Newsmen make news by Manny

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Brett's personal hair and make-up assistant gave his luxurious helmet hair one final blast of hair spray.

Brett smiled approvingly at his imagine in the reflection. As lead anchor, he was entitled to a private area in the studio. Three of the walls were mirrored from ceiling to floor. He sat in a throne-like chair amid reflections of himself in every direction, feeling very pleased with the way he looked.

"Excellent work with the hair today," Brett told his personal assistant, Simon, as carefully smoothed a few misplaced strands into place.

"It's getting a tad long in back, sir. Your collar is almost completely covered. I do think next week sometime you'll be due for a bit of a trim," Simon suggested.

"Perhaps. But a very slight trim, Simon. Longer hair looks good on me. What about my mustache? I think perhaps a few snips right now might be in order. How many of my fans specifically mentioned my sexy 'stache this week?" Brett asked.

Simon shuffled a bit nervously. "Not sure, sir."

In truth, Brett's fan mail had been getting less and less frequent. Simon had heard rumors from his pal who worked in the executive suite. Perhaps, more startling, was that some letters WHNT received about the news hour were downright snarky.

"Time for that goof ball to retire?" one viewer asked, referring to the lead anchor, Brett.

"Send him to a proper barber!" another suggested.

"He's no Tom Sellek. Scrape off the wannabe mustache...." a third view demanded.

Simon expertly trimmed off some of the massive bulk that covered Brett's upper lip. The snippets floated down to the cape that shielded Brett's expensive jacket and tie.

'What a gloriously macho mustache!' Brett thought to himself as he gave himself one last look before strolling out of his personal area towards the set.

He came across two of his colleagues, Sidney the weatherman and Clarence the sportscaster, who were engrossed in hushed conversation. They were about ten years younger than Brett and quite junior with regard to the pecking order among the anchors. But they both gave him a run for his money in the looks and hair department.

Sidney had glossy chestnut colored hair with wonderful natural highlights of fiery auburn. His hair was quite thick and also long, styled in a bit of a shag with a massive forelock to flick about. Whenever he did, the studio lights would bounce off his locks in a dazzling display of sheen.

Clarence cultivated a magnificent mullet that showed off his well-groomed golden waves. With his off-center part, feathered sides and oversized mutton-chop sideburns, he exuded manliness. As a former pro-hockey star, the mullet was part of his persona.

The three men sometimes referred to themselves as the musketeers-on-set. Three hunks! They liked to think of themselves more than pretty faces, but the fact was that they simply read the scripts other people drafted. They were nothing more than pretty-boys on steroids, and very vain ones, at that.

"What's all the whispering about?" Brett demanded as he walked up to his colleagues.

"WHNT leadership is pissed. We keep slipping in the ratings. The new team at WHSV knocked us into third this week. There's talk about a shake-up at the news hour," Clarence said, his eyes darting around suspiciously to make sure no one else was listening.

"Did you see WHSV's new hunk sportscaster?" Sidney asked. "Straight off the battlefield, a real war hero, and still sporting a high 'n tight!"

"And those tight polo shirts showcasing every muscle...." Clarence drooled. "Why do we stick with stuffy jackets and ties? I want to wear a polo like WHSV has, with their logo."

"You two need to up your game! I've been voted best lead anchor for 14 years in a row!" Brett huffed. "Time to get out there on the set. Did you see that we're going to start with the weather tonight? Heat wave over the Memorial Day weekend. My, my. The editors make weather the news and then wonder why our ratings are sinking."

Sydney basked in the limelight as he went into great depths to describe the situation with the stagnant front and the impact of El Nino. Temps would be topping 105 degrees for five straight days.

"Take precautions. Stay hydrated. Seek out a cooling station if you should lose power..." Sidney advised as he strutted around in front of the complex weather map.

"Above all else, remember to stay cool. Here's what I'll be doing tomorrow morning to prepare for the heat...." Sidney ad-libbed. "Going to the barber shop! Yep, you'll see a new me on Monday. No more hot sticky hair on my neck. No more long hair period!" He flicked his mane one last time as he ended his segment.

Brett was taken aback by Sidney's revelation. He decided to twist the knife, a bit. "Well, uh, I hope people recognize you once you've been scalped, Sidney. I hear high 'n tights are becoming quite fashionable in the news world."

The on-air chatter continued. "When you see how handsome I look with a high 'n tight, Brett, you'll be begging your barber take a clippers to your thatch. Mark my word!"

Brett laughed the comment off as silly banter. Though he didn't reply directly, he reached up to ensure his helmet hair was firmly in place. He smiled a bit as his fingers lingered momentarily on the sprayed locks of styled hair.

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At the end of the news hour, Simon was waiting with a message. "All three of you men, upstairs. The boss wants to talk with you. NOW!"

"The ratings are shocking! We are at the bottom of the pack!" Mr. Lorenz snapped in a foul mood. "The editors want you to get out of the studio and do a little bit of live reporting to spice things up and make the newscast more dynamic."

"But I am an anchor," Brett huffed. "My place is in the studio. Those two can be out in the elements, covering the weather and sports games. I need my teleprompter!"

"Why not film me at the barber shop tomorrow morning," Sydney suggested. "All my long hair coming off. We can make a light-hearted story about the heat." He ran his fingers nervously through his mane. The softness and silken feel shaded his idea with a bit of nervous jitters.

"That was quite a surprise announcement," Mr. Lorenz said. "But, those are things we should discuss in advance. Once upon a time, you three had quite a fan base that was very attached to your hair."

"What do you mean, 'once upon a time'?" Brett demanded. "People still write in all the time and gush over my good looks, including my hair."

Mr. Lorenz casually picked up a few pieces of correspondence. "From today: 'Brett Walker needs to update his look! That hair looks like it came out of a lady's beauty shoppe!' And there are more examples...."

"Shorter hair is really coming into fashion," Clarence said. He grasped his mullet and fondled it a bit. "I'm going to have my hair cut short, as well. Brett can narrate a weather-based story -- what the heat is driving people to do -- while Sydney and I are getting shorn by some traditional barber. He can be standing between the barber chairs as our long hair starts falling. Imagine the capes and floor covered in cut hair."

"And both of us emerging from the chair with high 'n tights?! Too bad we can't get some tee-shirts printed up quickly: WHNT - wonderful high 'n tights! Get it?" Sydney asked.

"I like it!" Mr. Lorenz said. "The cameras zooming in on as the piles of cut hair grow at the barbers' feet. And, I want your hair cut short too, Brett. AND shave off that overbearing mustache! Ever since you've started coloring it, it's a bit ridiculous."

Brett was taken aback by the reference to him coloring his mustache. He thought no one noticed. Still, he stood his ground.

"No, sir! No high 'n tight for me! I will do the story with Sydney and Clarence getting haircuts, but no aggressive barber is taking a set of clippers to my hair or mustache! I have full control over my appearance. It's in my contract!" Brett stated firmly.

"Thanks for reminding me. Keep in mind that contract is coming up for renewal next month. You may very well find it changed. Or, perhaps, no contract at all.....? I'm a bit weary of your preening attitude. You will all three get short clipper haircuts tomorrow. And, that's final! The stud marine weatherman on WHSV has changed the look and dynamic of local TV! And clean-shaven faces too. Understood, Brett?!"

There was a finality in his tone as the three were seen out of the office.

Simon was almost giddy with excitement. "Oh, Brett, no mustache! I wonder how you'll look? And a clipper cut! What exactly will you tell the barber?"

Brett vacillated between anger and weepiness. "Mr. Lorenz is a bully! I'm not cutting my hair....at least, not as short as he wants it cut."

"But you will take a seat in the barber chair after Sydney and Clarence are shorn?" Simon inquired.

Somehow, the idea of watching his preening boss being stripped of his pride and joy excited Simon. The shorter the helmet was cut, the better! And a bare lip instead of that massive mustache....how fun it would be to watch such a transformation!

"I guess I don't have a choice," Brett fretted.

"Short hair might look good on you, sir. Dare I suggest, even a very short clipper cut?" Simon suggested.

"You think?" Brett asked, a bit consoled by his personal assistant's opinion. "How short?"

"You have a very manly face. Without all the hair, your square jaw and Roman nose would be more prominent, sir," Simon reasoned. He had worked with Brett long enough to know that praise and flattery were the best levers to get Brett's buy-in.

"But, my mustache. I love the thick pelt of hair, especially when it almost covers my whole upper lip," Brett pouted.

"Let's go to your studio and see how things might look with a more streamlined appearance. Perhaps, I can cut back your mustache quite a bit this evening, sir," Simon said dreaming of taking off the bulk, even scraping it off to a hint of stubble. "To make the transition to cleancut a little more gradual."

Brett fondled the lush, broom-like bristles. The thought of losing his sexy mustache pained him terribly. "No, Simon. I want to keep this as long as possible. After I tape the segment at the barber shop tomorrow with Clarence and Sydney getting high and tights, you can handle my makeover -- but done in private, not in front of the cameras. That would be so humiliating....all my fans watching my power coif and manly 'stache come off."

Simon's juices flowed freely. He was as hard as a bat. "Of course, sir. I will find a perfect place for your hair to be cut short and your mustache shaved off."

Simon immediately thought of the hole-in-the-wall barbershop where a sole muscular/stud barber wielded the clippers with aggressive authority. Andy, the barber, was Simon's pal from high school days. Brett would emerge SHORN! The whole helmet on the barbershop floor, in a million pieces! Simon couldn't wait to watch the divestiture.

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The next morning, Bob's Barber Shop looked like a Hollywood set with TV cameras clogging the shop and the handsome three musketeers adding to the glamor. Simon made sure the barbers were clad in matching tunics that coordinated with the white capes. The matching white enamel-based chairs trimmed in burgundy leather gave a very clean, bright, uniform look to the shop. The cameraman was busy taking some secondary shots, zooming in closely on iconic details: the large jars filled with soothing blue barbicide to sterilize the combs, the vintage chart of 'official haircuts' on the wall, the machine that produced warm foam, the embroidered names of the barbers on the chest pocket of their tunics, a pair of thinning shears, the row of menacing clippers that hung from the counter.... He zoomed in extra close on the teeth of the black plastic Model 10 Oster clippers which the barber said he would use on the hot-shot longhaired newsmen. Another close-up was the shot of a small thermometer on the outside, near the front door -- 104 degrees!

Everything was perfect to film the transformation of Sydney and Clarence from longhairs to marines.

Clarence was brushing his thick blond mullet, gulping nervously. He'd already regretted his impulse to join Sydney in getting a high 'n tight.

"Nervous?" Brett asked him.

"Kind of..." Clarence replied. "Check out the chart over there -- I'm going to be near bald when this is over."

Brett laughed nervously, but his mirth was short-lived. He would also be in the chair at some point, feeling the clippers plow up through his dense locks at the nape before the day was over.

He could, of course, refuse (per the terms of his current contract), but he sensed his position as lead anchor was shaky. No....his beautiful hair would also be shorn, along with his beloved mustache. Simon had told him about a small shop when the haircut could take place in private.....

Sydney rallied the crowd by climbing onto the footrest of one of the big barber thrones.

"Come on, let's take action -- extreme action! I'm ready to get all this hair off my face, once and for all!" he called out to everyone in the shop before taking a seat.

Clarence hustled to join him in the adjoining chair.

The cameras rolled as two huge white capes were cast and billowed through the air simultaneously, then pulled and fastened tight around the neck.

"It's a momentous morning at Bob's Barber Shop," Brett began. "The mercury has already broken a record for the Memorial Day holiday when it hit 100 degrees at 8:00 a.m. We're in for a prolonged, castigating heat wave. Any my colleagues are doing something about it. High 'n tight haircuts for both of them! Are the clippers ready?"

The two barbers raised them to show off their weapons, like honor guards on the parade ground.

"Any last thoughts, fellows?" Brett asked his caped colleagues.

"I can't wait to see all of this on the floor of the barbershop," Sydney exclaimed as he ran his fingers through his gorgeous silken chestnut-colored mane.

"And you, Clarence?" Brett asked.

He gulped nervously, "I hope I like it. My mullet....."

"It's history!" Brett exclaimed. "Off with their long locks!"

With that, the barbers fired up their Oster Model 10s. The whirling sound enveloped the shop as the newscasters had their heads forced down. Then the clippers hit the hair. Sheaves of long blond and chestnut hair began falling off in torrents. Small piles accumulated on the floor around the barbers' feet.

Simon watched from the sidelines in total excitement. Brett would be next! His vain, cocky boss shorn humiliatingly short!

He saddled up to Brett, "What are you thinking, sir?"

"Look at how much hair has already come off! I mean the floor is covered with it...." Brett said as he glanced in the mirror and looked at his own power coif nervously.

"The clippers are taking it off right at the scalp," Simon noted.

"All that white scalp! I don't want anything even close to that short," Brett said.

"I was studying the chart on the wall, sir. I thought perhaps the classic crewcut would be a good length for you," he suggested.

"Crewcut! Heavens no!!" Brett gasped.

"But Mr. Lorenz wants you to get a clipper cut, sir," Simon reminded him.

"Perhaps, then, the medium taper?" Brett remarked. He felt his plush locks that covered his collar in back. It would all be gone before the day's end.

"And risk upsetting the boss? I heard from my friend, who is Mr. Lorenz' personal assistant, that he's thinking about firing you," Simon said, working to conceal the glee in his tone. "I shouldn't have told you that, because I heard it in the strictest confidence. You simply cannot afford to alienate him one bit. I'm sorry to say it, but, your hair needs to be cut very short, sir. Clippers tight up the scalp...."

Brett shifted anxiously on his feet. He did not contradict Simon. Something told Brett that Simon was right. His career was on the chopping block (as well as his hair!).

The two continued to watch Sydney and Clarence's makeovers. The capes were totally covered in cut hair. Gleaming white scalp was everywhere. Sydney beamed, but Clarence looked queasy. Neither had any hair left longer than quarter inch on top.

Finally, the barbers entered the final phase -- taking the top down. Shorter, and shorter and shorter! The clippers grazed the top of their heads simultaneously, and then the barbers went to town clearing off most of the sparse hair that remained.

The barbers finished simultaneously! H 'n Ts!!

Brett stepped back into the picture with the cameras trained on him. "And, now, fellows. The big moment. The big reveal! Get used to the new you!"

The chairs swiveled around to face the mirror simultaneously. Both were speechless.

"No more long hair to make the heat wave seem even more oppressive than it is," Brett said.

The barber withdrew the hair-ladden capes and the two shorn men finally got a chance to feel their new length.

Then, as they had pre-planned, the two grabbed Brett.

"Now, it's your turn!" they exclaimed as they playfully manhandled him towards one of the chairs.

"No, fellows, not here," Brett begged.

Sydney grabbed his power-helmet. "Let's chop all of this fluffy hair off!"

"And scrape off that huge mustache too!" chimed in Clarence.

Simon saved his boss from further humiliation and hustled him out of Bob's Barber Shop.

"Leave him be, guys! Follow me, sir," Simon ordered.

Brett meekly complied, grateful that his assistant had saved him. Brett trailed Simon, block after block after block.

Finally, they came to a small corner gas station.

"It's right behind there, sir. The Hole-in-the-Wall Barber Shop. Only one barber, and he knows how to wield the clippers!" Simon said cheerfully.

"But no high 'n tight! Am I clear, Simon?" Brett said firmly.

"Tell that to the barber, not me, sir," Simon replied, sniggering to himself. "Go on, step inside. Tell the barber right from the get-go that you're there for a major change. No more helmet hair and no more ostentatious mustache."

Simon almost thrust Brett in through the door.

The shop was a true hole in the wall. Cramped and darkish and hot. There was no A/C -- just a slow-turning ceiling fan. One barber chair. No mirror! A huge collection of clippers....and mounds of cut hair all over the floor! It's as if the barber never swept up.

Andy, the barber, was a burly hunk of man -- muscular and authoritative. He enjoyed nothing more than handling pretty boys in the chair.

"Uh, I'm here for a haircut," Brett said hesitatingly.

Andy grunted and pointed at the chair.

Simon took a seat in the small waiting area.

Andy grabbed a camo-patterned cape and drew it very tight around Brett's neck.

Between the heat in the shop, the tightness of the cape and his nerves, Brett felt feverish.

"Oh, and I want you to shave off my mustache too," Brett forced himself to say.

Andy snatched an edger. "We'll start there."

Then, as if he were in bootcamp, he grabbed Brett by the hair on the back of his head and yanked it so that he faced up towards ceiling.

Brett was immobilized by fear and by the barber's stern hand.

The shrill piercing shriek of the edger was heightened as the small vibrating teeth hit the luxuriant mustache.

"Oh," gasped Brett involuntarily. He felt his groin stir.

"No more Mr. Tom Sellek look for you," Andy laughed as he removed the machoesque facial hair.

Brett was glad there was no mirror. He felt sick, yet, curiously, semi-excited.

The removal of the mustache took less than a minute.

"Now all the hair?" Andy asked rhetorically.

"No, a taper cut. Short, but not too short," Brett said.

Andy reached for the balding clippers.

"I say, you need a high 'n tight, pretty boy!" the barber bellowed boisterously.

"Oh, no, not that short," Brett pleaded. "Simon, please tell the barber...."

Simon stood and came over to his boss. He reached, and for the first time, thrust his fingers into the mane -- not in a timid, admiring way he normally did -- but in a forceful, controlling way.

"The helmet needs to be stripped, for sure. But, I want him sporting a very short, very sharp flattop. Shaved sides and back. Landing strip on top and beveled edges. Understood?" Simon instructed the barber.

"Military length! Understood!" Andy said, winking at his little friend when Brett couldn't see.

The first drive of the clippers up through the nape set the tone for short, VERY SHORT! Then he moved to the side. Cut hair began to quickly pile on Brett's shoulder and then slide down the cape into his lap.

Brett's stirring groin quickly grew into a full-sized erection. Clumps of his dark hair began to collect in his lap, festooning the tent-like structure that had formed.

"Look at how much hair is already down here," Andy laughed as he reached his hand into the hair and gave Brett's woody a big squeeze. "Wow, all that hair spray makes it seem so hard!"

Brett was crimson with shame. But, curiously, he enjoyed the humiliation at Andy's hand.

The clipping continued on. More hair fell.

Brett began to relax....he even started feeling a bit cooler.

"So, pretty boy here is your boss, Simon?" Andy asked.

"For the time being," Simon said. "All the talk is that he'll be fired shortly. This flattop and baby smooth lip is his hail Mary pass to mollify our big boss."

"If the decision were up to you, would you give him the axe?" Andy asked.

"Without a doubt. He's a total relic. Thinks he's god when he's behind that desk reading out the script that people prepare for him," Simon said candidly.

Brett whimpered. "You've always told me I'm the best boss you've ever had."

"The only one too. I'm just tired of sucking up, Brett. Maybe the flattop will change your attitude. I hope so...."

Andy began taking the top down carefully. Over and over and over the clippers went....each time taking the pile down shorter.

He grazed the top of Brett's head and the caped anchor jumped in his chair.

"You liked that!" Andy laughed.

Then he reached into Brett's lap and gave his woody another tight squeeze. "And you like this too!"

Andy stimulated Brett for quite a while this time.

Brett smiled shyly, gratefully. The barber's stimulation relaxed him. Of course, it was so embarrassing to happen in front of Simon....but Simon now seemed almost like his boss rather than his subordinate.

"I want you in my chair every week. Understood?" Andy asked curtly as he returning his attention to the haircut and started lathering up the sides/back of Brett's head.

He was quite careful as he scraped the scalp smooth, followed by the lip.

A sting of witch hazel put a definite, stinging end to Brett's transformation.

"Look at all that hair!" the barber laughed as he sent the clipping from the cape to the floor.

"Can I see how I look?" Brett asked.

"If you give my friend Simon a hefty raise you can see," Andy said, handing Brett a small hand mirror.

"UGH!" Brett gasped. Then he fingered his naked lip.

"I miss my mustache," he pouted. "But....the flattop, well, it came out pretty nice. Next week, back in your chair to get touched up, Andy?"

Andy's firm hand swatted Brett on the rear end. "Be here! Understood?!"

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