***FYI This is the second of three chapters that will be shared here on BC***

CHAPTER TWO

“Borrow… my head?” I replied cautiously. “What does that even mean?”

Suddenly this light-hearted, fun catch-up between two, long-lost neighbors was turning into something completely different. Something that, unsurprisingly, made me sweat even more.

Caroline must’ve sensed this because she immediately went into explanation mode. “Oh no no no, it’s nothing bad, I promise! So you’ve heard her music, but do you know her style?”

“Sort of?” I struggled to put an exact description into words.

“Think Katy-Perry-meets-Madonna,” she explained. “Big, bright colors, extravagant outfits, and in my case, fun, over-the-top hairstyles and wigs.”

“Wigs,” I repeated. “You want me to wear wigs.”

Caroline sighed and sunk into her seat a bit. “Ever since Molly fired her manager a month ago, she’s been acting like a complete diva, literally micromanaging each detail from the choreography, the band, styling, even some audience stuff. It’s been a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry,” I said earnestly. Workplace drama can really suck the life out of a person.

“She’s constantly asking for new wig designs and styles. I’m barely keeping up. Partly because I despise working off a dummy head.”

Caroline saw my blank stare and could tell I needed my hand held through this.

“A dummy head is like a styrofoam mannequin head. They’re supposed to be good for wig making and styling, but I can’t stand them.”

While I sympathized with her struggle, I still didn’t understand why she needed me. What is it about me – a GUY, I should note – screams ‘wig model’? I wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or insulted.

Caroline again reached across the table, though this time tenderly grabbing my hand. “Bailey, I could really use your help if you’re free. The amount I can get done with a real model in a couple hours dwarfs what I’d do on a dummy. Seriously, all you gotta do is sit there. Plus, there’s free drinks in our fridge!”

Not even an hour spent with Caroline and already I felt a strong connection. Maybe it’s her outgoing persona or just the fact she reminds me of home, but something inside me was telling me not to say no. Caroline is here for me, so I should be here for her.

“Just a few wigs?” I clarified, then tugged on my hair. “You won’t need to touch this?”

She shook her head. “It’ll be under a wig cap. In fact, you’ve got about as much natural hair as Molly, so it can only help.”

Hmm… I came to Vegas to reset and regrow, didn’t I? Well, what’s the harm in starting that regrowth with a favor?

“Alright,” I told her confidently. “I’m in.”

========

The Goulet in Las Vegas is far from the most desirable or well-known hotel in town and, unfortunately, it's apparent from the moment you walk in the door.

Not that it’s disgusting or a deathtrap or anything, but take the lobby for example. It’s extremely outdated compared to those at the major hotels – at least from what Caroline says – and looks like the interior hasn’t been changed since the Beatles were still together.

Wood-paneled walls, ugly yellow carpet stretching as far as the eye can see, and cheap, plastic plants placed in random spots gave the whole place a stuffy feel. Maybe to some the retro feel is appealing, but I find it hard to believe anyone under the age of 70 would appreciate the aesthetic.

“Only the best for Molly Pop,” Caroline remarked sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she led me across the lobby, and through a series of low-ceiling hallways, following signs for the Goulet Theater.

“Theater’s on the left,” she began, then she gestured to a set of double doors leading to a cramped stairwell. “But my ‘cave’ is down here.”

The cave she was referring to turned out to be a dressing room. The space itself was just as small and stuffy as the rest of the Goulet, but that’s about all it had in common with the rest of the hotel. Because much to my delight, the dressing room was EXPLODING with color.

Weird, wacky outfits filled the clothing racks that lined the room, each sporting its own unique design and combination of colors. Most garments were what you’d expect: Shirts, pants, and dresses. But many of them I had no clue what to call them. A furry green monster onesie? A spherical dress made only of bubble wrap? Boots that were so high they turned into pants? Overwhelming, to say the least.

And then, of course, there were the wigs: smaller in size than the outfits, but with just as much personality. Some of the wigs were ‘normal’ hair colors with modest adjustments, but others were just plain weird. The one that stuck out to me the most was a neon orange Mozart wig with rubber duckies stuck into it. Like… what?

All of this was just another day at the office for Caroline, who casually tossed her purse onto the counter and ushered me to the styling chair.
“This is… extremely impressive,” I noted, still consumed by the colorful supernova surrounding me.

“Glad you think so,” Caroline bemoaned. “Molly’s nixed like half these designs. I either gotta take ‘em apart or toss ‘em. What a waste.” She kicked open the mini-fridge. “Want a soda?”

“I’m good.” The matte black mini fridge was about the only normal-looking thing in this room. “Should we start?”

Caroline nodded, cracked her knuckles, and jumped into work mode. But first, she gave me a proper explanation about what exactly she’d be using my head for.

The first thing I did was remove my baseball cap, shaking out my hair and letting it hang so Caroline could section it and bobby-pin it together in a neat formation around my head. Then, with it all in one piece, she fetched a tan, nylon wig cap and stretched it over my scalp, creating a smooth, workable surface.

I glanced over at the neon Mozart wig, wondering if it was in my future. Caroline must’ve been tracking my gaze.

“No, not that one,” she smirked. “But it’s just as fun.”

Then, from atop a styrofoam dummy head high up on one of the shelves, Caroline unveiled a long, messy, cherry-red wig.

“Meet Cherry Bomb!” she announced. “She’s my latest invention, and she’s coming along nicely.”

I chuckled quietly. “She?”

Caroline furrowed her brow. “Duh. All wigs are girls. Don’t you know that?”

With a quick little wink, she removed Cherry Bomb from the dummy and, after messing with a few straps on the inner, mesh part of the wig, placed the mess of red curls atop my own head.

I’m not sure why, but I closed my eyes and held my breath as she did so, as if my head was being shoved under water. When I ‘resurfaced’, I found my familiar face and body looking back at me in the mirror… but with a twist. The chaotic, deep-red wig was now a part of my head, seamlessly attached and aligned to my natural hairline. And damn did this hair look and feel real! If it weren’t for the unkemptness and strange coloring, you’d have no idea this wasn’t my natural hair. The quality was that good.

“Ahh!! Prettyyy!!” Caroline squealed, clearly enjoying this more than I was. “What do you think?”

“It sure is… something,” I muttered, still unsure how to feel.

“Well, it fits you like a dream. Thank God you and Molly have the same proportions. Gonna make styling her a ton easier.” Caroline clasped her hands firmly and took one last look at her canvas. “Well, might as well begin. Just keep your head still…”

With that, Caroline was off to the races tweaking, styling, and decorating Cherry Bomb into its – err, her – final form. And yes, I do mean decorating. While some of the work she’d done on the wig involved clips, brushes, driers, sprays, cream products, and tools with strange names I’ll never remember, the majority of Caroline’s time was spent adding decorative touches to the hair. In this case, little red, plastic cherries with stems, and light-pink cherry blossoms.

“I see why you call her Cherry Bomb.”

Caroline smirked. “Well, well, well… Look at you gendering her correctly. Like a natural wig model!”

“Heh, thanks…” I blushed, my skin turning a shade closer to the color of my hair.

Our strange activity aside, I enjoyed spending the extra time with Caroline beyond our coffee. I found her to be the same sweet, thoughtful person I remembered from childhood. She was an engaging conversationalist and an open book when it came to her own life. In fact, our styling session was what I imagined an experience in a real salon might be like – chatting and trading stories with the stylist as she gradually transforms your hair into a work of art.

“Now, the last little bit…” Caroline narrated as she reached into the cabinet in front of me. From the bottom shelf, she pulled out a tiny baggie of white and gold glitter. “For an extra, shiny touch!”

Caroline dumped the glitter into her hand and, like a fairy godmother, softly blew the glitter into my hair where it neatly sprinkled and spread amongst the locks.

“Perfect,” she said softly after taking a step back. “Bailey, what say you?”

The last thing I wanted to do was admit that an overly girly, flowery, glittery wig looked ‘perfect’ on me… but facts are facts. Caroline’s work was stunning. So what If I, a guy, just happened to be the one showcasing it.

“You’re a master,” I said to her. “Seriously.”

“She’s pretty for sure,” Caroline let out a big sigh and slouched her shoulders. “Just hoping she doesn’t meet the same fate as so many other not-good-enoughs. Molly’s just so fucking–”

The faint sound of footsteps cut Caroline’s sentence short.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “She’s early. She’s fucking early?”

“Who? Moll–”

Caroline forcefully shushed me. “Just… Please, play it cool.”

The fun, relaxed energy in the room quickly turned tense. Were we not supposed to be here? If so, Caroline never made it seem that way. Feelings of fear and dread kicked in, as did the natural instinct to leap out of my chair and book it, but doing so could ruin all of Caroline’s hard work. God, why did I ever agree to this…

The footsteps were fast approaching until, soon enough, the door swung open, and in walked not one but two people: an unfamiliar man and a very familiar popstar. Molly Pop.

“Caroline,” Molly said curtly, a little surprised to see her here though not as much as seeing someone occupying her chair. “What are you doing?”

Well, now it’s clear as day we’re not supposed to be here, thanks to the look on Molly’s face. A face that, I should note, was not at all what I remembered from her album covers, talk show appearances, or music videos. She was dressed simply, her mid-length brunette hair hung unstyled, and sported minimal makeup. If her black sweats and tank top were designer, I couldn’t tell. Molly Pop looked just like a normal woman.

Caroline, audibly nervous, cleared her throat. “Just thought I’d get ahead, Molly.”

Molly’s gaze shot to me. “And who’s this?”

“Uh, my friend who’s helping model. Bailey, meet Molly.”

Molly had no interest in making my acquaintance, instead, stepping right up to the styling chair to examine the wig. I could tell Caroline was happy Molly was walking in on the finished product and not something incomplete.

“Hmm…” she muttered, first fingering one of the cherries and examining a curl that rested on my shoulder. “This one actually looks good.”
A sigh of relief from both Caroline and me. “Really? You think so?”

Molly nodded, though looked reluctant to do so. Even the pickiest people recognize good art when they see it.

“Nicely done. We can use it for tomorrow’s show. But I still need the blue one re-done, two more green ones, and a whole new concept on a black wig for Showstopper.”

Caroline nodded obediently, already having pulled out a pen and paper to take notes.

“…and a black one for showstopper, got it.”

Molly walked back over to the man – a tall, mixed-race gentleman who promptly put his hand on the small of her back. He too was dressed fairly normally – a black t-shirt, light-gray shorts, and a trendy, fade hairstyle. Though he was rocking a gold chain necklace that, had I googled the price, would find it’s worth more than my house.

“Excited to see that on you, babe.”

She giggled girlishly, completely out of character from what I just witnessed.

“The crowd’s gonna love it, baby.” She leaned in for a kiss – a more spirited kiss than felt appropriate being in front of people. Not that Molly seemed to care what either Caroline or I thought. Nevertheless, we smartly averted our gazes till they finished.
Molly looked back our way, addressing me this time. “You know, your friend’s got talent when she’s not actively fucking up. So good on you for being her model girl.”

“Oh, actually I’m, uh…” I began, suddenly regretting the choice to speak up. But I was already in too deep. “…I’m a guy... Just so you know.”

Both Molly and her boyfriend did double takes. Then, after a stare-down that felt like an hour (but was probably only a few seconds) a sly grin appeared on her face. “Son of a bitch… You are a fucking guy!”

Then Molly started cackling. However, she was the only one as her boyfriend was still stuck studying my face.

“Fuck, man, you could’ve fooled me!” She kept laughing.

The whole thing felt just a tad mean-spirited, but Caroline and I kept quiet this time, hoping she’d quickly move on with her day. Thankfully, after a few more seconds yucking it up, she grabbed her boyfriend’s hand.

“Never know what you’re gonna see in Vegas, yeah Zach?”

Zach, the boyfriend, shrugged, reluctant to join in his girlfriend’s laughing fit.

“I mean, people can do what they want,” he said quietly, holding eye contact with me.

Molly paused, actually considering his words for a moment. “Okay, true. Fair enough.” She turned back around to me. “Zach and I are full supporters of the LGBT community by the way. If you wanna be a wig boy, be a wig boy.”

“Oh, I’m not–” I began to speak but realized any more engagement would just prolong this hellishly awkward encounter. “Thanks,” is what I settled on. Her words felt forced and fake anyway.

“Well,” Molly said, addressing Caroline again. “Don’t let me ruin your flow. Do your thing!”

Caroline nodded and forced a smile as Molly and Zach walked out the door.

She held up her hand, silencing me until we could hear their footsteps disappear completely down the hall. Once she was definitely gone, Caroline let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Fuuuuuuck that could’ve gone WAY worse…” Caroline said, releasing all the air in her lungs and collapsing into a nearby chair. “Thanks for playing it cool, Bailey. You’re a lifesaver.”

I still wasn’t entirely sure what just happened. Molly’s scathing introduction and rude-ish reaction to learning I was a guy felt icky to say the least. But the high praise she had for Cherry Bomb and her (mostly) positive praise for Caroline’s artistic talent felt worth it.

“Just happy to help,” I replied in earnest. “And… Molly is–”

“Fucking crazy? Yeah, I know… But that’s the price you pay for a dream job like this. And once you get one, you never let go.”

For a moment, I sensed real pain in her voice. Clearly, this was a taxing job, even if Caroline seemed willing to power through it.

“I find with Molly it’s just best to avoid her. Don’t engage, no extra conversation… Just, you know, don’t rock the boat.

I nodded along. “Hard to argue with that.”

We took another moment for our heart rates to reset, and Caroline laid her eyes on Cherry Bomb for one last look. “Boss Lady gave it the go-ahead, so I guess we’re done.” She gave my shoulder a soft squeeze. “Seriously, Bailey, thank you. You saved me hours of work. I officially release you!”

“You sure you’re good? It sounded like she put even more on your plate.”

“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “But I don’t wanna hold you hostage too long.” Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she looked at me through the mirror. “Maybe down the road, though?”

I smiled back at her. “Sure.”

Ensuring there’d be no damage to the wig, Caroline moved at a snail’s pace removing Cherry Bomb from my head and back onto the mannequin. Safe and sound and ready for its stage debut.

She then peeled off the wig cap, revealing my matted, bobby-pinned mess of hair. Not exactly my most flattering moment. Even a little jarring. I’d gotten so used to the beautiful, flowery cherry red, I’d forgotten about my own mousy, brunette mop.

“I’ll take these out for you,” Caroline said, picking away at the bobby pins one by one. Turns out, when you have as much hair as me, you need a lot of help keeping it tight and compact. She must’ve collected at least twenty. Most guys might only need two or three. But then again, most guys wouldn’t even be in this situation.

With my hair free of pins, I messed around with it and flopped it back onto my shoulders. My hair was admittedly lifeless and limp, particularly compared to Cherry Bomb.

“Mind showing me out?” I asked, beginning to rise from my seat. “Not sure I remember exactly how–”

But before I could leave the styling chair, Caroline firmly placed her hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place.

“Something wrong?” I asked, a little concerned. She wasn’t looking at me directly but at my reflection in the mirror. Not angrily or judgmentally – more like how I’d imagine a scientist looks at a complicated equation: something vexing that must be solved.

“I think I owe you a freshen-up,” Caroline said matter-of-factly. “You’ve been too helpful to get nothing in return.”

A freshen-up? Like, with my hair? That was hardly necessary.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I was happy to help. Plus I was gonna cut it this week, remember?”

But Caroline was having none of it as she dug around in one of the cupboards. Without looking at me, she asked. “What brush do you use for your hair?”

“What brush?” I honestly had to think about it for a moment. I don’t exactly have a ‘hair routine’. “I don’t really brush it. Just, like, an occasional comb.”

“A comb? Oh, no no no!” Her voice was full of disgust. “You don’t even brush? Bailey, puh-leez!”

Caroline kept digging through drawers, gathering all sorts of items, some of which were the same ones she’d used on Cherry Bomb. She then approached from behind, gathering a portion of my limp hair into her hand, and slowly ran a big, thick brush through it.

“Before you go, I’m showing that wonderful, long hair of yours what it’s been missing.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

One more sample chapter coming this week, but the entire book is available right now on Amazon!

Thanks friends :)

-Jennifer

AMAZON LINK:https://www.amazon.com/Youd-Make-Cute-Girl-Feminization-eboo...

***FYI This is the third of only three chapters that will be shared here on BC***

CHAPTER THREE

Caroline clearly wasn’t waiting for permission. Not this time. Though to her credit, I wasn’t exactly resisting either. After all, I willingly agreed to be her hair model for the day and though this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, I was having a nice enough time to keep going with the flow. Plus, I sensed Caroline wanted to repay me for sticking around, and this was her way of saying thank you.

And so I let her do as she pleased.

The first thing Caroline did after freeing my hair of its bobby pins was give it a thorough, much-needed brushing. And I do mean much-needed, as she was happy to keep reminding me.

Caroline stepped back as the brush hung in my hair, stuck in some kind of knot. “See? This is why you brush regularly!”

Her plan was to work through the entirety of my hair using a combination of three brushes. The first was what she called a ‘detangle brush’, best for removing knots and working through any snags that may have built up over time by ‘failing to properly care for my hair’ – her words, not mine. Once it was back to a suitable evenness, she gave it a second go-around with a cylindrical ‘round brush’. This one, she explained, is the go-to for my medium-thick hair. It smooths out the hair as a whole and helps distribute the natural oils. She also implemented some unique pulling, twisting, and rolling techniques I’d have never thought to use.

I found it amazing that with only a couple brushes in the hands of a hair wizard, my hair already looked significantly better. Not overwhelmingly different, but improved.

Still, Caroline had a third brush in her arsenal, but before using it, she fetched a small bottle from one of the cabinets and squirted something into her hands.

“Uhh… What’s that?”

“Hair oil,” she said. “Keeps your hair healthy and helps it shine.”

Without further discussion, she rubbed the oil on her fingers and began distributing throughout my hair, starting at the scalp and working it down to the ends.

The hair oil gave off a sweet vanilla scent. Quite enamoring, though undeniably feminine. I assume this is a problem men with long hair run into all the time. We’re such a small part of the market that, naturally, we wind up using the same stuff as the ladies. So I decided not to object.
Caroline did a quick, final run-through with the wide, rectangular ‘paddle brush’, intending to distribute the new vanilla-scented oil more evenly and give my hair maximal shine and smoothness. And it worked. Beautifully.

“Well?” She began, stepping back from the chair and allowing me an unencumbered look. “What do we think?”

Honestly, my hair looked better than ever. Well, at least healthier and better cared for. My light-brown locks, while not in terrible shape, were in general, flat and lifeless. But somehow, using only a few brushes and some hair oil, my hair had transformed into something fuller, shinier, and yes, girlier.

“It’s… Well, it’s definitely pretty,” I said, unsure if I should mention the added femininity.

Caroline clapped and leaped. “Oh, good, good! I’m so happy you think so!”

I wanted to tell her that making my hair ‘pretty’ wasn’t exactly my goal, but I knew her brushing and styling session was her way of saying thank you. So I thanked her, praising her talent. Hey, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful to a new friend.

“Well, I know I can’t keep you forever. Still want me to walk you out?”

After well over an hour of sitting and getting pampered, I rose from the chair and followed Caroline to the door.

“Wait!” She stopped short. “One last thing.”

Caroline grabbed my hand and led me back over to the mirror. “Now that your hair is all sleek and shiny… Do this.”

She proceeded to push her own hair in front of her shoulders, leaning forward just a little bit. Then, with her hands beneath her long ginger hair, flicked the strands in a one-two motion behind her head.

“Toss, toss!” she narrated, whipping the hair back behind her back. “It’s fun, try it!”

I hesitated for just a moment, not sure I wanted to emulate such a feminine motion with my already feminine hair. But I reluctantly obliged.

“Toss… Toss...” I matched her motion and verbiage.

Caroline shook her head. “Too clunky. Try it again. Quicker.”

I reset my hair, pushing my locks to the front. “Toss, toss!” I said, this time with a little more flair.

My stylist looked on proudly, cheering and applauding my efforts. “Yes, Girlie! Yes!”

She skipped on ahead, out the door, and up the stairs toward the main Goulet hallway. I was fully ready to follow her, eager to get back to my new apartment, meet the movers, and get settled for good. But I couldn’t help but pause for one extra second.

Girlie… Did she just call me… Girlie?

========

Growing up, my dad was the kind of guy to always seek out the newest, trendiest company to invest in. No, he wasn’t a stock trader or banker or anything like that – day trading was merely a hobby – but damn did he funnel a lot of money into it. In fact, he was so obsessed with stock-picking, that he’d pressure me to research companies so I could invest as well. “You’re a numbers guy,” he’d always say. “This should be right up your alley!” But the investing bug never bit me.

I’m about as different of a person from my parents as possible. They were and still are pretty serious socializers. Their weekends were always filled with plans, morning, noon, and night. Partying wasn’t really my bag. I wasn’t the kind of high schooler to sneak out at night to meet up with friends, and even in college I mostly kept to myself. A good book and a warm cup of tea was my kind of thing.

Every kid is like this to some degree, needing to be the opposite of their parents. They partied, so I didn’t. They didn’t take academics seriously, so I did. They enjoyed a tantalizing, speculative investment, and so I tended to avoid the world of risky bets.

But hey, one investment I have absolutely zero regrets about was the decision to hire movers. And damn it if it’s not already paying dividends!

Shortly after getting home from The Goulet, the moving truck arrived and two enormous men hopped out. Within just a few hours, every single one of my possessions had been loaded into my condo. Even better, a different pair of guys showed up the next morning to help move things around, unpack boxes, and make sure I barely needed to lift a finger in pursuit of setting up my new home. What can I say? I’m an engineer. I’m all about efficiency!

Now I’m sure there are some who’d criticize me for outsourcing the most laborious tasks. And admittedly, I’m a bit ashamed I’m not strong enough to lift heavy boxes. But every human is built differently. It’s not my fault I’m 5’6” with the body of a twig.

However, as part of my ‘reset and regrow’ mindset, I’ve leaned into a new, healthy hobby: cycling. From the moment I arrived in Las Vegas, I’ve been waiting for a cool morning to take my bike out for a nice, long ride on the desert roads.

Cycling was something I tried a couple times during my final days in Rhode Island, and from the moment I hopped on the seat, I knew it was for me. And like anyone who’s recently picked up a hobby and quickly became obsessed, I’ve been researching and ordering all the latest biking gear and gadgets to make the most of my new favorite form of exercise. Today, it all arrived.

Brand new bike shorts, a sleek, sweat-wicking bike jersey, a bright-white aerodynamic helmet for both style and function, and several other gadgets like a biking watch, special shoes, and sunglasses designed for the road.

With nothing on the calendar and a whole day ahead of me, I decided to put on all my new gear this morning for a casual 30-mile ride. Thankfully, everything fit great and exactly as advertised. In fact, one thing in particular felt better than expected.

I should note that since seeing Caroline, for better or worse, I’ve been paying much more attention to my hair. I mean, it’s hard not to, considering how soft and smooth she made it just from some oil and minimal brushing. But much like getting your car washed, you do everything you can for the next few days to keep it from getting dirty again. Or at least not right away.

Helmet hair became an obvious concern, so instead of my usual practice with a hat or helmet – bunching it up and shoving it under – I googled what would be the best way for long hair to fit under the biking helmet. Turns out that for this particular helmet style, something called a ‘French braid’ made the most sense.

And so I spent a half-hour on YouTube learning how to braid my own hair. A task I’d never thought was necessary or even possible turned out to be quite simple after some practice. Hell, it even looked kind of good. I was this close to taking a mirror selfie and sending it to Caroline, but got nervous and reconsidered.

With my helmet snug and secure and my confidence sky-high, I took off for Nevada roadways.

========

I understand that the majority of people come to Las Vegas for the shows, hotels, and casinos – they’re an obvious draw. But take one bike ride around and you’ll learn that the views come in a close second.

The Midwest and the East Coast have their own charm, but there’s something about the vast, arid desert that is uniquely beautiful. Gigantic cacti on the side of the road and mountainous vistas in the distance reinforce the region’s sheer scale, and remind you how open and free we can feel if only we go out and explore.

Hitting the five-mile mark, then ten miles, then fifteen, I felt freer and freer, happier and happier exploring my new home and soaking in the local nature. It was a beautiful, affirming experience and an early sign I might just be in the right place.
I had a solid hour of zen until, eventually, my mojo was interrupted. Someone was calling me, and my earbuds promptly announced ‘Incoming call from Caroline Schwartz’.

I clicked a button on my watch to answer. “Hey Caroline,” I said between steady, even breaths. “What’s up?”

“Oh,“ she cut herself off. “You sound busy...”

I was busy, yes. And I had no idea what she wanted, but getting a call from a friend – especially when I have no others out here – gave me a little jolt of excitement.

“Just finishing up a workout,” I said noncommittally. “Everything okay?”

“Well… I just got into work and found a note from Molly. She wants a bunch of shit redone on her wigs and… well, I was wondering…”

I smirked. “You need my head?”

“Please!” she exclaimed. “Any chance you can be here in an hour?”

“Hmm…” Knowing I’d traveled around 15 miles in one hour, it’d take at least that long for me to get home. “Sorry. Think I’m too far out. I won’t be back in–”

“Wait, but are you near The Goulet?”

I thought about it for a moment, performing my best mental navigation. “Actually… yeah. I kinda am.”

“Ooh! Then can you come straight here?” Caroline pleaded over the phone. “Bailey you’d literally be saving my life. Not to mention my job. I’d owe you BIG time.”

Cutting my bike ride short wasn’t ideal, but the chance to be there for a friend in need is, in a way, its own investment. And an investment I’d really love to see grow.

“I’ll be there,” I told her, braking and turning around. “See you in 20.”

========

Pulling up to a Vegas hotel on a bike felt odd, considering the town is pretty strictly a walk-or-drive kinda town. But an eager, frantic Caroline was already waiting outside.

“Hey! Where should I lock my–”

“Just bring it inside,” she said.

I looked at her unsure, not entirely believing it was kosher to bring a road bike into a hotel. But then I remembered how crappy the lobby looks already.

I shrugged. “Maybe tire tracks will be an improvement.”

She had little time for chit-chat as I followed her across the lobby, wheeling my bike through the hotel’s labyrinth-like hallways – left, right, right, and two lefts – eventually reaching the mini lobby outside the Goulet Theater.

“Leave it out here,” she directed, referring to my bike and gear.

Finally, after a quick jog down the stairwell and into the dressing room, Caroline let out a long, loud, anxious sigh.

Jesus… The poor girl was stressed as all hell, pacing the room as she gathered her tools and wigs. It’s hardly fair that while I get to enjoy the open air and weeks off work, she’s stuck in a windowless room making wigs for an impossible-to-please boss.

“Wait!” she stopped in her tracks. “Shit shit shit!” Caroline frantically dug through drawers searching for something. “Fuck!! I left them at the store!”

“Left what?”

Caroline gestured to what must be the wig du jour – a poofy, dark-haired piece, half of which was curled and the other half still straight with two ponytails sprouting from the side. Definitely unfinished.

“The bows. I gotta finish curling that wig and then tie like a hundred little bows in it. But I forgot them at the store…” she snatched her keys from the counter. “You mind waiting?”

“Uh, I guess so,” I remarked, removing my helmet. I guess I’ll be here a while.

I watched as Caroline did a double take on my hair.

“Did you…” she mumbled as a little smile crept onto her face. “You braided your own hair?”

I blushed and clutched the braid bashfully. “I mean… Yeah. For the helmet. It helps for riding.”

“Well it looks very cute,” she said, more like her usual self. It’s as if seeing my braided hair lifted her spirits just enough to keep going.

But that favor didn’t last long. Caroline took one step closer to me and her nose immediately scrunched. “Ooo… How about you, uh, wash up while I’m gone… Pee-yew!” she teased. “Sweaty boy!”

I blushed even harder this time. “Hey, you asked me to come…” However, I politely took a few steps back to reduce the scent. “Well, where is it?”

She gestured to the door. “Through there. It’s a mini-locker room. Molly hates it, but it’s all we’ve got.”

Caroline hurriedly led me into the room where, sure enough, lived something in-between a locker room and a master bathroom. It wasn't glamorous, but the fact the dressing room had its own private bathroom of a reasonable size felt like a plus.

She grabbed items from the rack and handed them to me. “Here’s a towel, a washcloth if you need it…”

I paused for a moment, realizing something. “And… for shampoo?”

Caroline peered into the shower, focusing on the caddy. “Just use Molly’s. I know she’s not here today. She gets in from New York tonight.”

Again I hesitated. Not only was she telling me to use her boss’s shampoo, but shampoo that's objectively for women. Not to mention the body and face wash, waiting for me in their own bright pink bottles.

“I guess so…”

“And hey,” Caroline continued. “Might as well use some conditioner while you’re at it. Keep that hair nice and pretty, right?”

My voice wavered. “Heh, you got it!”

“Ah! You’re the best, Bailey. Back soon!”

And just like that Caroline was gone. I’d officially been left alone in a pop star’s dressing room, instructed to make myself clean with her girly-scented shampoos, all so I could help out with a wig-styling. Not exactly the manly workout day I had in mind.

Nevertheless, I stripped out of my cycling gear, now soaking wet from exercising in the hot desert sun all day, and hung them up to dry. As I set them aside, I got a whiff of my own stink – a taste of what made Caroline insist I shower and change. For the best, I might add.

But then it hit me. My cycling clothes. They’re wet, gross, and definitely unwearable. They’re also the only clothes I have. Either I put those back on, or…

My eyes peered around the dressing room.

…I wear something of Molly’s.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Sadly, that's the final chapter I can share per the Amazon restrictions. Thank you as always for giving my work a shot! Plenty more is in the works :)

With love,
Jennifer

AMAZON LINK:https://www.amazon.com/Youd-Make-Cute-Girl-Feminization-eboo...