Randy Embraces His MPB by Manny

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As a young man, I had a secret crush on Randy, the consummate 'Mr. Cool' -- good looking, funny, wealthy, smart.

In high school, he was quite the ladies' man, but not in the John Wayne manly/macho sort of way. He had flair and was meticulous about his grooming. Most of his clothes were tailor-made and fit to a tee to show off his trim physique. Yellow was his favorite color. He was often seen speeding about town in a yellow convertible Corvette wearing a sporty blazer in bright canary. It was the only time his shock of lustrous blond hair wasn't perfectly styled with every strand in place. He was quite the picture as he sped by, his golden locks shimmering in the sun.

Randy and I had grown up together. Our fathers were business partners and our families belonged to the same country club. We weren't nearly as wealthy, and I wasn't nearly as handsome as Randy. But I was smarter and more athletic! I was probably his closest friend, but that's all it was -- friendship.

One summer his father decided to teach us both to golf. Unfortunately, his father used me to goad and humiliate Randy. "Too bad you aren't catching on as easily as Will. He's got perfect posture -- no wonder his swing is so much better than yours, Randy. If you wear a visor, you'll keep the sun out of your eyes. Or are you too worried about mussing up your pretty tresses, son? Will should take you to his barber shop someday -- a close crop would do for you!"

Randy's hair was never extremely long growing up. It had always been trimmed neatly off the collar and ears, but the top was thick and shiny and very full. His forelock was like a crown jewel that add a lot of panache to his look. I used to tease him about being the 'Breck Boy!'

In college, he'd grown it longer -- to the base of his collar and over his ears, but it was still very groomed. No stringy long hair for Randy! In fact, it oozed with a salon look, enhanced by wonderful natural highlights.

Once we were past college, we went in separate directions. The only news I had about Randy was via the social column or business page in the local paper.

So, it was a complete surprise when one evening I got a call from Randy out of the blue. There was some mundane chit-chat, asking about my parents and what I was doing....slowly the purpose of his call came out.

"Since my father passed, I've been thinking a lot about him and our relationship growing up. You know things were never easy in that relationship. I was just wondering if you and I might have drinks or dinner this week. I'd like to ask about your perspective on our father-son dynamic. We could meet at the club. Remember that summer he taught us to golf? You were his golden boy...." Randy murmured.

We settled on dinner two days later. I hadn't seen Randy in at least six years, right after graduation from college. We were now just past the big 3-0 milestone.

I caught a glimpse of the golden mane from behind as I approached the table in the club restaurant. His golden hair was as lustrous and immaculately groomed as ever. But when I came around to greet Randy and shake his hand, I was extremely startled. How he had aged! Most dramatic was the receding hairline! While the golden hair covered the back nicely, the top and front left a very obvious egg-shaped head exposed. Not surprisingly, he had sprouted a massive mustache to compensate.

"Will!" he exclaimed, "You look the same! Trim and athletic still, I see."

There was no way I should've repaid the compliment, but I did, "You do too, Randy!"

He smiled weakly, and the crow's feet around his eyes intensified.

"That's quite a flashy mustache," I said, trying to sound upbeat.

"And you've still got that same close crop my father used to admire," Randy noted. "Using the same barber?"

"Yep. And still asking for an ivy league. Makes up for me not going to Harvard the way you did, Randy!" I laughed.

"Lot of good the 'legacy admission' slot did me. I got the degree, inherited the family firm, and promptly made a mess of everything. Bills started piling up and my hair started falling out....the more money the company lost, the more hair I lost! I just don't have my father's ability," Randy said with a sad tone of resignation.

Poor guy! He seemed a mess. And his hair! Falling out like that...

"I'm in therapy now....counseling," Randy explained.

"Still single?" I asked.

"Despite all sorts of pressure, yes. Their dream of a society wedding with some wealthy debutant at the club never materialized. My parents were always worried about an heir to carry on the family enterprise. But, I'm running it into the ground, so there will be nothing to pass on. The only heir I'm worried about is up here," Randy said, trying to strategically arrange his thinning locks to cover his MPB.

"I wouldn't worry about something so trivial as hair," I said, unable to keep my eyes off the shiny dome that was barely camouflaged.

"The only thing I'm good at is losing hair and gaining weight; I started drinking hard and am quickly adding to an expanding beer belly!" Randy said, piling onto his own unhappy circumstances. He stood up to show me what he was talking about. No more 'trim' figure, that was for sure!

I felt so sorry for him. He seemed so vulnerable and desperate for something to grab ahold of.

"No only likes aging. Me included. But you are still handsome, Randy," I said staring straight at him. "Funny and smart too. You've got to stop beating up on yourself. I'm glad you called me. I want to help in whatever way I can."

Tears welled up in Randy's eyes. "You still think I'm handsome?! Sure, I used to be. But, look at me. I feel ugly and like a total failure. The reason I called you is that I need a friend. Someone who knew the carefree me. I never appreciated what a charmed life I had in high school. Do you believe I can still pull my act together and be a success in life?"

He reached his hand out to me, took mine and held it. I loved his tender grasp. He wanted me and needed me!

"Of course you can," I replied softly.

"I'm looking for someone to turn the day-to-day operations of the business over to, a CEO. I'd stay on as Chairman of the Board. But, it would have to be someone I trusted completely. Someone like you, Will," Randy said, imploring with his eyes.

I was taken aback! I was a new executive vice-president in a national corporation. Perhaps he had seen the blurb about my promotion in the local paper's business page. Randy was offering me a big job...which might also come with the intimate relationship I'd secretly desired as a teen.

"Let's go for a ride in your convertible," I suggested. "Maybe we can talk in a more private area."

"I still have the Corvette but don't drive it any more with the top down. This thinning hair....!" Randy stammered.

"You have a serious case of MPB. Just accept it. Stop trying to hide it. Put an to end the careful arranging of hair, the combover," I blurted out.

My comment hit him like a punch to the stomach. "I couldn't...I'm too proud," he stammered.

"Accept yourself for who you are, Randy!" I admonished.

"An aging man with thinning hair and an expanding waist?" he asked caustically.

He paused, then pressed his point, "Will you be my new CEO, Will?"

"Yes, I'm open to the idea. But, I need to think about it and know the exact terms," I replied. "Furthermore, if I accept, it's going to come with some specific conditions. You're going to have to become more honest about yourself and stop hiding things."

"Like?" Randy demanded.

"Like, if you're not the marrying, family type, for God's sake, tell your mother. Be who you are!" I urged.

"You knew!" he stammered.

"I just wish you had been able to admit it to yourself in high school," I replied. "I had a crush on you, Randy!"

"What else needs to change?" Randy asked as he squeezed my hand gently, lovingly.

I eyed his thinning hair and smiled. "Let me take you to my barber. Embrace your MPB. Flaunt it!! I want to see you with just a nice, tidy wrap-around fringe."

"You mean, cut off the length of the precious little that's left? My hair gave me a lot of confidence as a young man," Randy argued.

"Those days are over. Accept the change! And I'm going to have the barber take off that mustache too! It's like you are trying to compensate for your hair loss. I want to see YOU....not some elaborate, oversized mustache with sculpted handle bars!" I said firmly.

"Perhaps I should shave my whole head?" Randy suggested.

"NO! Definitely not! That would be another distraction, a disguise. I want you to accept yourself as you are," I insisted.

"And, if I embrace the MPB, you'll take the job I'm offering you?" he asked.

"When my barber removes the cape from you and the remnants of your glossy locks are on the shop floor," I will give you my answer," I stated flatly.

Randy reached up and pulled all this hair straight back, unveiling the smooth, hairless dome. "Honestly, tell me that you will still think I'm handsome when this is fully exposed."

"Believe it or not, I find MPB hyper sexy! A young man with a remnant of beautiful blond hair in the wrap-around fringe and a glorious smooth dome arising from it. So manly! I won't be able to keep my hands off you and your shiny top. We're not wasting another minute. Come! I'm driving you to the barber. Now!" I commanded.

Randy followed me out of the club, submissively. He was silent in the car as we drove away from the club. His hand kept feeling the hair in back, nervously. Occasionally, he would touch his handlebar mustache.

We pulled up in front of the shop. He followed me in, still silent.

"Who's first?" the barber asked, perking up from his newspaper.

"I am," said Randy.

He took a seat, confidently, glancing back at me to see a proud, approving look.

The barber pulled on the cape and fastened it.

"So, what can I do for you today?" the barber asked.

"I'm ready to give up the fight with the thinning hair. Take this off to a short length around the sides. Expose the top. I'm going to embrace the MPB look," Randy said without any wavering in his voice.

I beamed from the waiting area.

"Oh, and this mustache. Take it off!" he ordered.

"Let's start with the 'stache," the barber chirped, reaching for a small set of clippers. "It's quite an elaborate creation you've got going here. Men always do this, try to make up for hair loss on top by sprouting facial hair."

The barber snapped on the edger which wailed in a high, piercing hum.

"Sure about this?" he asked, just to give Randy one last chance to weasel out.

"All off!" the caped client ordered.

The barber had a bit of fun, first clipping off the handles. Randy's stomach churned a bit. His transformation was beginning. Then, he watched the barber clip off the left side, followed by the right. His stripped upper lip looked naked.

Randy looked down at the cape -- his dismembered mustache rested in his lap.

"Now for this hair," the barber announced, plunging his fingers into the thick locks around Randy's nape. Do you want it tapered tight or left fuller in back, to allow some of the luster shine? It's a shame you started losing your hair at such a young age."

"Will, what do you think?" Randy asked.

I jumped to my feet and took charge. "A medium length. Perhaps what a middle-aged businessman might request. Not too short, but quite tidy. Something appropriate for the office. Make sure to clear away all this that's been draped over the top. A no fuss haircut is what Randy needs."

The barber combed all Randy's hair, back and straight down. Suddenly, he gained about 10 years in his appearance as the dome was put on display.

"I'd say he's between a 5 and a 6 on the Norwood scale for MPB," the barber noted.

The barber quickly scissored off some of the superfluous length.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP. Vestiges of the glorious mane fell to the cape.

Randy looked up at me, feeling very vulnerable. I winked at him to show support.

Then the barber was ready to begin tapering the remaining wrap-around fringe with the clippers. "How about a #4 guard?" he asked me.

"Perfect. We want a bit of length on the sides since the top is bare now. I'm thinking he should be at a full 6 on the Norwood scale by the end of the year," I noted.

"He'll probably progress quickly to the number 7," the barber added. "I sometimes feel sorry when the fringe around the sides and back is reduced to only an inch or two in height. The dome dominates like a big silo jutting out of the flat farmland."

"Randy will be much better off projecting a solid, middle aged business executive than an aging playboy trying to hold on to his fleeting carefree youthful image," I replied flatly.

"Revealing his MPB to the world is a perfect way for that to happen," the barber said.

The way the the barber and I were talking about him, as if he didn't exist, made Randy feel uneasy. Plus, the idea that his MPB could still get a lot worse made his stomach churn.

"How are you liking you new look, Randy?" the barber asked.

Randy blushed at the question. He could not muster up a response. The fact of the matter was that he could hardly recognize himself or relate to the middle-aged man in the mirror.

"Everything's been snipped down to under an inch in length. This is a tidy, no fuss look," the barber announced, combing the short wrap-around fringe, concluding the main part of the haircut.

All that remained was the tidying up with straight edge and lather.

"How about a pair of arches?" I suggested.

More of the little hair that remained was scraped away.

"Such a creamy, shiny dome on top!" I exclaimed, feeling aroused by the sight. "It's perfect! Now we can take a ride in your convertible with no fear of mussing up that elaborate combover you had going, Randy!"

I came up close and fingered the bare dome. "Yes, I like this very much. You had such great hair in high school, but now this dome steals the show!"

"I'm thinking a bit shorter might actually be better. How about I take him down to a #3 on the back and sides," the barber suggested.

"You are the professional. Do it!" I ordered. It felt so great to be in control of Randy's look.

The buzzing resumed. Torrents of snippets fluttered to the cape, adding to the shimmering layer that rested in his lap.

"I think it's time we introduce Randy and his new dome to society," I cracked as the barber set down his tools.

The cape came off.

Randy felt woozy as he stepped down from the barber chair foot rest.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. The youthful ladies' man was a thing of the past. He gingerly felt his shorn hair. Then his hand moved up to the dome. So soft and silken in feel!

As they left the barber shop, Randy asked me, "So, will you be my CEO?"

I slipped my hand into Randy's. "Yes, just as soon as we drop your mother's and let her know there will be no big white wedding. I was thinking about us in matching tuxedos in the club's reception room."

Randy squeezed my hand affectionately. "If this is what I think....the answer is an emphatic, 'yes, I will'!"

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