HAUNTED BARBERSHOP

HAUNTED BARBERSHOP

By rugtopper

The son becoming the father....it happens quite a lot.

Lawrence Ryan McKay, Jr. had dreaded this day for twelve years. He did not want to deal with anything that had to do with his father, especially his father’s estate. Larry, as his friends called him, had not seen or spoken to his father since the day he and his mother drove out of town after the divorce was final. In truth, Larry really didn’t know his father aside from what his mother had told him. 

Walking around the Town Square waiting for the afternoon funeral gave Larry a lot of time to think. He really wasn’t concentrating on anything in particular when something caught his attention on the other side of the courthouse. Was that old Mr. Cecil standing in front of his barbershop smoking a pipe?  Larry thought to himself. Old Mr. Cecil. Mr. Cecil Hobson. He was old even when Larry was a kid. But, wasn’t Mr. Cecil dead?  Maybe this is his son. Who knows? Suddenly, Mr. Cecil looked up and waved at Larry. Next to dealing with his father’s death, seeing Mr. Cecil was not something Larry wanted to do.

“Why, Young Lawrence, it is good to see you. How are you?” Mr. Cecil asked in his cheerful voice.

Larry reluctantly walked over to the barbershop. “Doing as well as can be expected, thank you for asking. Aren’t you Mr. Cecil’s son?”

“Uh . . . yes. I started working with Dad right after you and your mother left town. Why don’t you come in for a bit? You look like you could do with a trim. No charge.”

“No thanks. I don’t qualify as one of your clients. You see I do have a full head of hair.” Larry was now standing on the sidewalk under the sign that read:

MR. CECIL’S BARBERSHOP

And hair replacement salon

“That’s all right, Lawrence. I do give regular haircuts. Come on, it will only take a few minutes.”

“Oh, all right. I do need a trim. Besides, it is still a couple of hours until the funeral begins.” Larry slowly walked down the steps to the below-street-level entrance.

The bell on the door jingled lightly as Larry walked through the door. The room was pristine, as if time had stood still. The black and white tiled floor looked just as Larry had remembered it. The two giant red leather chairs didn’t seem as big now to a grown-up Larry as they had when he was much younger.  Still, they were over-powering and impressive. There was even a faint odor of aftershave in the air, which Larry really liked. However, the row of old leathery wig stands still lined the shelf behind both chairs. This distressed Larry when he was a kid. His mother always made an issue of how embarrassing it was to have a husband who wore a toupee. As Larry walked further into the room, he noticed the rogue gallery of Hollywood publicity photos still occupying the entire wall across from the chairs. For a moment he just stood there and stared, as he used to do, at the dapper men who wore toupees: Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Humphrey Bogart, Edward G. Robinson, David Niven, Leslie Howard, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Charles Boyer, Richardo Montalban, Jimmy Stewart, Lorne Greene . .

.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Lawrence?” Mr. Cecil suggested.

Larry broke out of his semi-trance long enough to back into the huge red-leather chair.

“Now, Lawrence. . ."

“Uh . . .I prefer ‘Larry’ if you don’t mind.” He said very haughtily.

“Oh, okay, sure, Larry. Whatever you say. Now, how about that trim.”

“Well, I might need a trim, but your ‘services’ are not for me. I am fortunate to have a full head of hair. It looks like you inherited your dad’s genes for hair loss and bad toupees.”

“Ah, I see. Well, let’s get started.” Mr. Cecil said this as he quickly threw a cape around Larry, grabbed the water bottle on the counter, and began misting Larry‘s hair.

“Hey, that is interesting. Is that scent ‘cotton candy’?” Larry asked.

“Yeah, the kids really love it. It makes the haircut easier. Just relax and enjoy it.” Mr. Cecil just kept lightly misting Larry’s hair until drops of the liquid began falling on the cape.

Larry just sat there enjoying the fragrance. He was very relaxed, not sleepy, just relaxed. As he continued to breathe in and out, he noticed a wonderful, tingling sensation all over his body. He looked at Mr. Cecil in the mirror. Why did he feel so relaxed and Mr. Cecil look so happy? As Larry kept looking at Mr. Cecil, he noticed that the mist wasn’t even going on his head anymore. Mr. Cecil just kept spraying it in the air. Without even realizing what was happening, the tingling sensation slowly turned into a numbing sensation.

Methodically and sadistically, Mr. Cecil put down the mister and slowly leaned into Larry‘s ear and said, “Now, Larry, or should I say ‘Lawrence,’ let’s get one thing quite clear. You will be receiving all of my services today. And, furthermore, you will enjoy them for the rest of your life.”

Larry’s eyes got as wide as saucers. That was the only thing that moved. Larry was totally immobilized. He could not even clear his throat to speak.  Mr. Cecil began to comb Larry’s unruly mane of hair.

“Lawrence, your father was the kindest and dearest of men, and one of my best customers. He was so proud when you were born. It completely devastated him as a young father when he started losing his hair. You were about three at the time. That horrible woman, your mother, gave your father hell everyday of his life. It was a vicious cycle with her. Her constant barbs about his toupee only made him feel like less of a man, which made him unable to perform like a man.”

Larry’s eyes widened at this.

“Yes, Lawrence, that is why you were an only child. Well, him not being to perform only caused him more stress, which caused him to lose more hair. That just brought on more grief from your mother. To add insult to injury, your mother had to start having an affair with her boss at the bank. That nearly killed your father.”

During this short expose, Mr. Cecil had been trimming Larry’s shaggy mop into a respectable, boarding school haircut. “I think we’re ready to start the next phase of your makeover.” Mr. Cecil pulled out the electric clippers from the cabinet, turned it on, and plowed down the center of Larry’s pride and joy. Not one muscle flinched on Larry’s face or body, but his eyes knew the rest of the story.

“Your father loved you so much. Your mother poisoned you to him even before they divorced and the two of you moved away. Your father and I would sit here for hours trying to figure out how to get you away from that woman. Your father and I became very close. He was my best friend. He was more than a friend.”

With that said, Mr.Cecil turned Larry toward the mirror so he could look at the five-o’clock-shadow on the top of his head. “Oh, I am not going to leave it like this. Don’t you worry. You see your dad wanted you to be just like him. I intend on seeing that that happens. This little laser wand is the ticket to the new you.” Mr. Cecil deliberately started burning off each little hair on Larry’s head. “Do you remember the few times you would come here with your dad when you were a kid? Your mother hated it when you came here with him. It was perfectly fine for her to be a slut and screw around with every power-mad man in town, but your dad couldn’t have . . . Well, I guess she didn’t want anyone else to get any from your dad since she wasn’t. Stupid bitch. This is looking really good, if I do so myself. You’ll be ready for your first toupee in just a few minutes, Lawrence. In fact, I have your dad’s first toupee sitting right over there.”

Larry remembered that toupee. His dad was still wearing that toupee when Larry started first grade. He remembered his dad picking him up from school. He didn’t really understand why his dad’s hair looked the way it did and the other kid’s dad’s hair didn’t. His dad’s hair was dark brown, but his toupee was a lighter shade of brown. He remembered asking his mom about it. Boy did that cause all sorts of trouble. He remembered them fighting one time when he in the second grade. He walked into the living room just as his mom ripped off his dad’s toupee. He remembered how old and ashamed and embarrassed his dad looked. His mom just laughed at him and threw the toupee in his face.

“Oh, Lawrence you are going to look so handsome in your toupee just like your father did when he first wore one.” Mr. Cecil turned Larry toward the mirror. Although he was only 24, Larry saw a middle-aged man sitting quite still in the chair. For the first time he really saw just how much he looked like his father. No wonder his mother had thrown him out of the house on his 18th birthday. He looked just the same way his dad did on the day of that shocking fight. That was the first time Larry had ever seen his dad bald. His dad had tried so hard to hide it from him. Mr. Cecil took the toupee off the old leathery wig stand, applied some tape to the tape tabs, and placed the toupee on Larry’s silky-smooth scalp. For the first time since Mr. Cecil had started using the mister, Larry could feel something, but it wasn’t something he wanted to feel.

“Ah. I see you are feeling the side effects of the mist. You see you are going to be just like your dad.” Mr. Cecil slowly combed the toupee into place.  It set apart from Larry’s hair in texture and color just like it had on his dad’s head. “You might as well dump that silly little girlfriend of yours. You’ll never be able to get it up for her or any other girl ever again. Oh, I see that excites you. Gee, I hope you wear boxer shorts like your dad did.” With that, Mr. Cecil removed the cape, freed Larry’s engorged member, and kneeling down proceeded to suck Larry so hard he nearly was yanked from the chair. Larry had never had a blowjob so powerful. When he was all through and not leaving one drop behind, Mr. Cecil zipped Larry’s pants. Larry just sat there staring at the image of his new look. He didn’t even see Mr. Cecil take a small bottle and mist him in the face with it. In seconds, the feeling began to return to his body. Mr. Cecil helped him up and walked him to the door.

As they walked out onto the stoop Mr. Cecil said, “Now, Lawrence, I know you are a bit confused about all of this. I understand. I did all of this because of your father. I know it is what he wanted. Don’t worry. You look great in a toupee, just like your dad did. I also know that you will always wear it. You see, what you had on top will never, ever come back. I saw the look on your face when you saw how bald you were in the mirror. That is just how your dad looked the day your mom embarrassed him by ripping it off in that fight. Yes, I know all about that. You see they were fighting about me. He told her he was going to leave her for me. You probably don’t remember that. But you see Lawrence I didn’t just do all of this for him. The day your mother took you away was a very sad day for your dad. He lost more than just you did on that day. She had let you come here to the barbershop to say goodbye to your dad.  You never even bothered to come into the shop. You stood outside here on the stoop. Your dad and I walked outside to see you. I turned to go back inside to let the two of have a moment alone. Do you remember what happened next, Lawrence?”

Larry did. He always remembered it. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. He was standing on the top step nearest the sidewalk looking down at his dad and Mr. Cecil. Mr. Cecil turned to walk inside. Without thinking, Larry did exactly as his mother had done and grabbed at Mr. Cecil’s toupee.  There in his frightened, twelve-year-old hands was Mr. Cecil’s pewter toupee. Mr. Cecil spun around to grab his toupee, tripped on the bottom step of the stoop, fell, and hit his head. That is all Larry remembers ever happening.

As if awakened from a trance, Larry realized where he was. He turned around to look back at the barbershop. What he saw was a burned-out hovel and a pile of garbage with what looked liked a sign on top. All he could make out was “MR. CECIL’S.”

Larry started walking toward the funeral home. What just happened? Was it all a dream? The autumn wind picked up. As if by instinct, he touched the top of his hair. Then, he knew. It was no dream. It was both a nightmare and a new reality.

THE END

Confessions of a Fetish Barber:  Part II

Confessions On the Road From Vegas to Tahoe

By Rugtopper

"Come on, Danny.  I'd like to get to Richard's place in time for dinner."

Danny locked up Adonis Hair Replacement Salon, and got into the huge SUV.  He leaned over and kissed Sam on the check before he put the key in the ignition.

"You know, Danny, I'm glad you decided to wear that light brown hairpiece of mine.  It looks so good on you," said Sam as he returned Danny's kiss.

"Do you think so?  I thought it might be too light, but I like it," confessed Danny.  "Now, tell me about everyone I'm going to meet at this memorial service."

"You just concentrate on the road, Danny.  I will make sure you know everything you need to know before we get to the memorial service."

"Why is there not a funeral?"

"It was part of Ian's last wishes.  He had suffered for so long with lung cancer.  After it spread to his bones, he just gave up."

"I understand.  Will Troy and Sean be there?"

"No.  They have rented a chalet in Liechtenstein for a month.  They are celebrating their tenth anniversary."

"That's right.  They had the most beautiful wedding ceremony in front of the fountains at The Bellagio.  Although, it was a bit bizarre."

" What do you mean, bizarre?  It was gorgeous."

"I only meant it was bizarre because I have never seen so many men with hairpieces in one place.  Well, except for that time you took me to that stylist convention in Phoenix.  Talk about wall to wall carpeting."

"That was a unique event.  Anyway, Troy never knew Ian, and he has never met Richard.  Sean only met Ian once just before he and Richard moved to Lake Tahoe.  I'm afraid there won't be a lot of people at the memorial service.  Ian was 89 years old.  He outlived so many people from his days in Hollywood and in Los Vegas."

"I didn't know Ian was a big star, Sam."

"He wasn't, Danny.  Ian Stuart was the last of the old Hollywood chorus boys.  He started out as a dancer during the heyday of the big movie musicals at MGM.  He lied about his age.  He was six feet tall when he was 16.  When the movie musical genre started dying in the early 1970s, Ian was hired to choreograph shows in Los Vegas.  That's when I met him through my dad.  Ian always wore a very dark brown toupee."

"How did he and Richard meet?"

"It will sound like something out of a romance novel, but Richard orchestrated the whole thing.  Richard auditioned for one of Ian's shows, and then started dating him.  They were together for over 50 years."

"Well, how old is Richard?"

"To tell the truth, I have no idea.  I know he's older than I am, but that's about it.  Richard won't talk about his age.  He won't talk about his hair, which is funny because he has worn a champagne-colored rug for years.  But, he will talk."

"Huh?"

"Richard is the biggest gossip you will ever meet.  Do not tell him anything you wouldn't want to hear a stranger repeat a few hours later at a dinner party!  He will quiz you wanting to know everything about yourself.  The thing is, he genuinely does care.  He just feels he has to share everything he has been told."

"I don't want him to know how we met.  Will he ask about my hair?"

"You can count on it.  He is almost as obsessed with hairpieces as Howard is.  Still, Richard is harmless.  Look Danny, you do what is comfortable for you.  If you don't want to tell Richard how we met, that is fine with me."

"It's been 15 years, I know, but it still bothers me."

"Look Danny, you were drugged, kidnapped, and tortured.  It was awful, but I love you."

"I know Sam.  I know, and I love you, too."

"When you say that, I still look around to see if you're really talking to me."

"What do you mean, Sam?"

"Well, come on Danny.  That guy who drugged you at that bar and took you back to his place.  He hung you upside down with the top of your head in a bucket of turpentine burning the top of your scalp while he raped you.  If that undercover cop hadn't followed you from the bar and shot that bastard before he cut off your . . ."

"Don't Sam."

"I'm sorry, Danny."

"It was so frightening." 

"I know, honey.  I know.  What I don't understand is why you fell in love with me instead of that hunk of a cop who saved you."

Danny started crying.

"Oh, honey.  Now what?"

"Oh, Sam, don't you know?  That cop was a narcissistic little prick who blamed me for the whole thing.  He said that I led that guy on in the bar.  I fell in love with you, Sam, because not only did you make me look beautiful by giving me hair, but you made me feel beautiful."

"Now I'm going to cry."

"Enough of that Sam.  Now, who else is going to be there that I need to know about?"

"The only other people Richard has invited to stay at the villa is Butch and Buddy.  They are similar to us as far as age difference, but their relationship is different.  I don't really know the complete story.  As best I understand, Butch adopted Buddy when he was either 16 or 17 years old.  The only thing Butch would tell me was that Buddy had been abused by his foster parents."

"Well, doesn't Richard know?  You said he was a gossip."

"No.  Apparently, years ago when Richard and Ian invited Butch and Buddy to come skiing, Richard tried to get the story out of Buddy.  Butch had a very short, but effective word with Richard.  Since then, Richard doesn't say much to Buddy."

"How do they know Ian and Richard?"

"Butch was a security guard at one of the casinos when Ian first came to Vegas.  He really hated it.  He ended up being a truck driver based out of Boise.  He picked up Buddy one night hitchhiking.  I think it was the second time that Buddy had run away from his foster family.  That is really all I know."

"You mean, nothing about hair, or other body descriptions.  Come on, Sam."

"Okay.  Okay.  Butch is built like a fire hydrant, and is a little polar bear.  You'll find this funny.  He and I have the exact same wig.  When I started wearing a white wig, Buddy wanted one exactly like it.  Buddy wears a hairpiece that is similar in style to Butch's, but in a dark ash blond.  Buddy is a little taller than Butch and has a bodybuilder's physique.  In fact, modeling paid for every bit of his education.  He just finished defending his dissertation for his doctorate in child psychology."

"I hope that covers it because I think we are almost there."

"It does.  Everything will be fine.  The memorial will be lovely.  We'll eat too much, and then we'll go home."

To be continued in another installment based upon audience response.

Proper undergarments for the proper gentleman!

THE INTERVENTION

BY RUGTOPPER

Vinny did not expect to find anything in his mailbox at work. He did not he know why he bothered looking in it. He had been an inter-office courier at Payton Publishing for three years. No one ever sent him messages; he was never invited out for a drink after work; and, no one even bothered to say hello to him in the halls as he made his rounds. Finding a handwritten note in his box was a shock. He was even more shocked to read that he was invited to watch a football game with some of the executives from the eighth floor this weekend. He hated going to the eighth floor. All the male executives would give him strange looks. They were looks he was not used to getting. They were looks of pity, but not in a condescending sort of way. It was a look of pity that you see someone give another human being when you know that that someone is about to help that human being. Regardless, it did not make Vinny feel comfortable. When he left the eighth floor, he always felt like he was about to be the next big project for the local Junior League to take on to make them feel good about themselves. He had no idea how wrong he was. He had no idea just how good he was going to feel about himself.

Vinny went to eighth floor, as instructed in the note. He waited outside Mr. Reynolds' office. Albert Reynolds was a tough man to size up. He was not the type of man you would see going to a football game, much less hosting a football party. He was more the type who might sing with the local chamber ensemble on a Tuesday night, and play golf on Saturday afternoon. Mr. Reynolds came out of his office with a big grin on his face. He was a slight man, maybe 5'7", if that tall; very trim with no facial hair. Aside from his height, his most striking feature was his fiery strawberry blond hair. At 43, he was still very youthful looking with his ruddy complexion and the flaming head of hair.

"Here are the directions to my house, Vinny. I hope you don't have any trouble finding the place. There are only going to be six of guys there, plus you."

"Should I bring anything, Mr. Reynolds?" Vinny asked.

"Well, Vinny, first call me Al. Second, if you want to you can bring some chips. The other guys are bringing the rest of the food. I'll be in charge of the grill out back."

Thanks, Mister . . . ah, Al."

"No, problem. See you Saturday at noon."

"Sure."

All week, Vinny looked forward to the weekend. Also, he noticed that the guys on the eighth floor looked at him differently. He wasn't sure what kind of look this was. Still, when they saw him, they did at least speak to him. That was the best change.

Saturday finally came. Vinny showed up at Al's house right at noon. He could hear the TV when he got out his truck. He grabbed the grocery bags and headed toward the front door. Before he even got to the porch, the door opened. It was Mr. Pierce. Perfect Pierce they called him. He once recalled a book that had had 10,000 copies printed because of a punctuation mistake on the last page of the book. He was not one to mess with at all.

"Hey, Vinny, glad you're here." Mr. Pierce said as he took the bags out of Vinny's hands.

"Hi, Mr. Pierce.

"Now, Vinny, we're away from work. Just call me Derek."

"Okay, Derek." Vinny replied.

"I think you know all the other guys here," Derek said as Vinny made his way through the door.

Yes, Vinny knew all of the men. After a quick survey of the room, he also knew why he might be there. He didn't really make the connection when Al gave him the directions, or even when Derek, with his stark-white preppy hairdo, greeted him at the door. Now he knew. There sitting in front of the giant screen television were the other four men from the eighth floor. All six were clothed in their khaki slacks, typical golf shirts and their obvious toupees. Here Vinny was in his blue jeans, faded t-shirt, tennis shoes, and ratty black hair. Now he knew that something was up.

Derek closed and locked the door. Al got up from his chair and came to shake Vinny's hand. Vinny was led over to the sofa.

One of the guys turned off the television.

"Now, Vinny, I bet you're wondering why we asked you here. Especially when you think we haven't even had anything to do with you all these years."

"Well, it is kind of odd, don't you think?" Vinny asked, as he ran his hands over his messy hair with the V-shaped hairline.

All the men just looked at each other and then at Vinny.

"Vinny, we want to help you. We think you're a great guy. We know you've been waiting for job to open up in editing. You've seen people come and go. You've even been overlooked twice. Most men would have left, but you've stuck it out. We appreciate that more than you know. But we can't help you until you decide that you need help. We need to know that you are willing to do what it takes to improve yourself for the job that you want."

"Look, uh, Mr. Steel, is it? I just came to watch the game. Yes, I'd like to move into editing. Yes, I'd like to remain in the publishing business. I've got time. It's been three years since I finished grad school. I've had a lot of offers, but not with a smaller publishing company like yours. I like what Peyton produces. I like their style. I like the fact that they really want to publish local authors."

"Yes, it is Mr. Steel, but you can call me Gene. We like what we see, but only in your resume, Vinny. There is plenty of room for improvement in so many areas of your life. We just want to help you, that’s all."

"Vinny, let me just cut to the chase. The way you present yourself on paper is suburb. The way you present yourself in public is another story. That is what we want to change." 

"Look, Al, let me make myself clear. I don't need your pity that each of gives me every day at work. I certainly don't need some sort of intervention to help me make it in the publishing world."

"True, Vinny, but believe me when I say that the publishing world is not busting down any doors to find the next best editor. It is a closed field. Everything is focused on the next author, the next bestseller. No one cares about editors or proofreaders. They are a dime a dozen. What I'm trying to tell you is that, as you are now, you will never stand out. There is nothing in your appearance that says, 'yes, I am a professional.' It says 'look at me, a man in his thirties who can barely make ends meet, who can't dress himself, and who is losing his hair.'"

"So, it comes down to that, does it? My hair. Is that what this is all about? This is rich. A room full of men in rugs giving me a lecture on hair loss. This day just gets odder and odder."

"Alright, Vinny. So what. So, we happen to wear toupees. The alternative is what you are quickly moving toward. We have all been there. We all know what will happen. We see what you do. We see you try to hide it at work. We see you use a lot of product to make the front look fuller. You brush down the sides to hide that growing V at your temples. We even see you slap on that awful ball cap when you get into your truck everyday when you leave. Is that how you want to live, Vinny? Are you prepared for what happens next?"

Up until this point Vinny and Al had been the only two involved in this exchange. Suddenly, Mr. Cappato spoke up. He was Italian, just like Vinny.

"Vinny, you and I are a lot alike. We both come from big Italian families. We both know how hard it is to be the one in the family who is losing his hair. Look at me Vinny. I was your age when all my thick, black hair started going down the drain." With that, Mr. Cappato reached his hand up to his full, coal black pompadour, and took it off. There sat Mr. Cappato with just a narrow rim of dyed black hair over his ears and across the back of his head.

Vinny just sat there in shock, speechless.

"This is where you are headed. Look at me, Vinny. Let me help you. Let us help you." Mr. Cappato pleaded.

"What, now all of you are going to take turns showing me your bald heads?" Vinny asked.

"We just might, but first I think we need to do something else."

That was Mr. Peyton, Jr., the boss’s son. He had the fakest head of brown hair you have ever seen. It did not even match the course salt-n-pepper hair on the back and sides. He didn't even bother to dye it to match.

"Vinny, I think you need to go to the bathroom and wash out all that product. I think you really need to see just what little you have up there."

"I think you might just need to make me, Junior." With that Vinny jumped up and snatched off Mr. Peyton's toupee. Not only did it reveal his bald pate, but it also revealed where his tan line stopped and his pasty scalp started.

"Well, I think that is enough childishness for one day." said Al. "Boys, I think Vincent here needs a bit of help. Please escort him to my barbershop in the basement."

When Al said this, two security guards from the building came in from the other room and lifted Vinny off the ground. One of the other executives, who had remained silent to this point, produced a large needle.

"This will make things easier, Vincent." said the executive with the tightly-curled wig.

Vinny found himself half awake in a barber's chair, strapped down and wearing only his teal-colored bikini briefs, surrounded by the six men. All of them were now totally bald. Their wigs and toupees were lined up in front of Vinny on stands just staring at him. One of the security guards was now dressed in a white barber's uniform. Vinny's hair was dripping wet. All of the black-colored mousse and fiber thickeners had been washed out. Gone was all the darkened powder used to hide his nearly hairless crown. Vinny just looked at himself for the first time. Then he looked at the men in the mirror. Lastly, he looked at the six Styrofoam heads staring at him.

With slurred speech, Vinny managed to say, "you're right, guys, I need help. I know if I ever want to advance to the eighth floor, I have to change my look. I've been denying it for over ten years now. I need to improve my image. I want a full head of hair like you guys. Mr. Cappato, I do want to look like you."

"Call me, Carmine, Son. I think that would be the best thing."

"Rex, go get a wig just like Carmine's out of the closet for Vinny here." Al told the barber.

While Rex was gone, the other security guard, now in full barber's gear came and began prepping Vinny.

Vinny's head was shaved until there was just a shadow left. Vinny was given two more shots. With this he passed out. Hours later, he awoke in the chair with a stiff neck. He was still hung over, but managed to open his eyes. In the mirror was this guy with eyes like his, who had a totally hairless, shiny dome. Rex was behind him mopping the floor. The smell was worse than a locker room. He knew that smell. He didn't need to think about what had happened while he had been out. The other barber came back into the room. He rubbed Vinny head with a clear liquid. This was cool and cleansing. It also completely removed the shine on his scalp. While the barber was doing this, Vinny noticed that there was only one wig stand in front of him. On it was a thick, black wig. The barber took this off the stand, applied tape to the underside and put it on Vinny's head. He pressed hard so the tape would adhere. He turned Vinny to the side and started combing and cutting. Next, he got out a steamer and started styling the wig. While Vinny was still groggy, Phil turned Vinny toward the mirror. Suddenly, Vinny was wide awake. Now he really recognized himself. This was the Vinny from high school. This was the cool Vinny that every girl and boy wanted to sleep with.

All six executives filed into the room. They were wearing their toupees and wigs.

"Vinny," Al said, "We have a change of clothes for you upstairs. We've recorded the game, if you want to watch it with us. Also, you are expected in my office on Monday morning to discuss your new position as a copy editor. Are we clear?"

Vinny nodded as Rex and Phil helped him up. Mr. Cappato helped Vinny up the stairs to the guest bedroom. Vinny put on his new casual clothes while Carmine watched and occasionally helped. Several hours later they eventually emerged from the guest bedroom each brushing down the back of his hair. The weekend turned out better than he had hoped. Vinny never watched the game, but spent the rest of the weekend with Carmine. Monday morning a whole new world began.

THE END