Paula Presents as Professional, Poised and Polished

Prologue

Paula sat in the dimly lit hotel room, the air humid and stifling, echoing the tension building within her. Outside, rain drizzled in monotonous patterns against the window, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind. Tomorrow marked a critical presentation that could boost her company’s standing in a major way, but as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, despair wrapped around her like a thick fog.

Paula had spent a great deal of time before leaving home that day neatly waving and styling her remarkably long, straight hair.

She admired herself in the mirror. ‘Paula presents as professional, poised and polished,’ she reminded herself; a mantra she had coined both to prepare herself before a business event, and to function as a last-minute checklist before her appearance.

‘You’re a lion!’ she added, roaring gleefully at the mirror, her glossy mane beautifully framing her face.

However, a couple of hours later, Paula saw her artfully crafted hair clinging limply to her scalp, a sad casualty of the overbearing humidity. Still a lion, perhaps, but one caught out in a tropical storm.

Paula had always hated how thin her hair was. No matter how much time she spent on styling it, the moment she stepped outside, it seemed to wilt before her eyes. ‘Tomorrow,’ she thought, ‘I need to look polished, the accomplished professional.’ With that in mind, she darted to her laptop, determined to find a solution.

After scouring the internet for a while she found some potential ideas. Then she stumbled across a hair salon just a short walk away called Ahead of Style, owned by someone named Anthea. The establishment specialised in perms that, according to her research, were ideal for achieving the lift and bounce she desperately needed. A bonus was that permed hair needed far less day-to-day maintenance.

With her heart a flutter and fingers crossed, Paula dialled the number to make an appointment. Luck was on her side as they could fit her in right away.

Consulted

Upon arriving at Ahead of Style by Anthea, Paula’s spirits took a nosedive. The salon’s exterior bore signs of neglect, a forgotten relic from another time, tucked away in a quiet passageway leading off the high street. With the following day’s presentation in mind and time being of the essence, stoically, Paula ventured inside.

Anthea greeted her, a middle-aged plump woman wearing a floral overall that looked as equally dated as her salon. She wore her own hair in a smart, but surprisingly short bob that bore little resemblance to the predominantly curly styles portrayed in faded posters on the salon’s walls. Her hair barely grazed her ears, with the back and sides cut so close that the style had a masculine feel. Anthea’s appearance did little to inspire confidence in her abilities.

After sharing a few pleasantries, Paula reiterated her requirements that she had discussed with Anthea on the phone. Then, without warning, she solemnly launched into her mantra. ‘Paula presents as professional, poised and polished.’

Anthea, puzzled by Paula’s words, stared back at her blankly.

Paula sighed condescendingly, resulting in irritation showing in Anthea’s features. ‘I need my hair to appear glossy and smooth, with plenty of lift and bounce, for an important business presentation tomorrow,’ Paula elaborated pompously.

‘So, to achieve the look you desire, you are considering a perm, madam. Is that correct?’ Anthea sighed in return, as she attempted to clarify Paula’s needs.

‘Yes, please,’ Anthea said, staying polite and forcing a smile, having realised that the woman was annoyed with her for some reason.

‘Hmm …’ Anthea’s face flickered with doubt as she took a moment to assess Paula’s long hair. ‘I see …’

‘You are able to do perms?’ Paula questioned bluntly.

‘Yes, madam, we specialise in perms,’ Anthea explained indignantly, ‘but invariably on much shorter hair than yours.’

‘Oh, how irritating, you should have said!’ Paula whined, frustrated by this latest obstacle to her plans, her entitled tone further antagonising the hairdresser.

‘I would advise against perming your long hair, madam. Much better to cut it short, or at least adding some layers, and then we can give your hair plenty of lift and bounce,’ Anthea said, her tone dismissive.

‘No,’ Paula snapped, clenching her fists. ‘I want it long! And it is already thin enough, so I do not want any layers! Curly and glossy, is what I want. And easy to maintain. If you cannot do that, I will go elsewhere!’

The conversation spiralled into an ugly exchange of wills between the two professional women. However, only one had the knowledge and experience to provide sound advice on hairdressing matters. Finally accepting Paula’s desire for a timely solution, Anthea relented, rolling her eyes in resignation. With a loud sigh, she led Paula to her styling chair.

Permed

Anthea tightly wrapped a vast number of perming rods around her customer’s bountiful hair. She liberally coated each rod with the perming solution. Paula’s hair may have been thin, but it was exceedingly long, although with all of Anthea’s experience it posed no barrier to her nimble fingers.

The hairdresser stood back, and Paula marvelled at the neat and regimented rows of tightly rolled curlers covering her scalp. She grew excited as she imagined her luscious curls taking shape. An air of expectancy filled the room as Anthea directed her towards a chair situated under an old-fashioned hood-dryer.

‘Due to the length of your hair and to achieve the look you have requested, I’ve doubled the strength of the perm solution,’ Anthea explained, as she made some adjustments to the dryer, before lowering it. ‘Oh, and we’ll leave you to cook under here for a little longer than usual as that will help too.’

‘Is that how it works?’ Paula questioned, doubt creeping in.

‘It works for us,’ Anthea replied with an enigmatic smile, leaving her customer unsure whether she should feel reassured or alarmed.

Curled

Minutes of waiting under the hot dryer turned into an eternity. When the time approached for Paula to see her fresh look, her heart raced with anticipation, her mind conjuring images of the glossy curls she had dreamt about.

Eventually, Anthea released Paula from under the dryer, rinsed her hair and removed all the rods. The hairdresser examined Paula’s hair, and a look of concern touched her features. Paula’s hair had become a dry, frizzy mass that looked chaotic and brittle, rather than the glossy waves that she had envisaged framing her face.

Despair washed over Paula, and her throat became painfully dry. She wanted to cry out, but the words would not form as she stared disbelievingly in the mirror. Inside, she knew she was still a lion, but on the outside her cartoon-like mane resembled a lion that had stuck its paws in an electrical socket.

‘As I made clear, madam, you have the wrong sort of hair for a perm,’ Anthea snapped, neither apologising for the disaster, nor accepting any responsibility, ‘Although, possibly, the extra strength perming product, in some small way, may have played a tiny part …’

With the presentation looming, Paula was not interested in excuses, only solutions. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. ‘Please can you reverse the process,’ she pleaded, desperation tightening her voice.

Anthea’s face fell with an unsettling smile. ‘Well, a deep-conditioning treatment might help, madam,’ she suggested guardedly, providing little confidence, ‘but the best solution would undoubtedly be an appropriate cut to allow the condition of your hair to be restored.’

Paula knew that she could not make her presentation looking unprofessional, without poise, while looking frizzy and unpolished. ‘Can you … er, do that … that is, cut it?’ Paula asked nervously, absently tugging at the wiry cloud of hair that sprung out in all directions.

‘Better than that,’ Anthea declared brightly, ‘I will take you to Sidney next door as they are so much better equipped to resolve these issues.’

The last moments in the salon hung in the air as Paula stumbled out, her heart heavy with disappointment and uncertainty, as she followed Anthea down the alleyway to the adjacent premises.

Prepared

Paula was increasingly confused during her short journey next door. Expecting another entrance to the salon, she passed a red and white rotating pole by the door that she believed held some significance. As the door opened, an odour of distinctly masculine products wafted from inside.

‘Welcome,’ a tall burly figure boomed, smiling enthusiastically, ‘and who do we have here, Anthea?’

Paula gulped, beginning to suspect the universe had decided to conspire against her that day. She had expected another stylist, likely a woman, when Anthea had made her suggestion a few minutes earlier. The imposing man called Sidney was unquestionably a gentlemen’s barber.

For Sidney’s benefit, Anthea summarised the events that had taken place earlier. She finished off with, ‘but I did warn her against it, Sidney, so it really is all her responsibility.’

‘Indeed, it is,’ the barber agreed, circling Paula like a menacing shadow as he studied her hair, his eyes sparkling with a peculiar delight.

‘You will be in good hands, madam,’ Anthea chimed, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Just then, Anthea and Sidney exchanged knowing smirks, igniting a strange flutter of unease in Paula’s stomach.

Clipped

Anthea guided Paula to the Sidney’s large chair and, once settled, Sidney pumped it up high and covered her with a huge heavy cape. ‘We’ve got to make sure you don’t escape!’ he chuckled, running his fingers through her chaotic frizz.

Leaning back against the wall, Anthea had a ringside view of proceedings.

Paula watched Sidney in the mirror, scarily brandishing his red hairclippers like a sword. ‘Now, I appreciate this will be a new experience for you, madam,’ he said, lacing his words with a comforting tone. ‘However, it will not be a pleasant experience for you, young lady,’ he continued, more menacingly, ‘but it is a necessary one!’ he concluded gleefully.

Squealing helplessly, Paula raised a hand to pause proceedings. Feeling the weight of both their gazes, Paula stammered, ‘How much of my hair will be left?’

‘None, madam,’ Sidney replied with a satisfied, but dreadful, finality, before plunging the hairclippers down the centre of Paula’s head. ‘Absolutely none at all.’

Paula opened her mouth to remonstrate but the loud and incessant whine of the clippers drowned her words as they began mercilessly stripping the top of her head bare.

‘So much better, Sidney, than all that straw-like hair she arrived with,’ Anthea praised, clapping her hands together in glee, conveniently forgetting she had been the cause of the disaster. ‘Look!’ she chuckled, picking up a tangled mass of it and letting it fall in front of Paula. Briskly rubbing her hands together to rid her of attached dry frizz, she taunted, it really is like straw.’

‘No,’ Paula whimpered, staring at her reflection, and seeing the expanse of pale skin widening on her crown.

Sidney ignored her, but Anthea giggled. ‘Yes,’ she mouthed, nodding enthusiastically.

With each pass, strands of Paula’s hair tumbled down, landing with a finality on her shoulders, and on her lap, with some sliding to the floor. All that time, effort, and hope that Paula had invested in her hair, had come to nothing, and all the proof lay scattered around her.

‘See?’ Anthea laughed softly when Sidney silenced the hairclippers. ‘Now it’s low maintenance, just as you requested,’ she teased, briskly rubbing Paula’s dark fuzz a few times, causing Sidney to chuckle.

Having lost her signature locks and the chance to look polished in the way she intended, Paula tried to gather her shattered composure. But it did not escape her that the couple were revelling in her havoc, transforming her despair into twisted entertainment.

Smoothed

Thinking it was all over, Sidney jolted Paula back to the hideous reality by slapping copious quantities of white shaving foam over her head, and then thoroughly massaging it in. Paula’s reflection suggested she had coated her own hair with shampoo suds or a creamy conditioner, but the creamy substance blanketing her scalp hid the awful truth.

Sidney’s reflection appeared behind her in the mirror, brandishing an old-fashioned razor. He expertly flicked the blade open, placed fingers on Paula’s scalp, and began scraping away the foam and the last remnants of her hair.

‘Please, no,’ Paula whimpered, but with little expectation of a reprieve.

As before, Sidney ignored her, and Anthea giggled. ‘Oh, yes,’ she purred.

Painstakingly, Sidney worked his way across Paula’s head, checking, then rechecking that he had eliminated every remaining bristle. Satisfied, he took a cloth proffered by Anthea, and wiped away the final traces of the shaving foam.

Exchanging the cloth for a small glass bottle, Sidney poured a quantity of oil onto his palm. Transferring some of the oil onto Anthea’s head and rubbing his palms together to distribute the remainder, he began slowly and methodically massaging the greasy substance into Paula’s scalp.

The pleasant sensation of Sidney’s firm fingers caused Paula’s eyelids to droop, and allowed her to forget about her plight, just for a short while.

Polished

When Sidney had finished, Anthea handed him a fresh soft cloth. Firstly, he wiped his hands, and then briskly, but gently, began to rub Paula’s oily scalp. Buffing it enthusiastically to a gleaming shine, Anthea’s smooth dome eventually glowed like a billiard ball.

‘Earlier, you mentioned about being “Polished”,’ Anthea cackled playfully, inspecting Paula’s freshly shaven skull with her fingers, and marvelling at its smoothness. ‘Well, you will not get any more polished than that.’

Sidney grinned, satisfied with his work. ‘I believe that “glossy” was another requirement, and the way your cranium is reflecting the ceiling lights, then I trust that will be acceptable,’ he added with an unsubtle hint of sarcasm.

‘And it is definitely low maintenance,’ Anthea noted cruelly.

As the full extent of the change to Paula’s appearance sunk in, she was unable to form a coherent thought or string a sentence together. However, she had observed a peculiar camaraderie between the hairdresser and the barber, sniggering together as they awaited Paula’s reaction. Perhaps their behaviour was not unusual, as they worked next door to each other, but she still found it baffling.

Paula toyed with the idea of asking them if they knew somewhere locally where she could buy a wig before her presentation the next day. However, she dispensed with the idea, accepting it would most likely look obvious and be difficult to feel comfortable. She tried to see herself in the mirror as others would see her. She looked good, she decided. Different, for sure, but she projected a striking beauty. Mercifully, her ears did not stick out, and she could enhance her attractive features with appropriate jewellery and makeup.

‘Paula is now presenting as prepared, perfect … and highly polished!’ she announced smugly, jumping to her feet, intent on disregarding any further nonsense from the man and woman.

In response to Paula’s sudden movement, Anthea and Sidney jumped rather comically, hopping backwards a couple of steps. Paula stood uncomfortably close in front of them, right in their faces.

Holding her head up, looking poised, Paula held the gaze of Anthea initially. And then Sidney. Until they each turned away. ‘I don’t know what it is between you two, and I don’t want to know,’ Paula stated angrily, before briefly pausing. ‘But thank you,’ she added, switching to a pleasant tone, before gathering her things and marching confidently to the door. ‘And goodbye!’

Paula felt ready to face whatever the next day held, even without her flowing mane. The uncertainty of it all was both daunting and exhilarating, but she stood a little taller as the door closed behind her.

Once the door had closed, Sidney frowned at Anthea. ‘Oh, she forgot to pay,’ he said, and they both burst out laughing.

Epilogue

A few minutes after Paula had left, Anthea had made tea and settled down to enjoy a short break with her husband, Sidney, in The Lanes Barbershop.

‘Thank you, darling,’ Sidney said, pecking his wife on the cheek. ‘That was a pleasant surprise. You have not brought me a nice young lady for restorative treatment for quite some time. Short back and sides on old men, all day long, does get rather monotonous even if it does pay the bills.’

‘I understand, dear, I really do, but I did remember it is your birthday soon and I know how much you enjoy shaving a young lady’s head,’ Anthea noted. ‘However, with all the frustrating regulations and annoying litigation these days, it is far more difficult to accidentally make mistakes and provide you with suitable candidates.’

‘Don’t worry, my dear, I quite understand,’ Sidney accepted.

‘However, she really did act like a proper little madam when she arrived,’ Anthea explained. ‘Full of entitlement and unwilling to listen to a perfectly performing professional such as I. She even stared unfavourably at my lovely bowlcut, and that is completely unacceptable … although that reminds me, I do need a trim from you later.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Sidney nodded sagely, smiling at her adoption of a new mantra. ‘So, she didn’t listen when you told her you were going to use double strength perming solution?’

‘Let me see,’ Anthea said, placing a finger on her chin, looking pensive. ‘Oops, thinking back, I may have told her about that after I had applied it. Oh well, no harm done.’

‘True,’ agreed Sidney. ‘When she left us, she was looking perfectly polished.’

They chinked their teacups together and grinned. ‘Until the next time!’