THE INTERVENTION

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

CONFESSIONS OF A FETISH BARBER

BY RUGTOPPER

Sam picked up the telephone after it rang the second time.

“Adonis Hair Replacement Salon, Sam speaking.”

“Sam? This is Troy. How are you?”

“Troy! I’m fine. Good to hear from you. Why are you calling? Your regular appointment is still three weeks away.”

“I have finally decided to take your advice and change pieces. Is there room on your schedule to see me at 2:00 this afternoon? I’ll be through at the station by then.”

“Sure, Troy. I have an appointment at 1:00, but he is my last for the day. My afternoon is yours. I’ll see you at 2:00.”

Sam hung up the phone in the waiting room and went back into the styling room. He picked up a broom and finished cleaning the hair clippings on the floor. Sam had a very traditional barbershop right down to the black and white linoleum tiles on the floor. In the center of the room taking its pride of place was an enormous chrome barber’s chair with fire-engine red leather on the seat and back. This was the chair that Sam’s dad had used for nearly fifty years. This was the chair where Sam had his first haircut. But Sam didn’t have time to dwell on that. He had to finish cleaning up, have a small lunch, take care of his 1:00 appointment, and prepare for Troy. Troy Duncan. What a great guy. Everyone loved Troy. Everyone thought they knew Troy. He had been a fixture at the local TV station for nearly twenty years. Now he strictly did the morning and noon-time broadcasts, but was still a well-known local celebrity. “I wonder what made him decide to switch from a toupee to a full wig,” thought Sam. Troy Duncan had worn a toupee for nearly twenty-seven years. In fact, Sam’s dad had actually done the first fitting on Troy when he was only twenty-two years old. “That was just before Dad retired to Florida,” Sam said out loud to no one in particular. After Sam finished sweeping, he checked his own hair in the mirror before he went back out to the waiting room. Every silvery hair was in place. Of course it was; it never moved. It was made and styled that way. Still, before he left the room, he did give his hair a quick mist with wig hairspray. He knew Howard, his 1:00 appointment would notice. Howard noticed things like that. Howard was a relatively new type of client for Sam. In the last ten years, Sam had had an increase in clients who wore toupees or wigs. Among those were several who were a somewhat unusual because they really wanted to wear a toupee or a wig. In other words, they had no physical lack of hair precipitating the need to cover it up. Howard was one of those men.

As Sam was finishing his lunch at the reception desk, Howard walked in to the salon. He was early.

“Hi, Sam,” Howard said as he closed the office door behind him.

“I know I’m early. I'll sit over here while you finish your lunch.”

“Thanks, Howard. That would be great. I’ll be done in just a bit.”

Howard walked over to the sofa, tugged up his pants legs, and sat down. When he did this, he crossed his right leg over his left knee flashing a short jet-black sock, and the clip of his garter. Howard loved to do this. Sam chose to ignore it. Howard Gunson. Howard was only thirty-one, but he did everything he could to look like a man over sixty. Howard had on his usual barbershop attire. He was wearing hideous pale yellow beltless slacks, a thin-knit white short-sleeved dress shirt, and white patent leather loafers with a gold bar. This would have been marginally okay except that Howard was wearing an athletic undershirt which was clearly visible through the top shirt. Other undergarments were noticeable as well. When he sat down, Sam observed the knee-length boxer shorts with the tiny multi-colored diamonds underneath the beltless slacks. Also, the short dark socks held aloft by garters were clearly, but unnaturally outlined through the pants. Sam had given up trying to figure out why Howard wanted to look like this.

“Okay, Howard, I’m ready if you are.”

Howard came into the styling room.

“Howard, before we get started, don’t you think you’d better undress so we don’t have an accident like the last time?”

“Sure, Sam.”

Howard went to bathroom and undressed. When he returned, he was wearing only his undergarments. His tiny dick was already trying to poke itself out of the oversized boxer shorts that were hiding it. Howard walked across the room and got into the chair. As Sam put the cape around Howard’s neck, he looked at Howard’s hair. It either had to be the worst looking thing Sam had ever done for a client, or the best job Sam had ever done in making something nice look cheap. Howard’s toupee was coal black with a sheen.  It covered most of his head. There was a left-sided part, but it was only simulated. You couldn’t see the scalp at all. Sam called this type of part a “pillowed part” or a “carpet part.” Basically, it looked like where two pieces of carpet came together, like on a staircase. The base of the toupee was mostly mesh with just a strip around the circumference for tape. The front of the rug almost embarrassed Sam. There was no  lace-front hairline or anything fancy. This was old-school front under venting. Even at 100 yards, you knew this thing wasn’t real. Howard was sheepishly proud of this.

“Okay Howard, let’s get started.”

Sam put both of his hands on the base of Howard’s neck. Just above the neckline he felt for the plastic strip and loosened the tape. Howard moaned just a bit. Sam knew what was happening and stopped for just a moment to give Howard a chance to catch his breath. He put his hands at the base of Howard’s toupee and slowly peeled the toupee forward. As the toupee was removed, Howard moaned again and shot a tiny wad onto the underside of the cape.

“You know, Howard, if you were married, your wife would be so disappointed. We haven’t even started, and you’re already finished.” Sam laughed as he said this. Howard only gave an evil little smirk.

“Don’t ask me to explain it, Sam, I can’t. Just trim what I have and put me back together. I have to be at the newsstand at the airport by 3:00 this afternoon. I’m working a later shift today. You know how much I love working at the airport. It is the best place for rug spotting.”

This was something else Howard loved to do: look for toupees, and be spotted as well. Sam got the hot-lathered foam and put it on Howard’s stubble. He observed the flawless, but man-made Norwood seven horseshoe pattern on Howard’s head. With several quick strokes, Howard’s faint shadow of hair was gone. Sam trimmed the fringe with a four guard as Howard always requested. After this, Sam picked up Howard’s toupee, and placed it at his forehead. He slowly rounded it back into place. He did his best to comb the synthetic hair over the real, but too-short hair. This look made it even easier for it to be spotted.

“By the way, Howard, I hope that at your next appointment we can finally start on your laser hair removal.  It will make the mpb ring look more natural when you remove your toupee.  Now, up, out of the chair. Get dressed. I have another client coming at 2:00, and I need you to be gone.”

Howard got dressed, paid with a huge tip, and left. Sam swept up and waited for Troy.

Straight up 2:00, in walked Troy Duncan. To the unknowing, one might think he and Howard were alike. They both wore toupees and had the same fetish for undergarments, but that was where it ended. Troy was 48, handsome, fit, well-read, and a genuinely interesting person.

“Get in here, Troy. I did not expect to see you for three weeks much less get a call from you today.” Sam said this as he sat down on the sofa. “Sit down,” Sam said as he patted the sofa. Troy sat down and crossed his left leg over his right knee. Unlike Howard, he did not flash his garter clip even though he was always tempted to do so.

“Now Troy, why have you decided to go with a full wig? I’ve only been trying to get you to wear one for over a year.”

“Well Sam, I remember when you told me that I was losing more hair, that I was slowly but eventually going to move from a six to a seven on the Norwood scale.”

“Yes, and at that point you really need a custom-made piece. Granted, the stock pieces I get for you are good, but they won’t cover the baldness when you get to a seven,” Sam intoned.

“I know,” agreed Troy, “but my reason has less to do with a custom piece and more with the custom price attached to it.”

“You know I’d cut a deal for you. You are one of my most loyal clients . . . and most famous, well, even if no one knows that you are a client.”

“Well, I don't know about people not knowing, but I’m going to make the transition because of work.”

“Work?” Sam asked.

“Yes, work. You remember a while back I sent an audition tape to San Diego for that network job? Well, I finally heard from them yesterday. They went with Justin McKay.”

“Justin McKay? Wasn’t he that kid who interned for you a few years ago?”

“Eight years ago to be exact. Justin McKay interned for me and then the station manager actually hired him to be a researcher before he went to Atlanta. Anyway, when I found out about losing the job in San Diego, I decided just to stay here.”

“What do you mean stay here?”

“The station manager has been wanting me to sign a ten-year contract for over a year. I haven’t because I kept thinking I would move up in the market to a larger network. This was the fourth time I have been passed over. That is one of the things I hate most about news broadcasting: always having to look for the next market job. Anyway, when I signed yesterday, I just decided that now was the time. I have a worn a toupee since I was 22 years old. I just want something that's a lot easier to take care of.  I'm getting older.  It is time to graduate, so to speak, to a full wig.”

“I remember Dad telling me how nervous you where when you came in for that first fitting.”

“I was a wreck, mainly because I didn’t know what I was getting into. I really wasn’t that interested in wearing a toupee at that time.”

“Really, Troy, I didn’t know that. You seem so comfortable wearing one.”

“Your dad, and later on you, really helped me get comfortable wearing a toupee. My advisor was the one who really guided me to get one. He told me that if I wanted to move from behind the radio microphone to being in front of a camera, I needed a full head of hair. I didn’t think I was that bald, but I was lying to myself. By the time I decided to deal with my hair loss, I think I was almost a four on the Norwood scale with a lot of fuzz. Your dad just shaved me clean so I had a smooth surface for my first toupee. I can tell you I walked out of here with my head held high for the first time in nearly two years. When I made that first appearance for the campus news, I felt like a million bucks. I realized that I had been hiding under a silly plaid riding cap. Anyway, after I lost the job in San Diego, I signed the ten-year contract with the station. It is the same pay, but with lots of bonuses. Also, on the bright side, a full wig every two years costs far less than a toupee every six months.”

“I want to hear more about this Justin what’s-his-name. You said he interned with you?”

“Yes, about eight years ago. I guess the people in San Diego wanted someone younger than me. They can have him and his overly-permed hair.”

“Oh, my! Did you say it was Justin McKay?”

“Yes, what about him?”

“Now, I remember him. Troy, that’s not a perm.”

“What! You mean that awful hair is natural?”

“Only part of it,” Sam hinted.

“You mean Justin McKay wears a rug?”

You got it, Troy. He was one of my first fetish clients,” Sam confessed.

“Fetish clients? What on earth is that? What do they do, suck their toes or something disgusting like that?”

“Well, not exactly that. Nearly ten years ago, I started getting phone calls from men who wanted to be fitted for a toupee. It was only a few, but when they would show up for the consultation, I would discover that they had a full head of hair.”

“You mean these guys were not bald? They weren’t losing their hair at all?”

“No. They just wanted to wear a toupee.”

“I can’t imagine someone who had hair wanting to wear a toupee. I understand being bald and wanting to cover it by wearing a toupee, but to make yourself bald on purpose just to put on a toupee is a little too farfetched for me.”

“You would be surprised, Troy, just how many men actually want to do just that. My last client, just before you came today, is one of them. He is 31 and has worn a toupee on purpose since he was 25. Justin is the same way.”

“Tell me more about Justin and this other guy.”

“Let’s move to the studio so I can start on your new wig while we talk.”

“Okay,” Troy said, but neither of them moved from the sofa.

“Less than a month after you told me Justin had been hired as a researcher,” Sam continued, “I got a call from him. He told me that you had recommended me. He told me he wanted to be fitted for a toupee. I asked him how bald he was. He told me that I would need to remove a lot of hair in order to have a proper fit.”

“How did he find out I came here? Did he follow me? I know he was always asking me where I got my hair done and then he would correct himself by saying, ‘I mean. . cut.’ That always bothered me. Well, keep going.”

“So the day of the appointment came and Justin arrived on time. He had all this unruly hair. He also had a very expensive toupee in a box. He told me that he wanted to wear a toupee and that he had always wanted to wear a toupee. I told him that I just couldn’t wave a magic wand and make him bald. He got hard as a rock when I said that. I told him it would be unethical to make someone bald on purpose. I told him that he was being silly, that he didn’t need a toupee. He was not moved. He just kept begging. Finally, I told him to leave. I told him that I would think about it. He called me the next day crying. He told me that his therapist had suggested that he get a toupee to face his fears of going bald. I told him he wasn’t going bald. He said that he was. I asked for the name of his therapist. He wouldn’t give it, of course, because there wasn’t one. The day after the phone call, he showed up here in a baseball cap crying. He had shaved the top of his head. He was crying and begging me to fit him with the toupee. So, I did.”

“My God! I knew he was a little off the beam, but nothing like this. So, you fitted him with the toupee?”

“I had to. I couldn’t let him leave looking worse than Larry from the Three Stooges. It was awful. He had basically taken a beard trimmer and mowed down the middle of his head. I told him to get in the chair.”

“How did the fitting go?”

“The fitting was routine once I got his scalp prepared. He had buzzed himself to a Norwood four, but the toupee was sized for a five. After I shaped it to a level five, I was ready to shave the stubble. I got the hot-foamed lather and quickly removed all the stubble. At this point he was totally into the whole process. The boy had a ton of hair. When I turned him toward the mirror with his curly toupee setting there on its stand, he made the strangest sound. He actually shot a load in his pants. I wouldn’t let him get up. I made him sit there in all that goo while I finished. I got the toupee off the stand, put tape on the underside, and attached it to his head. The next bit took forever, and I do mean forever, over two hours. I hate working with curly hair. He kept telling me to keep his fringe longer. It really wasn’t all that long, but I did as he asked. It looked well blended, but I knew that without the toupee he was going to look like a clown. He ended up coming back every four weeks for a trim before he got that job in Atlanta. When he moved, that was the last time I saw him. Well, that is the whole saga of my first fetish client. I am sorry you lost the job to him. You are a great reporter.”

“Thanks, Sam. Can we start on my wig now? You can tell me about that other guy then. What’s his name?”

“Yes, we can start. You had better undress. These wigs are long and loaded with tons of hair. They make them that way. They come fuller than necessary. Anyway, the guy’s name is Howard. I’ll tell you about him when you get back from the bathroom.”

Troy got up and went to the bathroom to undress. He always did this whenever he had a new fitting. It was easier, cleaner, neater, and just more comfortable. As Troy walked across the room to the bathroom, he moved various items from his pants pockets to his suit-coat pockets. He also thought to himself, “How many times have I done this? How many toupees have I gotten since I was 21?” Today was something new for Troy. When he got into the bathroom, he removed his coat and hung it on one of the pegs inside the door. He closed the door and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He loved how his tight athletic undershirt looked beneath his crisp white dress shirt. He removed his tie and hung it up. Off came the shirt and down came the pants. They slid off easily over his wing tips which he liked to keep on. Seeing himself in his tight undershirt tucked into his knee-length boxer shorts, thick-n-thin socks and garters, he gave himself a queer little smile. He said out loud to himself, “And now off goes the hair, old man.” Troy walked out of the bathroom, sat down in the barber’s chair. Sam put a fresh cape around his neck and slowly lifted the back of Troy’s toupee. Same removed it from front to back. The extent of Troy’s baldness was overwhelming to take in. Sam had been right. Troy was almost a full Norwood six. His peaks and his temples were completely gone.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“Sideburns as well,” Sam asked.

“Sideburns as well.  There is too much gray in them, and I never really liked them anyway. Shave it all. It will be easier in the long run.”

Sam turned on the clippers and removed Troy’s sideburns and all of his fringe. Next, he got the hot-foamed lather and the razor and removed the stubble. Suddenly, there sat Troy Duncan - Channel 14’s lead anchorman totally bald and slowly getting a massive erection.

“Oh, God! I knew this day might come, but I wasn’t really prepared for it. I’m totally and completely bald. I don’t believe it. I am completely bald.”

“Okay, Troy. Get over it. You’ve been bald most all of your adult life. Now, it is just a greater level of baldness. Welcome to my world," Sam said as he laughed.  Troy lied, as well.

Now Troy, I have two styles for you. There are four wigs, two in each style. One is a traditional left-sided part, just like the toupee you’ve been wearing for several years. The other style is slightly fuller with a casual, brushed-back look to it. I really think you should go with that. I think it looks better with your facial features. Also, with this youth-obsessed market, I think it will be more attractive. What do you think?”

“I think I need to go with the hipper, brushed-back look. I’m changing from a toupee to a wig. I might as well get a better looking style as well. I also want to stop talking about my hair so you can tell me about Howard and some of your other clients. Confession is good for the soul. Confess!”

Sam put the wig on Troy’s head and turned him toward the mirror.

“I’m not going to leave it like this of course. It will be over the ears and above the collar - very professional, but casual. Okay, now about Howard. I think you might know who he is. He has a newsstand at the airport. He runs an okay business, but with him, everything is about toupees. He loves spotting guys who wear them. He also loves being spotted. He really gets off if someone notices his rug. He actually gets sweaty palms if someone stares at his hairline while they are talking to him.”

“Really? I think I know who are talking about. Maybe I should chat him up sometime just to mess with him. He’s not dangerous, is he?”

“Howard! No, he’s harmless. If you do decide to chat with him, you might pull back your coat so he can see your undershirt. He has a real underwear fetish as well.”

“Should I flash him a glimpse of garter,” Troy asked as he kicked his gartered leg out from under the giant barber’s cape.

“No, Howard might soil himself right there in the airport,” Sam laughed.

“Okay, who else is there? Keep going.”

Same continued cutting and thinning and styling Troy's new wig as he proceeded to "confess" about more of his clients.

"Well, there is Larry, the used car salesman."

"Don't tell me.  He's overweight and wears a lot of gaudy jewelry?"

"No.  Larry hates jewelry.  Plus he is somewhat trim, even if it isn't totally natural."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I happened to notice that he looked like he had lost weight, so I complimented him.  He informed me that he got tired of dieting and had gotten one of those girdle shirts that flattens everything."

Troy laughed.  "So what about his hair?  Is he one of your fetish clients, too?"

"Yes.  He had always wanted to wear a rug, so he started tweezing his hair out.  However, he quickly discovered how tedious and painful that was.  He had me laser his hair off so he could permanently wear a hairpiece."

"You mean you destroyed his hair?  I didn't know you were licensed to do laser hair removal, Sam."

"I've been licensed to practice that for years.  Anyway, Larry had found this blond synthetic hairpiece online that he really liked.  His bio hair is almost white, and doesn't match the hairpiece at all.  Still Larry loves it and the attention he gets.  Anyway, I have had quite a few clients over the years who have had me do laser hair removal.  One of my clients is a security guard at one of the casinos here in Vegas."

"You mean some guy had all his hair lasered off?"

"Yes.  He said he was tired of shaving it all the time.  He's huge and muscular.  The look works for him.

"Okay, Troy.  I need to rinse this wig, remove it, and begin on the other one."

Sam rotated the barber's chair and lowered it.  He gingerly rinsed all the loose hair from Troy's new wig.  He raised the chair and gently applied a towel to Troy's head.  He took a blow dryer and began styling Troy's new wig.  He knew Troy wanted a hipper version of his old style, but he knew Troy's conservative tastes.  He styled it off the forehead, with an easy, brushed back look.  He turned the chair toward the mirror.

"So, what do you think, Troy?"

"It's perfect, Sam.  Just like what we have discussed a few times over the past year.  There is just enough up-sweep which I like, but not a retro pompadour.  Now, any more stories?  The confessional is still open."

Sam removed Troy's wig and placed it on a stand in front of the mirror next to the other, uncut model.  Suddenly Troy felt vulnerable, as he always did without his hair.  He shouldn't, but he did.  He had been bald for half his life, hiding it under a rug.  He liked to think he was fooling most of the people all of the time, but deep down, he knew most people strongly suspected that he wore a hairpiece.  Yes, this new wig was nice, but it was even more obvious than his toupee.  He knew he would get tons of junk emails commenting on his new look.  He didn't have any fringe in which to blend it, and now no sideburns.  Sam had done a great job thinning out the wig, but the temples were obviously taped to his now totally hairless scalp.  His fringe before had been thin and wispy.  He knew this fuller wig would look a lot better.  Sam put tape on the second wig and put it on Troy's totally bald head.  He liked the tight grip of the tape on his scalp.  Since that first day he had put on his new toupee in his dorm room, he had always enjoyed how it felt sitting on his bald head.

"Well, Troy," Sam said as he began cutting on Troy's spare wig.

"Well what, Sam?  Are you going to continue with the confessions?"

"Let me make a quick phone call, and then I'll give you an exclusive confession that will snap your garters."

Sam quickly returned a few minutes later with a smile on his face.

"So, what makes this next confession so much better than the others you have shared?"

"Well, this one is about me, Troy."

"You?  I thought you were naturally bald.  When I first came here all those years ago, you were already wearing a toupee.  If I remember correctly you're only four years older than me.  Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Troy.  I just turned 52.  And, yes, I was wearing a toupee when we first met, but it was partly due to my desire to be like my dad."

"I don't understand, Sam."

"You knew my dad along with two other barbers in town kept all the male stars and celebrities looking their best when they would perform at the casinos.  Whenever one of the barbers would order a new wig for a certain tipsy member of the Rat Pack, he would also order one for my dad.  My dad really liked that full style.  All the Hollywood stars had their own barbers or used Max Factor.  Here in the desert, if a man was going bald, he either went without hair or went with second best.  Anyway, I'm getting away from my story.  When I started working here, sweeping up after school as a teenager, I noticed that a lot of my dad's customers were uncomfortable with me around because I had a full head of hair.  One day after work I asked my dad if I embarrassed him because I didn't wear a hairpiece like he did.  That really upset him because he said that I could never embarrass him.  That's when I told him that I really wanted to wear a toupee like he did.  He said that I was being silly.  He said there was no way he would let me wear one when I didn't need to wear one.  I asked him if he would let me wear one if I did need one.  He said he would.  So, I took the clippers and gave myself a tiny bald spot.  He couldn't believe I did it.  He made me wait until the next day to fit me with a little slider that he had in a drawer."

"A slider?  What's that?"

"Oh, that is a little piece for the crown area.  It can be worn with clips or glue."

"So, you're telling me that you had a toupee fetish just like some of your clients?"

"Yes, Troy, I am.  I started wearing a rug when I was still in high school.  By the time I graduated and went to beauty school, I was a full Norwood five."

"What did your friends at school think?"

"Those that knew, thought that my dad made me wear one for his business.  I couldn't let people think my dad was that cruel.  I told them that I was losing my hair and didn't want to be bald.  Remember Troy, this is Los Vegas.  Everyone cares about how they look.  Half the girls in my graduating class wore extra padding in their bras!"

As Sam was finishing his confession to Troy, the chime on the front door rang.

"I thought I was your last client, Sam.  I can't let anyone see me.  The public may suspect that I wear a hairpiece, but I don't want them to have a face-to-face confirmation."

"He's not coming in here, Troy.  Let me rinse and style this wig while I explain.  Now, he is a long-time client, but he's not here for an appointment.  You see, I have a second confession to make.  You probably don't remember Sean Dugan.  He was a professional bodybuilder and model, but after a car accident, he was working part-time as a security guard at your station when you were having all those issues with Justin.  He found out that Justin was the one who kept sabotaging your network chances.

Sam turned Troy around in the chair, rinsed all the loose hair from the spare wig, and then began styling it like he had the first one.

"Troy, Sean, was the one who brought Justin here.  He hated how Justin would talk about you behind your back at the station.  Sean hated the snide comments Justin made about your toupee.  Sean put a stop to it by convincing me to teach Justin a lesson with my laser.  He didn't have to work very hard."

Troy got up out of the chair, took off the barber's cape, and walked into the lobby.  He didn't say anything.  He just walked up to Sean, softly put both hands on his face, and kissed him the way he had always dreamed of years ago when he would see him at the station.

After that long, passionate kiss Sean just looked down at Troy Duncan's old-fashioned undergarments and smiled.  Troy just smiled as he glanced up at Sean's light cocoa colored toupee.

Later, the two of them went out to eat, but ended up back at Troy's condo for dessert and more.

(You can fill in the rest!)

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