Fuss!

Chapter One

“I have to get to the salon,” Danielle said, plucking at a  long strand of her hair. “Split ends.”

“Hate.  And who has time for it?.” Samantha sat at the little table in the kitchenette, laptop open, reviewing spreadsheets while nibbling on her salad.

Nick, the CEO and founder of their little three person startup, snickered. He was rifling through the refrigerator looking for something to “borrow” for lunch, despite the fact what food was there all had been labeled with either “Samantha” or “Nicole.”

“What’s funny?” Samantha said.

Nick took one of her Yoplait cups and pulled his head out of the refrigerator. “You love going to the salon. Come on. All girls do.”

“Really? And where did you learn that? Cro-magnon magazine?

Nick ripped the foil top off the yogurt, found a spoon in the dish rack, started eating. “I think it was in Sexist Pig Today,” Nick said.

“I go because it takes an army to take care of all this hair,” Danielle said. “As well as a small fortune.”

“It’s so expensive,” Samanatha chimed in. “Did you know a woman’s haircut costs twice as much as….”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And it’s worth it when you go to the club and the guys are all over you. You’d cut it all off but you know men love it.”

“You think I go through all this for you?”

“You’re not doing it for the ladies,” Nick answered, then double smirked.  “Unless you are?”

“Most guys don’t notice shit,” Samantha said.

“You think our lives revolve around you?”

“Like Jim Gaffigan and his comment about nails.”

“Okay, Okay,” Nick said, amused that he’d triggered this llittlle female tirade. “Blah blah blah, women are all victime.  I get it.”

“You really don’t” Danielle said.

“That’s my yogurt, by the way,” Samantha said.

“I know,” Nick said, his smirk growing larger.  They love our little game, he thought. All these woke women are the same. They talk big about equality, but they love a dominant alpha who puts them in their place.

Danielle and Samantha exchanged a glance. Jerk. But what could they do? He would never change.

Nick, having gobbled down the yogurt, tossed the empty cup in the sink along with the spoon. The girls would clean it up. “Ladies,” he said, “it’s been a pleasure. Now, you can go back to gossiping.”

Nick went back to his office, checked to make sure he didn’t get any yogurt on his pristine white shirt. He’d heard that Steve Jobs wore the same uniform everyday– a black turtleneck. He’d decided to do the same, and had chosen an old school white dress shirt as his uniform. He liked the idea of projecting old school, hard working masculinity. Sitting at his desk, he forgot all about the latest little exchange. Nick, in fact, considered himself a very progressive and modern man, not a sexist at all. He’d partnered up with two women, hadn’t he?

The sexist banter was all just– what? Goofing around. That, at least, is what he told himself.

***

Danielle sat in the salon recliner while her stylist, Vanya, trimmed off the ragged ends of her long, thick hair. She decided to get a blow out as well while she was at it. “My boss actually gave me shit about taking care of my hair,” she was saying, half talking to herself.

“Why would he do this?” Vanya asked.

“Because he’s an asshole.” She told Vanya all about how he was always making rude, demeaning comments in the office, how he expected her to clean up after him even though they were supposed to be equal partners. “But what’s the point of complaining?” Danielle finished, having complained for ten minutes. “He’ll never change.”

“Perhaps he will,” Vanya said. “Let me get you a special gift for him.”

“A gift for him?” Danielle said, appalled. “Were you even listening?”

“I hear you. This gift is special, for sexist pig. It will help him change for the better.”

“Seriously?”

“Trust me. Now,” Vanya spun the chair around so Danielle could see herself in the mirror. “How do you like your hair?”

The blow out had give her all kinds of volume, and all the ends now ended in sharp, perfect trims. “Good,” she said. “Great, even. Gorgeous. Thanks.”

“Soon, your boss will appreciate what you go through.”

As Danielle paid at the front counter, Vanya handed her a gift bag– white with gold lettering spelling out the name of the salon in gold cursive: Baba Yaga. White tissues spilled out the top of the bag. “Give this to him,” Vanya said.

“I don’t think he’s going to use whatever is in here,” Danielle said, chuckling.

“Just give it to him,” Vanya said. “You will see the changes.”

Chapter Two

Danielle, of course, couldn’t help but look to see what was in the bag, chuckling with amusement at how Nick would react when he saw the samples of skin scream, concealer,  and a pair of eyebrow tweezers. The thought of him plucking his eyebrows made her giggle. He would get a taste of the pain women endured to meet society’s ridiculous standards! There were also five gift certificates for free salon visits.

Now that, she thought, was an incredible injustice. Like he would ever use them. Still, she decided to give him the bag. He would probably just give them back anyway. She got up and went to Nick’s cube. They rented a corner in a shared work-space near Union Station in NYC that featured their three cubicles, a lounge area and the kitchenette. Meeting rooms for clients were shared by everyone who rented there.

“One sec,” Nick said, working intently. “I just need to reach a good stopping point.” He typed away, worked the mouse. “Getting the new flyers ready for Spring.”

Danielle sat, the gift bag in her lap. “I hope we can really get into the market in Brooklyn this year,” she said. “Basic Soda is a good product, but we just can’t seem to get traction.”

In fact, they had chosen to enter a competitive, even saturated market with their line of “home made, all natural” sodas. If sales didn’t pick up soon, they had little chance of bringing in new investors. They were all worried about it.

“Done!” Nick said, spinning his monitor around so Danielle could admire his handiwork.

“Nice,” she said.  In fact, it was a first rate design. Nick was a hard worker and talented, which was one reason she’d partnered with him even knowing his reputation. “Very nice. I brought you a gift.”

She put the pretty bag on his desk.

“What’s this?” He asked, recoiling from the femininity of this mysterious object he’d been offered.

“Just something to thank you for being you. I gotta get back to the old grindstone.”

“Okay. See ya. And, thanks?”

Dannielle left, thinking, He didn’t even notice my hair. And he thinks we do this all for them.

He pulled the tissues out of the bag, dumped the contents on his desk. Shook his head. Crap, he thought, sweeping the contents into the trash bin next to his desk. I’m sure she meant well. He would fake thank her later, force a smile. He knew how sensitive women were about this sort of thing.

After work, Nick stopped by Lovecraft, a hipster bar in the village full of all kinds of creepy horror shit. He liked it, and there were always a lot of hot ass women there. Two drinks, and he was following one home. An hour later he left, feeling satisfied. She’d been a pretty good fuck.

Back home, he went to the bedroom, which he called his “Sex Lair” and tossed his keys in the dresser. Then– wait? What? That bag, the one Danielle had given him. It was sitting right there on the dresser. He dumped out the contents. I threw this away, didn’t I? Been working too hard, he told himself. Playing too hard.

As he was about to get in bed that night in his usual manner– boxers and a t-shirt, he noticed his hands. They were dry, had red patches. He glanced over at the dresser. Why not? He decided, getting up and opening the little tube of skin cream, that promised “silky smooth skin with a healthy glow.”

Women, he thought, rubbing the cream on his hands, then his face. Always with their priorities so screwed up. In the morning, however, looking at himself in the mirror, he changed his mind. His face? His skin was almost luminescent, and his complexion was so- even? Plus, the red blotches were gone from his now smooth, soft hands.

There was only one problem. His night of drinking had left dark circles under his eyes. With the rest of his skin looking so damn good now, that dark skin just wouldn’t do. He went back to the dresser, saw the concealer. “No one will notice,” he mumbled as he applied a drop of the concealer to the tip of his finger and applied it smoothly over the dark circles. As soon as he finished, he corrected himself, pleased at how much better he looked, with the skin under his eyes matching his bright, smooth complexion. “They will notice how good I look.”

He finished by putting on some more of the skin scream, noticing it had a very pretty smell. And then, as if this was all just part of his daily routine, he threw the concealer and skin scream into his satchel and headed off to work.

“Good morning, girls,” Nick said as he jumped over the back of the couch in their little lounge area and plopped into his seat. Danielle and Samantha were there, laptops out, reports ready.

“Good morning,” they answered, each one immediately noticing Nick’s bright, fresh face, and with their women’s eyes, they couldn’t help but notice his concealer. Samantha almost thought he must be wearing foundation with how bright and even his face looked, but she couldn’t see any. The concealer was obvious.

“So, let’s take another step to glory!” Nick said, getting his laptop and papers out of his satchel, which was an “Indiana Jones” style bag. “Another step toward glory” was Nick’s catch phrase, which he shouted every morning, thinking he was inspiring his partners.

Danielle hid her surprise. Nick had actually used some of the cosmetics she’d given him. She remembered Vanya’s words: You will see changes. They now seemed almost ominous. Nick wearing concealer? It didn’t seem possible. And she was jealous of his gorgeous skin. She almost commented, but felt the better of it.

The meeting started. Halfway through, without even thinking, Nick dug into his satchel, pulled out the tube of skin cream and rubbed it over his hands, tossing the tube back in his bag. He’d done the whole thing while they talked, like it was an absentminded habit.

Samantha glanced at Danielle– what’s going on?

Danielle just raised an eyebrow.

When the meeting ended, Nick trotted off  to work in his cubicle. Samantha leaned over Danielle. “Did you notice Nick was wearing concealer?”

“I did. Guess he had a rough night?”

“I guess.” Samantha said, packing up her stuff. “He did look good.”

Toward the end of the day, Nick pulled out his lotion for the fourth time and– oh, no. The little tube just made a squirting sound, and only a tiny bit of the precious skin cream sputtered out. “Oh, no,” he said in a whisper. “No. No.” He suddenly felt himself panicking. He needed that cream. For a moment, he thought to buy something else, Vaseline or something, but no. He needed that cream. It was his brand!

He looked at the tube. Baba Yaga. A quick Internet search, and he found it was available exclusively at Baba Yaga, and it could not be ordered over the Internet. “Very poor business practice,” he mumbled, mildly annoyed. “They could make so much more money if they mass-marketed.” Oh, well. No matter. The salon was not far. He’d just stop by on the way home.

He threw his satchel over his shoulder and headed out. “Gonna head out a little early, girls,” he called as he left.

“Do you think he’ll ever figure out we’re women?” Samantha called out over her cubicle.

“You know,” Danielle said, smiling. “I think he just might.” He’d already used the concealer and skin cream. Once more, she imagined him sitting at a mirror, carefully plucking his eyebrows. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Dan wearing make-up?”

Samantha laughed, too. “I never thought I would see the day.”

Focusing back on work, Danielle dismissed the idea of Dan plucking his eyebrows. Really, there was no way, she decided. It would be funny, though.

Nick used his phone to find Baba Yaga. It was located down a narrow, alley like street among twisting and confusing old streets that had escaped the city’s attempts to regrid everything in straight lines years ago. Once more, he thought, bad business. Terrible location. He really should offer them consulting. Stepping into the salon, his skin crawled, and he could feel his nutsack wrinkle up and try to hide. It was utterly feminine, from the soft lighting to the soft colors, the waterfalls and the soft, new age music. Lord, he thought, frowning. And women wonder why men don’t take them seriously.

A young woman in a smock greeted him. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Nick said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I need some more of this.” He held out the tube.  As the girl looked at the tube, Nick sized her up and rated her– a solid 7, he figured. Fuckable.

“Of course.” The woman led him to a shelf full of all kinds of mysterious tubes and shells. Right next to it was a rack full of makeup of all kinds.

Nick almost swooned when he saw the shelf lined with Baba Yaga skin cream. “This! Yes!” He said. The tubes here were larger than the little sample, but he still grabbed two. “I just ran out, and I’ve been panicking!” He gushed, then realized what he’d said. “I mean– my girlfriend just ran out. This isn’t for me, of course.”

The young woman looked at his bright skin and smiled. “Of course not. Should I gift wrap them for you?”

“Yes, yes,” Nick said, deepening his voice. “She’ll  love that.”

The girl wrapped the skin scream in tissues and then carefully placed them in a bag like the one Nick had- white with gold letters– then rang up the purchase. “That will be 199.47.”

“What?” Nick spat. “For two little tubes?”

An older woman approached. “Hello.” she said. “I’m Vanya. So pleased to welcome you to my salon. Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” Nick said. “200 dollars for skin cream?”

“Beauty does not come at a discount,” Vanya said. “My products are the best in thee world. Natural and organic, and all ethically sourced.”

“”But a hundred bucks for a little tube?”

“There are more expensive brands, but no better. I assure you. And, what’s more,” she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Nick’s arm, pressing her body against his. Nick’’s head swam with the scent of her perfume. “You deserve to pamper yourself.”

“I– I,” Nick stammered, handing over his platinum card. He had no choice. He wouldn’t trust his skin to anything else. “I’ll take it.” And then he did something he had not done in years: He offered a sincere apology. “I’m sorry for being so rude.”

“You’re emotional,” Vanya said. “Now come. We;’re ready for you.”

Emotional? Nick thought as Vanya led him back to one of the salon chairs.

“Sit. Relax.”

“Wait,” Nick said, shaking his head. “No. I just came for the cream.”

“You have an appointment,” Vanya said. “Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t…” but then Nick started to wonder. Did he make an appointment? “No, I didn’t…”

“Then why do you have the gift certificate in your hand, darling?”

Nick looked down to see he was, indeed, holding one of the gift certificates. I must have made an appointment, he decided. His brain was messed up. It was just like when he thought he threw the bag away when he’d actually brought it home. “I’m confused,” Nick admitted.

“Sit down, sweetie,” Vanya said. “Let us take care of you.”

Nick sat. “What’s the appointment for?” He asked as one of the girls ffit the smock around his neck.

“To have your hair done, of course,” Vanya said. “Now relax… relax…. Relax…”

The girl spun the chair away from the mirror. Nick relaxed, a deep feeling of calm coming over him as the girl began to work. Time became a blur. He remembered chatting with the girl– something about her boyfriend, who sounded like a jerk!-- and then the chair turning, turning, and he now stared at himself in the mirror. He’d had the same haircut for years– tight on the sides, combed over on top in a classic Princeton. But now, he had– it was a girl’s haircut. His hair now flowed down to his chin line, bangs swept across his forehead, and the cut had a rounded quality that softened his features. His mouth dropped open. Eyes went wide. Shocked, he couldn’t even speak.

Vanya and three of her girls stood behind him, smiling brightly. Vanya ran hands up the sides of his head then tossed his hair– it had so much bounce! And it was so shiny! “You look soooo handsome,” one of the girls cooed. “Doesn’t he? What a stud!”

“Stud?” Nick managed in a tight, strained voice. He thought he looked like a girl and not a stud at all. He couldn’t believe how feminine this haircut made him look. “What did you do to me?”

“”Exactly what you asked for,” Vanyya said. “Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t… I asked for this?” Nick said, now turning his head side to side, brushing one of his soft hands through his bangs, admiring the way they bounced back into position .

“”Of course you did,” Vanya said. “Now, you really should do something about those eyebrows.”

Vanya handed him the gift bag with his new purchases and shooed him out the door. Instead of putting it into his satchel, he hooked it over his other arm and made his way home, worried that everyone was staring at him, but truly no one paid any attention. It was New York, after all. As for Nick, he enjoyed the feeling of his hair bouncing as he walked, the way the breeze tossed it. Occasionally a strand got in his eyes, but it just brushed it away with a wave of his hand.

Back home, he put his shopping bag on the dresser, went to the mirror and admired his new haircut. Bold move, he decided. I made a bold move. But he frowned as he looked at his bushy eyebrows. Vanya was right. They just detracted from his perfect new hair. Maybe they could use a little shaping? Some guys get their eyebrows threaded, he told himself. I could just clean them up a little?

But no. Come on. He was an old school man’s man. The thought was ridiculous. He ordered some food.. Ate. Sat down to watch Chicago PD, his legs spread wide, a bottle of beer on the table. As he watched, he couldn’t stop looking at the women on the show, but he wasn’t thinking about who had the best tits, which ones he’d like to fuck. He found himself obsessing on their sleek, perfectly shaped brows. He reached up and kept touching his own, which felt and looked like caterpillars. Before he knew it, he found himself with his legs tucked under him, tweezers in  one hand a mirror in the other. “Ow! Ew! Oh!” Every single hair he pulled sent a jabbing pain that made him yelp. “This is hell!” He whispered,  but when he was done he felt it had been more than worth it. He stared at himself in the mirror, smiling. His brows were now slender and sharply defined. He took the mirror to bed with him, falling asleep as he admired his hair, his skin and those delicious eyebrows.

In the morning, he wasn’t so sure. Rubbing lotion into his hands and on his face, he saw a girl in the mirror. It was his face, for sure, but with his bob and the way he’d plucked his brows, his looks trended more toward feminine than masculine now. Shit. How would the girls react? How would everyone react? There was nothing for it. Putting on his concealer– he wasn’t sure he needed it, but  he would almost feel naked without it – he got out a brush and began to brush out his hair. Vanya had told him he would need to brush it constantly to keep the bounce and shine. Soon, his arm ached from the repeated motion, but he couldn’t argue with the results. So, his new hairstyle would take a little fussing over, he realized, but it was worth it. His old hairstyle had been so BORING.

Nick hadn’t even noticed that his face was smooth and stubble free. He no longer needed to shave.