turns out that you do have cancer, and you don't know that, there are lot's of things that can cause a lump in your breast, but even if you did, the surgery doesn't necessarily have to be extensive, and some of the new chemos aren't as bad as they used to be.
"But, the first thing is to get to your doctor, so you know what you're dealing with. Would it help maybe to have one of us call to make the appointment for you? Maybe somebody could go with you to the appointment to make it a little easier. I know this is scary, but putting off finding out won't make it any better, and it could make it worse."
Kirstin: "That's easy for you to say, you're not the one facing losing all your hair! You're not going to be the one walking around bald."
Sarah: "Hey, I'm sorry, I just want to help you work through this. If it is breast cancer, really, losing your hair isn't going to be your biggest worry.
Kirstin: I know, yeah I just need to work up my nerve a bit before I can make the appointment."
Even though Kirstin had been upset with Sarah, she understood that Sarah hadn't really meant anything by it. So, it surprised me later when Sarah went off to the ladies' room and David said:
"Wow, I can't believe Sarah would be so insensitive."
I hadn't thought what Sarah had said was that bad and besides David has always been good friends with Sarah. But, as he continued I did see his point.
David: "I mean, Kirstin's upset here and Sarah's making it sound like Kirstin's making a big deal over nothing about maybe losing her hair. But, Kirstin's right, I bet Sarah wouldn't be so nonchalant if it were her hair."
Predictably, this started Kirstin back up again. I'm sympathetic to her situation, but there's no denying that Kirstin can crank up the drama.
Finally, after listening to Kirstin go on about how cruel Sarah had been to a dying woman, I said: "ok, I understand you're upset about what Sarah said. How do you want to handle this?
Even though I'd been asking Kirstin, it was David who answered: "well if Sarah thinks that losing her hair isn't such a big deal, then maybe she should show some solidarity with Kirstin and she could shave her own head."
At this point, Sarah came back to the table: "who's shaving her head?"
I never expected that he'd tell her, but David said, just as bold as can be: "Kirstin thinks that you weren't very considerate when you dismissed her concerns about losing her hair, and I said maybe you should shave your own head, since it's not such a big deal."
Sarah's face got very thoughtful. I can't spell that German word that means feeling pleasure in the misfortunes of others, but just at that moment I felt it. I couldn't help feeling a little satisfaction at the thought of Sarah hastily tap dancing back from the edge of that cliff. And, dance she did.
Sarah: "Well, ahhh, I mean, naturally I want to do whatever I can to make this easy for Kirstin, and, of course, I'm sorry if i came across as insensitive, but well, I don't really see how that would help."
Kirstin: "Well, I think it would help. I'd feel a lot less worried if I wasn't the only one people were looking at, and besides, you said it's not such a big deal, so prove it."
I was enjoying watching Sarah squirm too much to point out that it had been David who said the thing about no big deal, not Sarah.
Sarah: "Besides, we need to be practical. We have a dress code for work and I don't think that shaving my head exactly meets the requirements. I do want to help Kirstin, but I just bought my condo, I can't afford to lose my job. &qu-ot;
That was a good point, Sarah didn't have much contact with people outside the agency, but she did have some, and I privately had to agree that we'd make any necessary allowances for an employee who was bald for health reasons, but not if it was just a choice. I was about to say that she was right, and then she went on:
"Yeah, I mean I know Latoya in the customer service office shaves her head to the skin every summer. But that's different, it's culturally acceptable for black ladies to do that. For white girls. . ., not so much."
Kirstin piped up again: "well, I'm white, so where does that leave me?"
Sarah: "obviously, someone who loses their hair because of illness, that's different; everyone understands that."
She looked pleadingly at me: "Kim, tell Kirstin that I just can't do this."
Hell, no. She'd gotten herself into this mess, and now she'd just dug herself a little deeper, let's see how she was gonna get herself out.
I said: 'I dunno, Sarah, I was thinking that it might be considered to be a dress code violation. But, you're right Latoya does it, and I'm most definitely not going to say that the dress code is differently interpreted based on race. Besides, part of your job is building team cohesion and how better to do that than to help a co-worker facing a scary situation - might win you some brownie points. In any case, you wouldn't want to suggest that there are things that a "black lady" can do but you as a white girl. . . "
I thought she was white before, but she truly did blanch when I suggested that there might be racial repercussions to what she'd said. I knew what she'd meant and, honestly, it's true, there are cultural difference as to how a white woman and a black woman with very short hair are treated, but she was going to have to say no on her own. I wasn't going to let her hide behind my skirts.
She seemed to realize that she was on her own with this one. She rested her head on her hands for a few minutes, and then blew out a big sigh. "Kirstin, you really want me to do this?"
Kirstin: "yeah, let's see how you like it."
Sarah turned to me and asked: "and you're telling me that there won't be any career repercussions if I did this?"
I nodded, wondering where she could possibly be going with this. I was shocked when she said: "ok, I'll do it, on one condition. If I come in to work with my head shaved, you, Kirstin, have to give me the number of your doctor, let me make an appointment, go to the appointment and get the lump checked out. If it turns out it is cancer and you need the sort of chemo that causes hair loss, I'll shave my head once again before you start the chemo so people are used to seeing a cue-ball in the office.
"Deal?"
She put out her hand, and Kirstin, looking flabbergasted, reached out her own hand, shook and agreed: "Deal!"
Not long after that, Kirstin left to go home. As she left, Sarah looked at me wryly, and said: "you look like you don't approve."
"No, I do not approve at all," I said angrily. "You wanted to get out of it, fine, I understand that, I certainly do. But, instead of just saying you wouldn't do it, you tied it to her going to the doctor. Now she'll use that as an excuse not to make the appointment. You know she will!"
Sarah: "You're assuming that I won't do it. If I show up for work Monday morning as bald as the day I was born, she has to go to the doctor."
Me: "I know you won't. It must have taken the best part of 5 years to grow your hair out that long. You're not going to chop it off, just because someone you know casually at work is afraid to go to the doctor. You won't do it and let me tell you I thought much better of you before tonight!"
With that, I grabbed my bag and left.
As I headed towards my car, leaving Sarah sitting with David in the booth, I wondered what he could say to her to apologize for getting her into this mess.
Interlude.
I've never really liked Monday mornings, but I was flat out dreading this one.
I'd talked to my husband about it, and he agreed there was no way Sarah would actually have all that hair cut off, and certainly, definitely not shave her head. I wasn't looking forward to all the drama when Kristin came in and saw that Sarah hadn't done it. And I for sure wasn't looking forward to Kirstin going around moaning about having cancer, while using Sarah's uncut locks as an excuse not to go to the doctor.
Not looking forward to it at all.
And, yet, for some reason, I couldn't help thinking about Sarah sitting in a barber's chair, all that hair, snip, snip, hitting the floor. I wondered if she'd save it for Locks of Love, there was certainly enough there to make a wig out of.
I shook my head in disgust, what was I thinking? I knew she wasn't going to do it. Yet, there it was in my thoughts again, an image of a hair clipper pushing up through the mass of her hair at the back, up around the ears, the sides, finally, pushing aggressively over the top of her head. Dominating her, making her submit, and somehow, making her very feminine in the process.
This was ridiculous, not only was I fantasizing about something that was never going to happen, but I was actually getting turned on by it. Really turned on. And not even by something erotic, after all, there's nothing sexy about the thought of a woman having all her hair cut off, is there?
Of course not. Obviously the problem was just that John and I had gotten into a bit of a rut sexually. My needs weren't completely being met and my subconscious was just tangling that up with a problem at work. That's all. And easily solved, when John came in from working in the garden on Saturday afternoon, I recruited him to do a bit of work upstairs.
I guess the fact that we'd been on a bit of a sex diet really worked to build up the tension, because we had sex like we hadn't had in, I can't even remember, it's been so long since it was that good. John was surprised at how warmed up I was before we'd even started, and he wasted no time in getting that headboard knocking against the wall.
Afterwards, we lay relaxing in the late afternoon sun, John's hand lazily combing through my hair. Out of nowhere, as if he was continuing a conversation we'd been having for sometime, he said: "it's not easy to shave your own head. She should probably go to Boudreaux'. They'd do her a nice hot towel and lather shave. Get her all smooth. And Boudreaux, he was telling me once, he does love to do the ladies. Doesn't get much chance, of course."
I looked at him disgustedly: "This is ridiculous. She's not going to do it. No woman would. She'd look like a freak."
He thought that over some: "a white woman would, all that white skin make you go blind from the shine. But a cinnamon colored woman, oh she'd look like an african queen, alright."
I'd heard enough: "humph! African queen indeed." And I hit him with a pillow, but not too hard.
Still, he did get me thinking, not about that cinnamon colored skin, of course.
But now that he'd said it, I could see Sarah, her bald head the color of skim milk, slinking into work, trying to hide her head with scarves, turbans. Not so unconsciously arrogant with all her beauty stripped away from her. Oh, she'd try to hide her shame, but there'd be none of that. The point of doing it was to prove it wasn't such a big deal. Well, if it wasn't such a big deal, why the sudden fondness for hats all of a sudden?
Somehow, I got through the weekend. Too soon, not soon enough, it was Monday morning. Ridiculous as it sounds, I was as up at the crack of dawn like a kid on Christmas morning. Heaven knows I wasn't looking forward to dealing with Kristin's drama when Sarah came in with her hair as long and beautiful as ever. And, although I was oh so tempted, I didn't really think I could order Sarah to go to Boudreaux's for a head shave. So, probably what had woken me up was the desire to have one more gallop in the sheets with John before this hormone storm receded.
Our office has a modified flex-time program, employees have the option of coming in anytime from 8 to 10 and working 8 hours from to 4 to 6. Sarah, David and I almost always came in at 8. Kristin was usually a little later, but I had the feeling she'd be early today.
As we were finishing breakfast, John mentioned that he had some stuff to do downtown, so he'd drive in with me and then take the streetcar home. As we got into the city, I asked him where he wanted me to drop him off, but he said he'd go with me to the office and then walk from there.
When we got to the office, I expected he'd leave the parking lot through the pedestrian exit, but instead he came up in the elevator with me. In response to my surprised look, he said: "too much coffee, I figure I might as well take a leak while I'm here rather than trying to find a public bathroom later." I let us into the office and he headed towards the men's room while I went into the kitchen to put on the morning pot of coffee.
As I came in, I saw David and Kristin were already there, looking out the window. Typically, neither of them had bothered to put the coffee on, as they both had cups of coffee from local coffee shops. We made casual greetings, but they were both distracted with whatever they were looking at out the window. As I emptied the pre-measured coffee into the filter, I heard Kristin proclaim: "I knew it, that bitch."
I turned around, more than surprised, I didn't know what had provoked her outburst, but I did know that we did not use that sort of language in our office, even in private.
Now it was David's turn to look surprised: "are you sure? I talked to her after you left on Friday and she seemed pretty committed to doing it."
Kristin looked at him pityingly: "David, you're so naive. There's no way a woman would do that unless she had to. Anyway, I saw her. Maybe she got a trim, but if she'd shaved her head, it'd be all white and I definitely saw her hair on her head."
At that point, John wandered into the kitchen; before we could say goodbye, we heard the elevator doors ring, and, like some sort of synchronized staring competition, we all looked down the hall towards the elevators. Only Sarah got off the elevator, and as she started walking towards us, I thought Kristin was right and Sarah's hair was pulled back in its usual bun. It was only as Sarah turned slightly to open the outer door, that I saw that her bun was completely gone. Her hair wasn't pulled back, it was clipped short. As she walked into the kitchen, I saw how short - it couldn't have been more than a half inch all over, maybe even less.
I felt almost like I was in shock as she greeted us, saying hi to John whom she hadn't seen in a while, as if this was just totally normal. What stunned me was how great she looked. Every time I'd imagined her getting sheared I'd assumed that this would diminish her beauty. But it didn't, there's no other way to say it: she looked lovely. Part of that was that she was wearing more makeup than usual and her outfit was very flattering, but mostly it was that removing all that hair made her head seem to flow gracefully out from her neck, emphasizing the delicate bone structure of her face.
For one minute I was almost consumed with envy that she could pull off a look like this, all the while acting like this was no big deal at all.
I guess Kristin must have shared some of my feelings, because she positively spit: "well, so much for getting your head shaved, I guess you chickened out!"
Sarah turned a look of innocence at Kristin. Smiling kindly she said: "oh, I'm just about to get the head shave. I knew I couldn't do a good job of it myself, so on Saturday I called a place near here to make an appointment. It's an old fashioned barbershop where they still do blade shaves. It's called “Boudreaux'" She and John finished together.
"Yeah." She gave him a happy grin that he knew about it. "I've always kind of wanted to go in there, but it's very masculine. So I didn't think I could get them to trim my hair when it was long. But, for a shave I think it'd be just the place."
"Well, if you have an appointment to have your head shaved, then what are you doing here?" Kristin was obviously still suspicious.
"Oh, the appointment's not 'til 8:30 and since you were the one who was so worried about this, I thought it might be kind of reassuring for you if you came with me and watched it being done."
"What, don't have the guts to go by yourself?"
At this point, even Sarah couldn't ignore Kristin's obvious ill-will any longer: "oh yeah, that's me, terrified to face the scary barber!
"Get real, the difference between a full shave and what I have right now" she reached up to brush her hand lightly over her hair "is about two weeks. It's just not that big a deal.
"Come, don't come, but lose the attitude, 'kay?"
Somehow, we all, even John, ended up strolling the couple of blocks to Boudreaux'. Kristin and I ended up walking a little behind as David, John and Sarah walked together, sharing some joke.
As we walked in to the shop, the bells jingling at our entrance, Boudreaux himself was at the reception desk. He looked a little surprised at the sudden influx, and even more surprised when Sarah walked confidently up to the counter: "hi, I have an 8:30 appointment for a head shave, the name's Butler. I think I'm a few minutes early."
"I remember you calling, you said the appointment was for your boyfriend."
"I did. I figured if a woman called and said she wanted an appointment to have her head shaved, you'd think it was a prank and we'd have to go round and round on it, whereas, if I said I was calling for a guy, you'd just write it down."
"Fair enough. Chair's empty, you ready?"
"Yeah, just let me hang up my jacket and I'll be right with you."
As she hung her jacket on the rack, Boudreaux turned to John and said cryptically, "I feel bad, I didn't get you anything."
John just smiled.
Sarah walked towards the barber chair, her delicate shell pink shell looking ridiculously out of place in such a masculine environment. She, however, looked determined and resolute as she hopped up into the barber's chair and wriggled back in the seat.
Boudreaux snugged the cape around her neck, tucking some pieces of tissue in at the back. He ghosted his hands over her hair, so lightly that it was almost like he was playing a theremin. She gave a brief shiver and he leaned over to say something to her. She gave him a quick smile and a response and leaned back a little further in the chair.
I think Boudreaux was enjoying the audience, because his next words were perfectly audible. "Ok, first I'll use the big clippers, cut this all down to stubble," he brushed her hair again, "then I'll do the same thing with the smaller clippers, bring it down to even shorter stubble.
"You'll be pretty much bald when that's done, but then I'll wrap a hot towel around your head, softens the hairs so they cut easier. When that's done, I'll cover your head with lather, I use a mentholated brand - it lets me get the closest shave without irritating your scalp. Then I'll use the straight razor to cut all the stubble away. When I'm done with you, I'm gonna need sunglasses from all the glare off your head. Ok?"
Sarah nodded quickly. She looked nervous but resolved, staring directly into the mirror.
With no further discussion, Boudreaux placed his hand firmly on the crown of her head and pushed her head down until her chin was almost on her chest. He brought the clippers right up to the nape of her neck, and they whined into life. I suppressed a quick shiver as if I felt them running up the base of my skull. I saw the clippers make a full pass up the back, right up the crown, leaving a trail of white in the sea of reddish-brown hair. At the top of the pass, Boudreaux tipped the clippers, dumping the accumulated hair. It landed softly on the cape and then slid to the ground.
Given how short Sarah's hair was already, I was surprised at how much of it there was. Pass after pass, starting at the nape, advancing up to the crown and then tipping the harvest, until there was only stubble remaining on the back of her head.
As Boudreaux moved over to the far side of her head and I awoke from my mesmerized state I noticed something. John has frequently commented about what a chatty barber Boudreaux is: the weather, the Saints, politics, he's always got something to say. And yet here he was, working in silence, not even asking Sarah to turn this way or that, just brusquely pushing her head into the position he wanted.
The other thing I noticed was how profoundly aroused I was. I felt the stirrings between my legs and I knew that I very much wanted to be the one in the chair. I wanted to feel my head being pushed from side to side as I surrendered my hair.
After that brief respite to catch my breath, Boudreaux came around to our side and started to denude the side of Sarah's head. Up, around and over the ears, the hair at her temples and sideburns, soon, just clumps on the floor, until finally the only solid mass of hair remaining was on the top of her head, from the crown to her forehead.
At the end of the first pass he tipped the the accumulated hair off the clippers, almost mockingly it seemed, so that it glanced off her cheekbone before it fell on the cape, sliding down to pool in her lap. Pass after pass, it seemed almost like he was rubbing her face in it, what she'd done, what she'd chosen to do, as the last of her hair rained down over her face.
Finally, it was done. She had pulled both her hands out from under the cape to clutch the armrests. Boudreaux picked up her right hand, almost as if it didn't belong to her, and brought it up to her head. I was so caught up in the experience I felt like I could hear it rasping over her stubble. "Say goodbye to the last of your hair."
"It doesn't feel like hair anymore; it's hard, like thousands of tiny splinters."
Boudreaux let go of her arm and she once again settled it on the armrest.
He came over with a towel that looked slightly damp and ran it over her head, picking up the loose hairs that had remained on her scalp. He gave her head a quick rub with a dry towel and then picked up the little clippers. Now there didn't seem to be any order to how he ran the clippers over her head. He attacked her head in all different directions until he was satisfied.
This time, when he ran the damp cloth over her head, I could see that she was truly bald. There were only pinpricks of color dotting the whiteness of her scalp - like 5 o'clock shadow before 9 in the morning.
But, even now he wasn't done with her. "This may be a little uncomfortable at first," he said as he brought the steaming hot towel up and wrapped it around her head. He ignored her squirms - it obviously was uncomfortable - and wrapped a second towel around the first. As her first reaction to the heat on her exposed head subsided, she let out her breath in a little sigh and leaned back in the chair.
He moved behind her and slipped his hands up under the cape. I couldn't see what he was doing, but from the movement of the cape, it was obvious he was massaging her shoulders. It was also obvious from Sarah's closed eyes and blissful expression that she was enjoying it very much.
"No, he definitely does not. But, then I'm not a lovely woman, either."
I gave him a rather startled look at the thought of calling a woman who had been stripped of her crowning beauty lovely, but maybe he just meant that she's usually lovely.
After a few minutes, Boudreax withdrew his hands from the cape and stuck a finger under the towel. It seemed that Sarah's remaining hair must have softened up enough, because he slipped the towels off her head. He put his hand under the lather dispenser and filled his palm with it. The massage had obviously relaxed her, as she sat there quiescent, almost limp, waiting for the next step.
Well, quiescent until the foam made contact with her scalp anyway. She seemed to jolt awake as she said, "ooh, that's stimulating."
Boudreaux just smiled.
Fully awake again, she watched with interest as Boudreaux covered her entire scalp in the white cream. When he was satisfied, he carefully wiped his hands on a damp towel and picked up the cut throat razor. He stood facing her. "I'm going to start at the front, it's less sensitive. When I get to the back and the nape of your neck, it could feel a little ticklish. Make sure you don't move, I don't want to cut you.
The razor's very sharp and I'll be sharpening as we go, so I can give you the closest shave possible."
Sarah gave a little nod and he began. This time he started at her forehead, on the right side, working towards the back. Unlike with the clippers, he didn't clear long swathes, but rather worked a couple of inches at a time. Because of the foam, it was harder to see what was going on. Yet, even though I couldn't see Sarah's head being exposed, somehow the experience was completely mesmerizing and again I experienced it almost as if it were happening to me.
When he finally worked his way down to the nape of her neck, I gave the shiver that I knew she was suppressing.
Finally, all the foam had been scraped away and, with it, what had remained of Sarah's hair.
Again, Boudreaux wiped away the dusting of hairs that had attached themselves to her scalp. As he had when she first sat in his chair, he ghosted his hands over her, and again she responded to his touch with a shiver. To me, her scalp seemed completely denuded of hair, but obviously his hands felt something not apparent to my eyes, as he reapplied lather to a few sections and gave them a quick scrape.
He again wiped her head and this time his hands found no flaw. "Put your hands up and feel it - use both hands," he ordered as she tentatively reached up with one hand.
"It's perfect," she said calmly.
She didn't look awful, which was what I had been expecting. But the whiteness of her skin made her scalp look unfinished, like an addition to a deck, when the floorboards haven't yet been stained to match. If the surprise of seeing a bald woman wasn't enough to draw stares, the contrast in her skin tones was definitely going to do it.
After she'd completely explored this new continent, she put her hands down and Boudreaux unfastened the cape, deftly flicking the remains of her hair away from her, onto the floor.
"Oh," she said, "I definitely shouldn't go out in the sun like this, my skin hasn't built up any tolerance to the sun."
"It would be my pleasure," he responded courteously.
While he worked, I covertly studied her face in the mirror. She didn't look as lovely as she had with the delicate cover of hair she had had this morning, but, looking at her objectively I couldn't honestly say she looked bad or freakish. This wasn't her best look, but I knew that anyone who had a profoundly negative response to her shaved head was not responding to anything about her, but rather reflecting their own preconceptions about bald women onto her.
It also became obvious to me that I was really, profoundly turned on. Turned on to the point that I wasn't ready to just walk back to work and start answering my phone calls. I needed to get laid.
I've rarely had cause to describe John as either observant or discreet, but he was both that morning.
Boudreaux, waved one tinted palm at us as he said, "help yourself. I won't be going back there for quite some time, so just make sure the door closes behind you."
I understood that remark when John lead me to the back room and made it abundantly clear that I wasn't the only one who had enjoyed the show. The only words he said were "cinnamon's better."
I haven't decided yet whether or not I heard him.
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