HairApparent
A sequel to The Plump Chap II – Influencing the Tennis Academy written for standalone enjoyment without having necessarily read the original stories. The Plump Chap has just performed his first haircut at The Meadowlands Tennis Academy on a disconsolate Jessica, trialling new hairstyles to improve the athletic performance of their aspiring professionals …
Anna Encounters the Plump Chap
‘Jessica said you wanted to see me, Coach,’ I said brightly as I skipped into the designated room. One of my fellow aspiring tennis professionals at The Meadowlands Tennis Academy had just returned from the room, looking dramatically different to she had only half an hour earlier. Habitually curious, I was intrigued by what was going on in the room.
The first person I observed was Carla, our senior performance coach, looking uncharacteristically flushed. She was chatting intensely to a strange little plump chap who was chuckling away as she spoke. Carla, normally so in control and not one for making quips to anyone, was looking oddly flustered by the chap’s strange presence.
I found it difficult to understand why such an odd chap was at the Academy, amongst top class athletes. His unfit appearance suggested that a lack of exercise and a poor diet contributed to him being overweight. He had attempted to constrain his expansive girth with a snug-fitting waistcoat, one garment from his curiously formal attire. The crisp white shirt and the smart tie around his neck looked out of place at the Academy.
Unrelated, I imagined, but equally strange was his oddly smooth and gleaming head. It appeared as if no hair had ever had the temerity to pop up on his scalp. I pondered whether to mention that a generous application of appropriate fertiliser might prove advantageous. However, the chap was a guest of the Academy, whatever his reason for being present. So, I made the effort to reign in my usual untroubled and cheery nature. However, the amusing thought caused me to start giggling, Naturally, I stopped immediately under Coach’s reproachful stare.
‘Yes, that’s correct Anna,’ she said in response to my greeting. ‘Thank you for attending so promptly,’ Carla confirmed. ‘This is my new, er, colleague, Charles.’
‘Hello, Charles,’ I said confidently, marching up to him.
We shook hands, my heavy long hair flapping up and down against my back. It even slapped against my bottom. I wished I had put it up in a bun or even a braid, but it was so heavy when worn like that. Earlier, I had tied it in its habitual low ponytail with the largest scrunchie I could find. That was a necessity due to its ridiculous thickness. That style was the best I could manage on my own, although it did smack of being too casual even worn with my tennis sportswear.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Anna,’ Charles murmured.
Rather than making eye contact, his gaze rested on my honey blonde locks. It caused me to feel self-conscious regarding my informality. With his hands clasped behind his back, he even leaned forward. I found his silent lingering examination of my hair peculiar and unsettling.
‘So, as a colleague of Carla, what will you be doing with her?’ I asked, deliberately injecting a mild provocative quip into my question, attempting to relieve the growing awkwardness.
‘Nothing!’ Carla chirped immediately, looking incredibly guilty. It caused Charles to emit a rolling chuckle as if he would not be averse to discussion options. ‘No, I need to inform you of the reason you are here, Anna,’ Carla said, moving swiftly on. She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘The Academy is undertaking a trial related to enhancing player performance -’
Then, remembering Jessica’s transformed appearance, the penny dropped. ‘Oh, Charles, are you here to chop off my hair?’ I asked, pulling the thick rope over my shoulder and brandishing it in his direction.
‘Yes, please, Anna,’ he grinned unapologetically. Unclasping his hands from behind his back, he rubbed them together in eager anticipation.
= * = * =
‘Oh, er, I should explain properly,’ Carla said, clearly anxious that she had unexpectedly lost control of the situation.
‘Look, I have just seen Jessica,’ I sighed. ‘She came to get me, and her hair -’
‘Yes, that is why I need to fully explain,’ Carla went on. ‘Anna -’
‘Her hair looks absolutely amazing,’ I gushed. ‘Jessica did not seem too impressed with it, for some reason, but with a bowlcut like that instead of that thick braid, she is going to move twice as fast around the court!’
‘Well, perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration, Anna,’ Carla said nervously, ‘but the reason for cutting it, is certainly along those lines.’
‘Wow! And, Charles, you are really going to cut mine the same as Jessica’s are you,’ I beseeched, imagining how wonderful it was going to feel to be rid of my lifelong blanket of hair.
My mother had always said the length of my hair set me apart from other players. It was not so bad when she came along with me for training and when I was playing matches. On those occasions she would look after it, with a French braid being our preferred method of control. But on my own at the Academy, I could not manage to do it like that, and the length and thickness had become extremely tiresome.
‘No, Anna,’ Carla snapped, taking back control. I immediately pouted with disappointment. ‘We are going to cut you hair even shorter.’
‘Oh, wow, Coach!’ I shrieked, stepping towards. ‘I could kiss you.’
‘Please don’t,’ Carla demanded, even holding up her palm to dissuade me.
I turned to face Charles with puckered lips. He smiled indulgently but gave a brief, but unmistakable, shake of his head. It was for the best, as I was so fascinated by his gleaming bald scalp, I might have ended up planting my lips on that.
Instead, I skipped around to the front of the huge barber’s chair, dropped myself into it, and looked back at him expectantly. He and Carla were exchanging bemused expressions and chatting quietly. I filled the time by examining a trolley on which Charles had meticulously arranged a huge array of scary looking cutting tools. They resembled the preparations by a surgeon in an operating theatre. I gulped at the thought of him using them on me, silencing me for a moment.
= * = * =
‘Anna, Charles and I have agreed that he is going to give you a flattop haircut as part of our performance trial,’ her tone firm and unwavering.
‘Great!’ I said, wiggling in the chair, excited by the prospect. Pausing, I suddenly had a thought. ‘But, er, what is a flattop?’
‘You don’t need to worry about that now, Anna,’ Carla chided. ‘Just settle down and relax. I am sure Charles will explain what he is doing as we go along,’ she added, casting a covert glance towards him and winking.
‘Fine, but will it be really short?’ I needed to know.
Charles chuckled, his stomach rolling under his waistcoat. ‘Oh, yes, Anna. Remarkably short on top, and exceedingly short on the back and sides.’
‘Wow, sounds amazing,’ I said, fingering my hair, recalling those occasions when my mother had brushed and plaited my locks for me over the years. I felt a smidgen of regret over what Charles what was about to do.
‘That’s right, Anna,’ Charles smirked. ‘Say a final goodbye to your hair.’
That seemed unnecessarily cruel, I thought. I even spotted Carla admonish him with one of her legendary glares. It was a look that could stop a tennis ball in mid-air from the other side of the net! I began to feel wary, unsure whether I wanted the plump chap to be the one to cut my hair. I quickly ran through the options in my mind. However, I accepted that I must not upset our esteemed Coach if I wished to remain on the fast-track programme at the Academy.
‘Just sit back, Anna,’ the barber ordered gruffly, giving me little choice as he pulled my ponytail taut, forcing my spine rigid against the chair. Due to his tight grip, I could not move my head. However, out of the corner of my eye I saw his hand stretching for the largest of the scissors in his comprehensive array of tools.
I felt him tug a little more firmly and detected the blades of the scissors against the back of my head, precisely where I had tied my ponytail. Frustratingly, I could not see what he was doing as there was no mirror on the wall.
I heard the frightening sound of metal crunching inexorably through healthy hair. A noise that was crisp and decisive. A huge weight immediately disappeared from the back of my head. The remaining strands that had held my ponytail for so long flopped around my neck and over my cheeks, their life-long burden finally gone.
Despite my long-held desire to have my locks chopped off, my eyes still moistened at their loss. Carla thoughtfully passed me a tissue. Although distressed, I wondered what he was doing with hair had he cut. I wondered if mum would like it, and I made a mental note to ask him when the opportunity arose.
‘There, that’s rid of the worst of it,’ the unfeeling barber judged, angering me once again. Adding grandly, ‘so, now the true artistry will begin.’
= * = * =
My outgoing personality would normally have led me to questioning him, demand that he elaborated what he had meant. But I was feeling emotionally drained by what he was doing, and I did not have the energy or inclination.
Suddenly, I heard a loud roar and felt cold metal at my nape. Hairclippers! I flinched, despite my determination to remain resolute. He emitted that irritating chuckle once more. ‘Do not worry, Anna, these do not hurt,’ he explained.
I thought of saying that they might not physically hurt me, but had he given any thought to my mental wellbeing? However, I chose to remain silent, willing a swift end to proceedings.
The clippers continued humming with barely contained power, gliding up the back of my head before moving to the sides. I absently wondered just how short he was cutting.
Uncannily, at that moment, he answered my unasked question. However, I suspected it was a coincidence. Doubtless, his revelling was simply part of his ongoing commentary. Words designed to make clients feel wretched in his chair. ‘We can adjust the length using different attachments, Anna. But, as we are aiming for severity and streamlining, we are removing all of it. Shaving you down to the bone, as we say, so your pristine white skin will be on display.’
I mentally shrugged, my mind almost checking out with his gloating manner. As he had said, he had rid me of the “worst” of my hair, so what did it matter how little he left.
‘Charles!’ Carla hissed, admonishing him once more.
His response, predictably, was to chuckle away merrily.
I began to see tiny snippets of blonde hair rain down. Catching the light like fireflies, they settled on the white cape, before slipping to the floor.
‘We will now be trimming the hair on your crown, Anna, making it crisp and even,’ Charles murmured happily.
I felt him combing it through and heard the clippers clattering over the comb. I had no idea what he was doing, but the quantity of hair raining down and the time it took suggested it was drastic.
‘This style will greatly reduce wind resistance on the court,’ he informed me, his voice increasingly irritating.
‘Imagine, Anna,’ Carla interjected, trying to forestall further annoyance. ‘The fraction of a second you will gain on each sprint returning a powerful each serve. It is all about marginal gains, you see. Every hair, every milligram of weight, can truly improve your performance.’
I merely stared straight ahead, annoyed by the tear slowly tracing a path down my cheek. In that moment, I was beyond caring whether I would be faster and more efficient. I might thank Coach later, I thought … but only once I was out of that room and away from the despicable barber.
Eventually, the hairclippers went silent, and Carla stepped in. ‘Perfectly flat on the top, Charles, and sleek on the back and sides,’ she gushed, circling me, her eyes narrowed in assessment. ‘Excellent work. You perfectly understand the parameters of the performance trial,’ she summarised. ‘Now, Anna, you will simply fly around the court.’
The barber offered me a hand mirror, and I felt duty bound to see the damage he had wrought. A choked sob escaped me as my other hand flew up to examine the bristly, shorn expanse of my head. ‘My hair!’ I cried.
= * = * =
‘Oh, Anna, you will get used to it,’ the Coach comforted, but I was not listening. And I was ignoring the smirking barber holding up a second mirror so I could see the shaved back of my head more clearly.
‘My hair!’ I repeated. Adding, after a delay, ‘it’s gorgeous!’
‘What?’ Both Carla and Charles exclaimed, looking at each other in astonishment.
All my negative thoughts quickly faded away once I had studied my transformation. The severe lines of my new haircut framed my face perfectly, giving me a more angular look, a more focused expression. I looked like a determined and fierce athlete ready to take on any opponent before even hitting a ball.
The hair on my crown was incredible. Its appearance amply rewarded Charles’ meticulousness. It was perfectly flat, a precise geometric plane, disguising the roundness of my skull. It was a statement, a defiance of conventional femininity. A triumph of efficiency.
‘So, er, you like it?’ Carla asked, still unconvinced by my unexpected pronouncement.
‘No, Coach,’ I refuted, pausing for effect. ‘I love it,’ I emphasised, kissing her on each cheek. ‘It is precisely the length where it needs to be for optimal performance. I look forward to comparing today’s measurements with yesterday’s baseline figures.’
I turned to reward Charles similarly, but his neutral expression and slight shake of the head convinced me to simply shake his hand.
‘Well, Anna, we are so delighted you love it,’ Carla muttered, still sounding amazed. ‘Maya is next. Please can you send her along but, if possible, try not to forewarn her of what is to come. Knowing her, she will not be quite so … er, accepting. It will allow me to explain in more detail beforehand.’
‘No problem, Coach, and thanks Charles … and look forward to you keeping me in trim during the coming weeks,’ I said.
Rubbing my head vigorously, I chuckled at the sensation. Then I skipped through the door on my mission to track down the formidable Maya.
The Plump Chap Discusses Anna with the Performance Coach
‘Well, that was a bit of a rollercoaster ride, Carla,’ I remarked after Anna had left.
Anna was the second aspiring professional at The Meadowlands Tennis Academy whose hair I had cut that morning. I performed the haircut as part of a trial to assess any improvement in their athletic performance. Earlier, I had removed Jessica’s long black braid and given her a severe bowlcut that she despised. Then I had cut Anna’s hip-length golden locks and gave her an immaculate flattop which she loved.
As I had watched both depart from the makeshift barbershop at the Academy, a profound sense of fulfilment settled over me. This new role of mine was deeply, gloriously satisfying.
‘I should have warned you that Anna is one of our most outgoing aspiring professionals, on our fast-track programme. I anticipate her becoming your greatest advocate. But, yes, she was a rollercoaster for sure,’ Carla agreed. ‘Nevertheless, you gave her a superb haircut, perfectly conforming to the needs of the performance trial. She looked …’ I noted her body quiver, flushed with excitement, ‘yes, she looked sensational.’
‘Thank you, Carla,’ I acknowledged, enjoying her gratitude.
‘However, her behaviour was out of character. She was incredibly supportive of the concept initially, and then extremely happy at the end. But, during the process, she was far cooler. And, Charles, I put that squarely on your shoulders with a repeat of your unnecessarily detailed and upsetting commentary,’ she moaned.
‘Upset by my commentary?’ I chuckled. ‘How ridiculous,’ I added, feeling disgruntled. Carla still did not understand that I employed the soothing remarks to reassure the candidates. But preposterously, she believes it may have the opposite effect. Shrugging, but still chuckling, I murmured, ‘oh well …’
Carla rewarded me with an admonishing glare, but then turned her attention to the clock on the wall. Overshadowing her unjustified irritation with me, was her growing frustration at Maya’s lateness. She was the final scheduled candidate that morning. Carla had asked Anna to send her to us but, after ten minutes, she had still not shown.
The performance coach marched to the door, peering down the corridor to see if Maya was approaching. Covertly, I hid Anna’s massive ponytail in the secret compartment of my leather equipment case. After I had cut it off, I sensed she might be one of those odd people who asked to see it or even keep it. So, initially, I had hidden it in a temporary home under a spare cape before adding it to my haul.
I looked forward, that evening, to removing the severed ponytails from my case, after I had returned to my own premises. I would lay them out on the large table I had dedicated for the task. Then I would meticulously label each one before selecting the appropriate position for display in my growing collection
