The Artisan Barber, Part 1 – A Wonderful Discovery

An Illustrated Edition of this story with Original Artwork Throughout is available for free on my personal archive

The Artisan Barber, Part 1 – A Wonderful Discovery (Illustrated Edition)

Prologue

The quaint shoe repair shop on St Jude’s Lane exuded the appearance of a traditional, honest, and well-practiced trade, which was grounding and entirely ordinary. I had left my worn leather boots there to be reheeled, and the craftsman had told me it would take just twenty minutes if I cared to wait. Although time was not pressing on me, I doubted that I would find anything of great interest in the artisan lanes away from the main shopping mall to keep me occupied for that length of time.

So, I purchased a takeaway coffee from a small kiosk and meandered along the passageways to see if anything else piqued my interest. The bookshop was redundant in my eyes as I relied on my Kindle. The new-age shop might have been fascinating, except the hippie pair that ran it looked to be stuck way in the past. And hand-thrown unique pottery held no attraction at all, as, in department stores in the mall, I could buy complete sets of crockery where everything matched.

But that was how it all started.

The Artisan Barber

A mundane errand, a pocket of aimless time, and a brass-plated sign hanging over a dark wood doorway that I had walked past a hundred times without ever tilting my head to read. It proclaimed the premises to be The Artisan Barber. I considered it a pretentious name for premises where gruff old male hairdressers chopped and shaved even gruffer male customers. It was a place that merely inherited its pompous epithet from its location, one populated by skilled craftspeople practicing their various trades.

The lettering was a plain and confident gold leaf. Through the open doorway, the interior did not glow with the harsh, fluorescent glare of the enticing salons around the mall that I frequented. Instead, the walls comprised dark wood panels framing large mirrors. Rows of glass bottles and jars stood shoulder-to-shoulder on glass shelves like an upscale apothecary’s stock. A chunky, traditional barber’s chair of leather and steel dominated the tiled floor space. The overall impression was a bastion of masculinity, and, to my eyes, it was a ridiculous anachronism.

So, with all that in mind, I did not mean to linger, let alone go inside. But as I passed the doorway, I saw her.

Chloe

The woman suddenly appeared standing by the barber’s chair and, although I caught only a glimpse as I meandered past her doorway, she had immediately captivated me.

Around thirty years old I estimated, but she possessed a stillness and a razor-sharp presence that made age feel entirely irrelevant. She wore a black lace top that caught the subdued lighting through its intricate weave, paired with matte black leggings that traced the lean, athletic line of her body. But it was her head that arrested me.

The mysterious beauty had a gleamingly bald head without a shadow of stubble or one stray bristle. She had polished her scalp to a seamless sheen that curved over her skull like polished marble. When she looked up, her dark eyes found mine instantly, locking onto me with an intensity that felt less like a greeting and more like a recognition.

Just before she disappeared from my view, she smiled. However, it was not a retailer’s smile but something slower and more knowing and deeply intimate, as if we shared a secret that we had not yet agreed upon.

I dropped my unfinished coffee cup into a litter bin and casually turned around as if I had forgotten something. I strolled slowly back the way I had come, hoping, although I was unsure why, to catch another glimpse of the bald beauty working inside the barbershop.

‘You’ve got a lovely bob, sweetie,’ someone said, her voice a melodic purr that seemed to slide right past my defences. While I had been staring inside the shop on my return, disappointed not to see her, she had settled by the doorway and was inspecting me intently.

‘Thank you,’ I murmured, slowing my pace as if her eyes were arresting my movement.

A nervous, breathless laugh escaped my throat. My sensible, shoulder-length brown hair, tucked behind my ears as always, had been my armour since my daughter Emma was in primary school. Conservative and neat, exactly right for my administrative role in the accountancy firm. Unadventurous and invisible, ideal for someone whose husband had left her to bring up a young daughter years ago. Perfect for a woman in her forties who did not wish to attract the attention of anyone else. In a word, my hair was quite nice but incredibly boring.

‘I am Chloe,’ she purred, stepping forward.

‘Beatrice,’ I breathed.

Her movements were predatory and graceful, as she raised a hand to lift the hair from behind my ear. Smoothing it back, her fingers left my ear exposed, and I could feel her breath on my cheek. ‘Classic, for sure. Sensible, without a doubt.’

‘Thank you,’ I added haltingly, my skin tingling with pleasure, enjoying her praise for the straightforward look I had cultivated for so many years. ‘Classic is –’

‘Boring!’ she stated decisively, cutting off my self-proclaimed style affirmation. ‘You would look incredible with a haircut that is more structured. One that is more defined. Dare I say, more architectural?’

‘Architectural?’ I echoed dumbly, acutely aware of how fast my pulse was hammering against my ribs. It was not just the shock of a stranger invading my personal space but the sheer, magnetic pull of her. I could not look away from the smooth, uninterrupted curve of her skull, the sharp line of her jaw, and the way the black lace framed the creamy expanse of her neck. I felt dizzy, as her fingers gently released my hair and came to rest lightly on my shoulder.

‘Step inside, sweetie, and let me show you,’ she invited, gesturing with her hand, her smile playful.

‘Show me?’ I heard myself repeat as she led me into her shop, although my voice sounded more like a request than a question. The words slipped out of my mouth before my cautious, forty-year-old mind could slam on the emergency brake.

Chloe’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth against lips painted the colour of bruised plums. ‘Sit,’ she commanded softly.

I sat.

Consultation

The leather of the char in The Artisan Barber was cool against my back.

Chloe did not rush. For a full five minutes, she silently circled me like a sculptor inspecting a raw block of marble. Her hands were warm when they finally touched my hair, parting it, lifting it, and weighing it.

Each time I parted my lips to voice uncertain words, she laid a finger against my mouth to suppress interruption.

When she was ready, Chloe talked to me.

It was not the mindless chatter experienced in a conventional beauty parlour, but the fervent and mesmerising passion of a true artist. She spoke of lines and planes and of how the style she envisaged was a fulfilling statement of absolute geometry. ‘Your hair would frame the architecture of your face,’ she concluded, ‘forcing the world to look at you rather than past you.’

I questioned whether the elderly woman I felt I had become still wanted the world to look at me. After all, it was easier to be content with polite acceptance. ‘Yes, but given my age, a classic—’

‘Age,’ she sniffed, ‘is nothing. Close your eyes, sweetie,’ she whispered near my ear, her breath warm against my lobe, carrying the scent of something distinctly musky. ‘Trust me,’ she purred.

I closed my eyes, not knowing whether I did trust her but accepting that my body was surrendering to her intentions.

The cape settled over my shoulders with a heavy whisper. Then came the sound. A low hum, overlaid with a rhythmic buzz, vibrated straight through the bones of my skull.

Reinvention

The first pass of the hairclippers was cold against the nape of my neck. I shivered, a delicious and unexpected electric jolt racing down my spine. The heavy weight of my brown bob fell away in chunks, tumbling onto the checkered floor.

I did not open my eyes; I simply surrendered. The touch of Chloe’s hands utterly captivated me. The brush of her bare arms against my cheeks was beguiling, as was the absolute authority in the way she commanded my transformation. Every stroke of the clipper blade felt like a deliberate erasure of the boring life I had sleepwalked through for a decade. She was carving away the mother, the employee, and the safe suburban woman, revealing the raw potential beneath her hands.

‘There, sweetie,’ Chloe breathed, her fingers lightly brushing the skin-faded scalp above my ears. ‘Open your eyes.’

I blinked against the bright lighting illuminating my features and the sudden clarity of the mirror.

For a full ten seconds, I did not recognise the stranger staring back at me with her severe and uncompromising haircut. She had shaved the sides down to the bare skin, which looked pale and vulnerable. The faded bristles rose sharply to form a deep brown plateau that sat so perfectly flat on my crown that a spirit level would not find fault. It presented edges so sharp they looked dangerous. My neck looked impossibly long and swan-like, fragile yet proud.

I looked younger, but I looked like a woman who knew who she was, and one who apologised to no one.

‘I love it,’ I whispered genuinely, finding that my more confident voice still sounded foreign to my own ears.

Chloe leaned in, her gleaming bald head resting gently against my temple for a fraction of a second, her scent wrapping around me like a shroud. ‘I knew you would,’ she murmured without a shadow of doubt, ‘and I expect to see you here again in one week from today.’

Assessment

When I stepped back out onto the cobbles of St Jude’s Lane, the afternoon air felt entirely different against the naked skin of my high-faded scalp. My skin was tingling, sensitive, and alive.

People passing by turned their heads as they took in my striking appearance. A businessman walked into an ornamental tree as he stared at me openly, caught off guard by the severity of my silhouette. Two older women with bouffant hair shook their heads in amazement as they sipped tea outside the small café. A young girl with a riot of curls twisted her head in open-mouthed amazement at my departing form.

I could not stop my palm from repeatedly rising, stroking the flat deck of my new hair and the bare skin of my nape. It was a compulsion that served as a tactile reminder that I was no longer invisible.

Initially, I had mentally scoffed at the idea of following Chloe’s instruction to return each week. In the past, I had never gone to the salon more frequently than every three months, and often I had sadly neglected my classic and safe bob for even longer. However, by the time I arrived home after my reinvention, I was counting down the hours until I could see Chloe again.

After my unexpected adventure during my regular Wednesday half-day away from the office, the following morning at work proved interesting. Colleagues who had ignored me for months were suddenly keen to engage in conversation with their eyes never wavering far from my hair. Women were complementary, and words like “younger” and “striking” sat well with me. While men stared, they usually refrained from passing comments. However, I overheard references to “stunning Bea” that delighted me immensely!

And, by lunchtime on that Thursday, I realised it would be only six more days until I returned to The Artisan Barber.

Refinement

The following Wednesday, I left as early as I could after working distractedly all morning so I would not be late. However, I arrived at St Judes Lane far too early. So, I meandered around the area, grabbing a coffee from the small café and sitting at the bistro table outside. Surreptitiously, I kept glancing towards The Artisan Barber, waiting until after the lunchtime rush when Chloe had no one else waiting. Finally, my moment came.

‘Hello, sweetie,’ the stunningly bald barber purred as I stepped into her shop. ‘And right on time too.’

‘Yes, Chloe,’ I acknowledged. ‘I desperately need a good clippering, and I could not wait any longer.’

It was meant as a joke… well, sort of. I would never have thought I would ever want my hair trimmed every week. However, being so short, the fluffy back and sides had become an annoying affront to my appearance and needed taming. That said, I also could not wait to be in Chloe’s orbit once more.

Chloe dutifully smiled, although I was sure I detected an appreciative glint in her eye. She precisely and swiftly clipped the back and sides down to the skin and levelled the top with the aid of a comb. As she did so, I anticipated that sadly our time together would be much shorter than my first visit. After all, I hardly had any hair left to maintain compared with the first encounter.

As Chloe silenced the clippers, my sense of disappointment grew. I had waited a whole week for this experience, but the appointment I had craved had passed so quickly. I put those thoughts to one side when I felt the barber’s fingers on my nape, thoroughly massaging a creamy substance along the back of my head and around my ears. My reflection raised a questioning eyebrow in the mirror.

‘It’s shaving foam, sweetie,’ Chloe chuckled. ‘If you could wait for me no longer…’ she whispered, pausing, ‘then we must ensure you have less reason to complain when you return. I am going to make you smooth,’ she purred.

She took an old-fashioned straight razor from a drawer. Painstakingly, she began scraping away the foam and, with it, any semblance of shadowy bristles. It was a wonderfully intimate experience as she leaned over, her breath frequently encountering my newly bared skin. The additional service had extended our encounter. However, the sensations enraptured me so much that I was unable to hold any meaningful conversation to enhance and grow our relationship.

‘How does that feel, sweetie?’ she purred, running her fingers lightly up and down my bare nape.

I assumed she did want me to tell her the truth by mentioning my deep-seated arousal and my erect nipples pushing against my tight blouse. ‘Wonderful,’ I managed to croak, attempting to keep from my voice any excessive emotion that she could misconstrue.

‘Oh, only just wonderful,’ she said indignantly. ‘Well, next time, sweetie, I will have to just try that little bit harder.’

As she stepped back, I was unsure whether her elbow brushing my perky and overly sensitive breasts was accidental or not.

‘Fine, Chloe,’ I squeaked in pleasure. ‘So, I’ll see you again at the same time next week.’

Epilogue

For the next seven days, I cringed as I recalled my silly and embarrassing behaviour. And it was all a resulting of my schoolgirl-like crush on the exotic, bald woman ten years my junior. I had no idea whether she would ever reciprocate my feelings or if she acted similarly with all her clients. But I wanted to believe I was special.

So, when I next entered her shop, I was determined to act more sensibly. I had formulated a list of meaningful questions. I would raise subjects that we could intelligently discuss, that steered clear of the usual salon chatter. However, in Chloe’s presence, I quickly forgot all my preparations.

‘Do you have any family, sweetie?’ Chloe asked as she massaged the foam into my nape. ‘Anyone at home, I mean?’

‘No,’ I murmured. ‘Well, I have a daughter. Emma. But she is at university, so I do not see much of her currently.’

‘Ah,’ Chloe acknowledged, and I immediately realised that my abrupt answer had closed off that thread of conversation.

‘She has incredibly long hair. She has always worn it long,’ I blurted out.

As soon as I said it, I realised that I should have said something else. Anything else! I had claimed that Emma growing her hair was her main accomplishment in life. Proudly relating that she was in her second year at university and doing well would have been better praise.

‘Has she?’ Chloe pondered, appearing unsure how to respond. After a pause, she went on. ‘Well, at her age, she should have it cut short.’

‘Should she?’ I replied awkwardly, not knowing the best way to respond.

‘She certainly should,’ Chloe confirmed without any clarification as to why.

‘Oh…’ Knowing Emma as I did, that was never going to happen! So why did I even feel the need to mention her hair? ‘Thanks, Chloe. I will mention it to her…’

Chloe wiped away the excess foam from my neck and around my ears. Then she sent me on my way with a sigh.

‘So, sweetie, I look forward to seeing you at the same next week.’

To be continued

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