*FYI, this is Chapter 2 of 3 that'll be shared here on BC!*

CHAPTER TWO

“A salon day? You’re kidding, ” I said in disbelief. “You don’t even like salons. I don’t even like salons!”

“Relax, it’s not what you think,” Grace said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little orange gift card. “I won it in a school raffle. Cool, huh? I figured you could use a pick-me-up, and what’s better than splitting a little salon day with your sister? You can do a lot with 250 bucks!”

“Two hundred and fif—“ I began, but badly needed a reset. “Grace, listen. I don’t need a salon treatment to feel better. I’m doing fine, trust me.”

“Oh shut up. It’s not like they’re doing anything girly in there. I just booked a wash and a trim for you. We’ll sit next to each other, you don’t even have to talk to anyone else. It’ll be fine.”

I really, really hated the idea of being tempted with bowling only to be ambushed and brought in for a haircut. Again, I glanced at the wooden sign in front of us. A yellow, floral base with orange lilies scattered around the girliest font imaginable reading ‘Lily’s Touch’.

I sat in the car, fuming thanks to her deception. But Grace didn’t seem close to changing her mind. I sighed obnoxiously loud to assert my displeasure. Maybe I just accept my fate for the day. It’s not like I have anything else going on.

“Fine…” I backed down, much to the devilish enjoyment of my sister. “But we’re not gossiping with the barber.”

Grace groaned. “They’re not called barbers. They’re stylists. Jesus, Alex…”

Practically shoved out the car by my sister, the two of us tread the icy parking lot and shuffled into the salon just in the nick of time.

“We made it! Ha ha!” Grace celebrated, probably to the annoyance of the staff. She stepped up to the counter where a gorgeous, thin brunette woman dressed to the nines greeted us.

“Good afternoon! You two ladies have an appointment?”

Ugh. Another ‘perk’ of having long hair…

I shoved Grace aside for a moment, “Actually I’m a guy.“

She shot me a mean look, as if I was the rude one. “It should be under Grace Lester.”

The pretty brunette receptionist clicked and clacked away at the computer searching for our reservation. The searching process offered me a moment to breathe in the ambiance of Lily’s Touch. And damn was this place giant.

Right off the bat, the space felt like infinitely more than any barber shop I’d seen. Back behind the receptionist’s stand were rows and rows of styling chairs — about half of them in use by a variety of barbers — err, stylists. But it didn’t stop there. In fact, just beside the waiting area, beautified with funky-looking orange and yellow furniture, was a staircase ascending to a second floor. I meandered around as Grace continued the check-in.

“Lily’s Spa,” I mumbled to myself, reading the sign by the stairs.

So this isn’t just a salon, but a spa too? I guess that would explain the customer volume. In fact, I counted at least 10 people in the waiting area, scrolling their phones or browsing the complimentary fashion magazines.

“Coming through!” a woman brushed by me, spinning me around. The employee was balancing an assortment of powders and goops on a fancy metal tray as she ascended the staircase. “Jolene? Come on up,” she said to one of the waiting women who eagerly arose from her seat and followed her upstairs.

“Hey, space cadet!” Grace called for me back at the front desk. “They’re ready for us.”

Two younger ladies escorted Grace and I toward the back where we hung up our coats and were seated at the washing stations. My girl instructed me to lean my head back into a basin attached to the chair as she flipped on the nozzle.

“I’m Nora by the way,” the young woman said sweetly, gently soaking my hair. “This temperature okay?”

“It’s uh… yeah. It’s fine, thanks.”

Nora smiled and continued on my hair, squirting some sweet-smelling shampoo into her hands and applying it throughout my hair and softly into my scalp.

“You’ve got so much hair,” she said in what I hoped was a complimentary tone.

I gulped and squeaked out an uncomfortable “thanks?”. Grace, getting the same treatment two chairs over, chuckled at my reaction.
“Just relax, Alex. It’s fine!”

Nora and Grace both giggled at my discomfort as the two ladies started chatting themselves – just small talk about the weather and a little celebrity gossip as I sat still, mostly ignored as my brunette mane was lathered and rinsed. So much for Grace’s ‘the two of us will just talk the whole time’ promise.

This whole situation was so bizarre. I mean, sure, the washing felt good and Nora was friendly enough, but the sweet smells, the flower decor all over the walls… This was nothing like the gritty, hardware store setting I’m accustomed to. I couldn’t have felt more out of place. Not to mention the salon being almost 100% women. Though if Grace’s goal was to get my mind off the firing? Mission accomplished.

With my hair washed and patted dry, I was escorted to the main styling area. Here, it appears, is where the real magic happens. Rows of clients – notably entirely women – sat happily in styling chairs as their respective stylists worked like busy bees, snipping, curling, and styling away. I counted at least 16 chairs and stations altogether. This was a seriously impressive operation.

“Bella will take care of you the rest of the way,” Nora said. “Thanks again!”

She walked away with a smile as I stood there with my dripping brunette locks hanging flat and slouching in a black nylon salon cape. I looked less like a guy and more like the girl from The Ring.

“No way… Tarzan?” a voice said.

Wait… what?

Hearing that name could only mean one thing. And hearing it in a salon could only be trouble. I whipped around for the source and sure enough, standing right in front of me was a girl. No, a woman. An absolutely stunning, tall but curvy blonde woman who looked damn familiar.

“Sorry, Alex,” the woman corrected. “Not trying to dredge up old nicknames. It’s Bella Faison. We went to high school together.”

Holy shit, we totally did! The memories rushed back in. Not that we were ever friends or even interacted much, but sure enough that was Bella Faison — the way-out-of-my-league Bella Faison.

Upon the realization, my body started freezing and my mouth turned dry. I felt like an embarrassed high schooler all over again. Why, of all places, did I have to run into her in a goddamn hair salon?

“You okay?” Bella asked, chuckling. “Gonna be honest, I never thought I’d run into you here. But you look like you could use a trim. Come take a seat?”

I mindlessly followed her down the row of stations till we reached hers and was sat down. Cute little trinkets and photos of her with friends adorned her work shelf – including a high school graduation photo in a very recognizable robe, as if I needed any further proof.

“So how are you? God, it’s been… What, four years?”

Still dazed, I mumbled an awkward ‘mmhmm’ as I worked to turn my embarrassment into realism. I mean, what else could I do? Sprint out the salon and come off as a maniac? Just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I’m immune to shame.

“Have you been here before? Don’t think I ever caught you.”

I shook my wet, mop-like hair. “No no no. Never. I’m not a salon guy. My sister, Grace, had a gift card she wanted to split with me. So… yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

Bella stared blankly at me for a moment, then cracked an honest grin. “That’s sweet of her to share with you. And even sweeter of you to come.” She twirled her flashy, silver scissors through her fingers for a moment and tossed a bit of my hair. “So what’re we doing today? Just a trim?”

I nodded as Bella jumped into what was, I assume, her easiest cut of the day.

Making small talk with Bella was easier than Nora because at least we had some history to draw on. Though apparent to me immediately, Bella started realizing how little overlap we had in high school. In fact, we really couldn’t have been more unlike each other. And it was a BIG school. Bella was a solid student, a cheerleader who dated a boy on the football team, and of course, trafficked in the most popular spaces. Whereas I was a recluse with only a couple friends who unfailingly left school at the sound of the bell, retreating home to read, play video games, or do anything as long as it wasn’t with anyone.

Our lack of commonalities soured the conversation a tad, but Bella didn’t seem to care. She had a refreshingly cheery demeanor the whole time, even going so far as to compliment the length and thickness of my hair every few minutes. While sweet, I probably could’ve done without the latter.

The entire cut took no more than 15 minutes. Of my roughly 26-inches of hair, she removed maybe 5 or 6? Just a few simple snips, keeping it even and simple while adding just a bit of texturizing. No complaints.

I took a look around the styling area and noticed Grace was getting her cut done about four spots down with a male stylist — but it looked like she still had a bit to go on her shoulder-length bob.

“That’s your sister down there with Justin?” Bella asked.

“If the pink-haired man is Justin, then yes,” I answered. I always found it funny how expressive and unique people in this profession tend to look. Bella, however, was the exception. Beyond a few tattoos on her arms and a stud in her nose, her style wasn’t too eccentric. She’s evolved since high school, sure, but who among us hasn’t? Stagnation is boring.

Bella did a final minute of clean-up before unsnapping the cape’s neckline, whipping it from my body and releasing me from the chair. “Look good?” she asked.

“Same as always,” I noted. “Though I’ll admit, the shampoo was actually a nice touch.”

“Oh, so the one part I didn’t do?” Bella kidded with a smirk. “That's why salons are better than barber shops. Pricier, sure, but you can’t beat the full service.”

Bella looked at me with her kind eyes — the kind of look a genuine friend would give. “Come back anytime, Alex. I’d be honored to work on that gorgeous hair any day of the week.”

I gave a mere courtesy laugh — again, not loving these comments about my hair quality — but honestly, anything nice from a girl like Bella was appreciated.

However, her joviality didn’t last long as I watched her face do a full 180.

“Ugh…” Bella droned. “Goddammit.”

I turned around to see what was upsetting her. At a styling station a few spots down stood a 30-something man in a black button-down and black pants with sleek, short gelled hair. At the moment, he didn’t look to be doing much beyond chatting with another stylist while she sat in a chair.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, subtly gesturing toward the man. “Who’s that?”

“Tim,” Bella answered disgustedly. “He shouldn’t be there. One sec.”

I watched as Bella waltzed over to Tim, interrupting his conversation with the other female stylist — rudely, I might add. With the whirring of dryers and buzzing of razors, I couldn’t hear their discussion, but Tim seemed to echo Bella’s disdain as she came over.

For as curious as I was, I knew better than to get involved in others’ drama, so I stayed put in the chair and waited for Bella to officially release me. But instead, Bella turned toward me and pointed. Tim looked over and did the same, but with more contempt.

Shit… What did I do?? How the hell was I already in trouble? Ugh. Was it because I was the only guy in here? I knew coming here was a mistake.

Bella jogged over to me and without a word, grabbed my hand and yanked me over to Tim.

“I said, we don’t need help. The chair is fine,” Tim complained, his voice nasally.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t work here all day like I do,” the other stylist protested, much to the annoyance of Tim.

“Guys, this is Alex. He came in with his sister today for a trim,” Bella explained to the feuding duo, undoubtedly wondering who this shrimpy long-haired guy was.

“…and?” Tim sneered.

“And…” Bella mimicked his tone, “During his haircut, Alex told me he works in hardware. Maybe he could fix the chair.” Then she turned to me. “Think you could?”

A little struck by her request, I glanced around the salon. Everything was business as usual. Grace appeared to have some time to go, happily chatting away with her stylist.

“I mean… sure? I can try. Show me what’s wrong.”

Bella cheered as she and Tim stepped aside for the other stylist, Kylie, to explain the problem.

It didn’t take long to determine the foot pump was super loose, requiring triple the effort to move the chair up or down — not to mention a forceful squeak with each pump. Broken? Not entirely. But enough to infuriate a stylist over the course of a day.

“Yeah, I can fix it,” I said, fiddling with the handle. “But I’d need a socket wrench. Do you guys have one?”

All three of them looked at me with blank stares.

I sighed. No surprise these aren’t handy people. “How about a tool box?”

Tim had Bella run into the back room to grab what appeared to be the sole tool box in the entire establishment. A dusty, rusty green metal box with unorganized, random tools inside.

I dug through the box until thankfully finding a barely-usable socket wrench. Just a few minutes of adjustments later and the chair had returned to its full function.

“Voila!” I announced, standing back up. “Like brand new, eh?”

Kylie examined the chair for a moment. “Well, the cushion’s still falling apart…” she noted, shooting another glare at Tim. “But it’s so much better, Alex. Thank you!”

It wasn’t just Kylie but Bella who seemed impressed. Gloating, even. Though probably because it was her idea to fetch me.

Tim took a menacing step forward and, to my surprise, actually extended his hand.

“Killer work. Thank you,” he complimented with as much sincerity as he’s probably capable of. He then leaned in for a whisper, “Anything to get these damn stylists off my ass.”

“Hey!” Bella jeered at Tim, shoving him aside. “Alex, you’re a lifesaver. Kylie, I hope that helps. Now if only you could fix the other ten chairs…”

“I… uh…”

Tim held out his hand to shut up Bella. “You’ll have to excuse my sister. She doesn’t do the budget.”

Sister? I did a double take between the two, suddenly seeing the resemblance. I suppose the bickering makes more sense now.

“Maybe I should,” Bella snapped back. “But fair enough. I can’t accept too much free labor.” Bella smiled at me warmly, craning her neck to check on the status of Justin’s chair. “Looks like your sister’s wrapping up soon. Go chill in the waiting area. Sorry if there’s no manly tool magazines for you to read!”

I chuckled, thanking her again for the haircut but eager to retreat to the quiet of the waiting room.

I was left alone for the next 20 minutes, mostly scrolling on my phone as I waited for Grace’s cut to wrap up. As weird as it was to be abruptly summoned for a maintenance task, I actually kind of enjoyed it. Maybe it’s my unreasonable ego, but the ability to… I dunno… shine again? It felt nice. Even with the uncomfortable bickering, that was three more thank-you’s than I ever got working at Samford’s. Plus, the ability to reassert a little of my masculinity after a sweet-smelling wash and trim was an added bonus.

“What? You look the same!” Grace startled me, emerging from the coat room beside me. “I thought you’d change your mind and go short!”

“Then I guess you don’t know me,” I joked. “Yours isn’t too different either. It just looks… fluffier.”

“It’s called a blowout, you goon,” Grace teased. “Men know nothing.”

I rolled my eyes as I followed Grace out the door of Lily’s Touch. Two siblings, each with a fresh haircut and, as Grace noted, identically scented hair.

“So tell me, was it that bad?” Grace asked as she buckled her seatbelt. “I mean, I know it’s not bowling. But you did need a cut.”

I shrugged. In all honesty I didn't hate the experience. “Beats being unemployed at home.”

My sister shifted the car into reverse and prepared to pull out onto the street. That is… until we both noticed a man running out of Lily’s Touch — and towards our car. It was… Tim?

He motioned for Grace to stop the car and to roll down the window.

“Fuck it’s cold, man…” Tim chattered, coatless. “Alex, I wanted to catch you before you left. You’re jobless, yeah? Unemployed?”

Grace laughed as I dully answered him. “Uh, yes. I am.”

“Well look, I wanna take back what I said earlier. We actually could use some help around the holiday season. Especially someone with your skillset. Want a job at Lily’s through the holidays?”

I sat there in the car, frozen — and not from the frigid weather. “You’re… offering me a job?”

Tim rubbed his arms, the cold air starting to affect him. “Yes, yes, I am!” he said impatiently. “Can you come in tomorrow at 8 or not?”

I turned to Grace who was just as shocked as I was, but coaxed me to answer.

“Um, yeah! I can. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Killer. I’ll see you then,” Tim added, already backpedaling into the store. “Tomorrow at 8! Don’t be late!” he yelled.

I gave him a little salute as I motioned for my sister to keep driving. It was silent in the car for just a moment.

“Um…. So what was that about?” she asked.

I quickly summed up the brief bout of handyman work, very much to her surprise.

“Dude, that’s incredible!” Grace gleamed. “Next time don’t bury the lede, eh?”

“I’m as shocked as you. But I guess… I’m back in maintenance again.”

Grace nodded as she drove forward, chuckling to herself after a moment. “Unless, of course, they’re hiring you as a hair model!”

Her chuckles morphed into a full belly laugh, probably imagining her painfully uncomfortable brother in that kind of situation.

I laughed along, humoring her jab. I guess we’ll find out for sure tomorrow. But, I mean, this has to be a maintenance job… right?

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One more sample chapter coming this week, but the entirety of Maybe You'll Like It is available on Amazon right now!

Really hope you all enjoy, and thank you to everyone who's already read it! I'm over the moon with the feedback so far :)

-Jennifer

AMAZON LINK: https://www.amazon.com/Maybe-Youll-Like-Gradual-Feminization...