“You need to trust me Nathan. I am going to make you look hot. You have great hair, a great face…you need a style that compliments both.”
“Okay,” I say weakly. “I’ll trust you. Just do what you think is best.” Hair grows back after all.
“You’ve made a wise choice,” he says dramatically. “You’ll be glad you did.”
I take a deep breath, glad that without my glasses everything is a little fuzzy when London takes me off to wash my hair. The full impact of what I’ve agreed to won’t hit me until I leave the salon.
I can’t imagine why it takes so long to cut my hair; I’m not Rapunzel or anything. But Bradley seems pretty damn serious about his work, taking steps back to consider his progress every few snips. I sense that we are done when London comes towards me with an oversized paintbrush and starts dusting me off like a knick-knack.
Immediately following he swings the chair face forward, and they both step on either side of me to study my reflection.
“Wow,” sighs London. Her intonation is full of admiration, so I figure that’s a good thing.
“Yes,” Bradley agrees, nodding. “Yes.”
I squint, and so London hands me a large hand mirror.
Wow, I look really different. “Hey, that looks good,” I say, surprised.
“He looks hot,” London says to Bradley.
“Sizzling,” the master insists. “Now, Nathan…I’m tempted to not give you those glasses back because they must not be worn…ever again.”
“Don’t worry, I have contacts and new glasses Brooke picked out from L.A. Eyeworks.”
Bradley smiles; I guess he approves. I leave my tips and thank them. Heading out, I’m so stunned from the whole experience that I almost leave with my robe on. Luckily I catch myself before I make it to the front desk.
The glamazon looks flustered as she runs my credit card. She keeps staring at me. It makes me uncomfortable, but there’s nothing I can do about it now, the hair I always hid under is gone.
Once home, I end up taking many opportunities that day to stare at myself too. I put in my contacts so I can continue to break them in, and consequently every time I look in the bathroom mirror, I get a clear look of my new haircut. I’m less surprised with each glance, until by the end of the day, I think I like it.
• • •
“Ah, Mom,” I sigh as she fusses over me.
She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “All the times I’ve tried to get you to cut your hair, and you refused.” But then she smiles. “It was that lovely girl…Brooke, wasn’t it? You did it for her, didn’t you?”
I nod, my face turning red. “I just hope she likes it.”
“Oh, she’ll like it,” Mom responds with no hesitation.
“She’ll see it tonight. Remember, he’s taking her to the Emmys,” Curtis explains.
“Are you wearing your tux?” Dad asks.
“Yeah, I’m so glad I have that tux, Dad.” I watch him grin with satisfaction and nod his head.
“Outstanding! It looks like our calculated investment is showing the potential to pay off far beyond our original projections,” he says rubbing his hands together happily. “And one can never underestimate the potential impact of an impressive personal presentation with a desired mate.”
“Yeah, you’re going to look so hot she’s going to be all over you, dude,” Curtis confirms encouragingly.
I can’t help but blush and grin at their support. I know that they genuinely want me to be happy.
“Well, you must call when you get home and let us know how it goes,” Mom insists.
“If it goes well, calling you is the last thing he’ll be doing,” Curtis snickers.
I can’t get my hopes up like that, but the thing I know for sure is that I’ll get to see Brooke in that dress again and be her date. Anything beyond that is icing on the cake.
Back home, I spend a couple of hours roughing out pages for the next B-Girl issue. I’m glad to have my time occupied until it’s finally time to get ready to go. Once I’ve showered, fixed my hair with that stuff like Bradley showed me, and gotten dressed, it all hits me.
I’m taking Brooke to the Emmys.
As I study myself in the mirror I realize, for perhaps the first time in my life, that I’m not bad looking at all. Since these plans were made, I’ve desperately wanted to believe that I could look worthy of being with her tonight. And with my final glance, I actually believe that I do.
My stomach flip flops the whole way to the florist, because it means I’m that much closer to being with her again. As I park I wonder if she’s nervous too. Once out of the car, I slide the tux jacket off the hanger from where it’s hung in the back seat, and pull it on. I wish I could have sorted out my bow tie, but I’m sure Brooke will do a better job with it than I could. I roll my shoulders back and clear my throat before I ring the doorbell.
She buzzes the gate, but I’m all the way down the stairs before she pulls open the door. I stop in my tracks. Her hair is swept up and she’s wearing the dark red dress, the fabric fluttering around her legs in the breeze.
She’s a vision, and tonight she’s mine.
“Nathan!” she gasps. “You’ve cut your hair.”
I nod, noticing that her cheeks are flushed and her expression’s bright. Her eyes move over me, from my hair, to my eyes—now unhindered by glasses—to the tux. “Oh my God, you look so handsome,” she says slowly, each word pressing into me. I can tell she means it. “Wow,” she whispers.
I’m speechless and while I’m searching for the right response, I manage to hold out the bunch of flowers.
“For me?” she says, stepping forward. “That’s so sweet.”
I watch her take them and look down into the swirl of dark and light pinks. “Peonies,” she sighs. “How did you know these were my favorite flowers?”
“I did my research,” I answer grinning.
She smiles, tipping her head as she studies me. I can tell she’s impressed.
“Brooke…” I start.
“Yes?”
“You’re so beautiful…I mean, you look so beautiful tonight…well, I mean both—you are beautiful and you look so beautiful tonight…but then you always look beautiful, not just tonight…” I ramble, horrified. I’ve apparently lost all verbal ability, thereby making a complete idiot of myself.
She steps closer and touches her fingers to my lips, stilling me.
“Thank you.” She pulls her fingers from my lips, yet still lingers close to me. It almost feels like she’s going to kiss me, but then she turns towards the foyer.
“Here, come on in.”
She turns and heads into the kitchen and I follow, noting that she’s barefoot. She pulls out a vase, fills it, then deftly unwraps the flowers and quickly arranges them before pulling back to admire the results.
“No one has ever brought me peonies,” she says wistfully. “Until you.”
I smile, excited about how well things are going, but just then the doorbell rings.
“Can you get that? It’s the driver; tell him I need a couple minutes.”
The driver assures me it’s no problem, and I go back inside to find Brooke bent over the couch struggling with her shoes.
“Ugh, I can’t seem to get the hook thingy to fit in the little hole!”
“Can I help?”
“Please. These are the only shoes I have that will look right with this dress.”
I kneel down in front of her and remove the high-heeled sandal and examine the strap. “Damn, those are tiny holes. Here let me give it a try.” I slip her beautiful foot back into the sandal and thread the delicate strap into the buckle, and then carefully press the prong into the hole. It takes some force, but it finally pops through. When I finish I wrap my hand around her ankle and softly stroke her skin.
“How’s that?”
She leans forward on the couch and looks down. I can’t help put peek at her lush cleavage. I swallow hard and struggle to focus.
She smiles. “Perfect. Can you do the other one too?”
I repeat the action, but when I’m done I let my hand trail higher up her calf and back down marveling at her beautiful legs. When I look up at her she’s biting her lip as she watches me. I lift up on my knees so my face is level with hers and our eyes meet. Can she feel how much I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her? But before I can, I feel her hand sweep along the side of my face.