Mr. Helm’s Promotion by Manny

---

This is a sequel to "Like Father, Like Son"
---


From my perch in the back seat, I could not keep my eyes off Mr. Helm’s unexpected crewcut. Visions of this thick, silken locks falling to the barber’s feet in the wake of aggressive clipper action crowded my mind. He looked so different shorn.

As he drove, it was obvious Mr. Helm was also trying to get used to the new, cropped length. His hand periodically explored the clipped pelt - especially at the nape.

We rode in silence as Mrs. Helm was giving her husband the silent treatment. She was a fan of longer hair on men and had been a fan of his dreamy executive coif with the exquisite pomp that swept back in elegant perfection. Now, he looked like some ordinary Joe - an assistant in a hardware shop or a man who sprayed chemical treatments on lawns - she thought.

As he dropped me at home and was handing my bag from the trunk, Mr. Helm joked he should tell my parents about me smoking his pipe. I grinned remembering how he had taught me on our last evening.

"Thanks for coming along with us, Kyle," Mr. Helm said as he handed me the bag. He flashed a big toothy smile.

"And, don’t be a stranger," he added, tussling my curtained hair style.

I liked Mr. Helm, and the whole Helm family. I wished I were part of them….

To my own parents, I was fairly invisible. They were so caught up with their own activities, jobs and friends. I think they were rather relieved when the Helms invited me to go camping with them over the Easter Break. Being an only child, I was often alone in the house.

The next day at school, the news of Blake Helm’s induction cut spread like wild fire. He had shed twice as much hair in the barber shop as his father the evening before. If Blake had wanted to attract attention by shaving off his sexy shoulder-length hair, he more than succeeded.

"Well?" I asked him as we left school together. "Apart from shock, what was the reaction? Were people positive or negative about your new look?"

Blake smiled mischievously. "Oh, there was never any doubt about that. Largely negative! I was subjected to all sorts of taunts - jarhead, cueball, bowling ball head, chromedome, baldy-boy. And people couldn’t keep their hands off the stubble up here. Velcro-head, that’s another new nickname for me! Here, feel it for yourself!"

My hand eagerly brushed over what seemed like rough sandpaper. No more long, silken hair - that was obvious to the eye and hand!

Blake looked at my tired curtains â€" huge, wedge-shaped appendages that framed my ordinary face. He tussled my hair just like his father had done the night before.

"The barber’s clippers could take care of these monstrous things in a few seconds," he joked.

I swallowed hard. Ever since I watched Blake and his father undergo major transformations at the barber shop, I fantasized about myself under the cape getting a very streamlined haircut. To feel the clippers mowing everything off…in a few seconds irrevocably transformed…emerging from the barber’s chair looking and feeling like a different person.

"Come home with me," Blake said. "We can shoot some baskets or play pool. I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind you staying for dinner. My parents really like you. After you got dropped off last night, they went on and on about ‘dear Kyle’ being such a ‘sweet kid’ and ‘good boy’. It finally put an end to my mother’s pouting and the silent treatment she was giving us over the haircuts."

"So, no regrets?" I asked Blake. "I mean, you HAD such amazing hair. I can still picture it in huge mounds on the floor of the barber shop."

"I won’t say ‘no’ regrets. But, in general, regrets aren’t for me. What was done was done. Change is fun! So, I’m enjoying this new baldy phase, for now," Blake said with a twinkle in his eye.

Then he leaned over and whispered, "Just like you enjoyed something big and hard poking you when we were skinny dipping at the camp ground."

I blushed and grinned. Teen experimentation…

"You sure your parents won’t mind if I come over?" I asked.

---

We were just getting ready to sit down for dinner when Mr. Helm arrived home from work with a big announcement.

"I got a promotion today!!" he exclaimed as he burst through the front door. He was carrying a large bouquet of roses for his wife. "This are for you, Sweetie!"

We heard all about it at the dinner table. "I’ll be overseeing the whole warehousing operation. Offsite, away from headquarters â€" at our principal warehouse in Fairleigh! That means a short commute, no paid parking downtown, and savings on clothes and grooming…."

"What?! But, you’ve always been in marketing," Mrs. Helm stammered. "You’ll be working AT the warehouse?"

"Yep, not stocking shelves, mind you. Overseeing the entire operations, our national network of warehouses. It involves fairly complicated logistics and personnel matters, chain of command challenges, in short, a lot of responsibility. A nice bump in salary and no more business suits or executive coifs," Mr. Helm said as he stroked his tidy crewcut.

"It’s a good thing I’m getting used to that new look of yours," Mrs. Helm said, a bit grudgingly.

She instinctively knew her husband would not be going back to the old look she had loved so much. But more money….now that was a change she welcomed!

"Just wait till you see me in my new warehouse jumpsuit. I’m going to have an embroidered name-patch stitched onto the chest pocket. ‘Will’ written in fancy script! I’ll be right in the milieu with the warehouse workers….and looking quite like one of them," Mr. Helm chattered excitedly. "That’s a choice, by the way. And, I want it like that! I want to reduce the hierarchical distance between me and the worker bees. Of course, I’ll miss my fancy exec office at headquarters. Those leather chesterfield couches are so comfortable for a mid-afternoon power nap. But, when I was offered the promotion, I insisted on working from the main warehouse."

"Well, I won’t miss you chasing those tart secretaries in their mini-skirts around the office," Mrs. Helm quipped.

"It was more the other way around, Sweetie. Them chasing me!" Mr. Helm laughed.

"It was a wonder you could concentrate on work with all that leggy flesh exposed!" Mrs. Helm teased. "Yes, the warehouse environment will be better for you. Lots of beefy men driving around on forklifts, I suppose."

Mr. Helm turned his attention to his son, "How did your induction cut go over at school, Blake?"

"Just like I expected. Lots of ribbing and jokes about getting run over by a lawn mower or joining the marines," Blake replied. "But having almost no hair is so easy. After P.E. class, there no sweaty mop to deal with."

Suddenly, inspired to contribute to the conversation, I said, "You’ve got me regretting I didn’t get caped up last night."

"What about you, Derek?" his father asked his other son.

"No way hair clippers are getting near my curls!" the younger brother said as he shook his mop of soft loopy locks defiantly. He worked on fluffing out his ‘fro to its full glory.

"Well, at least there’s one sane male in the house," his mother commented.

Mr. Helm’s eye locked on me. "Say I run you over to the barber shop after school tomorrow, Kyle. I wouldn’t mind going shorter myself. Lots of men at the warehouse sport butch cuts. And, those curls, Derek! They are out of control. You need a haircut, and you ARE getting one tomorrow. That’s final!"

Oh, my! Mr. Helm was on a roll. He seemed to be making plans that would have us all caped and shorn! There was an energy about him and his face positively glowed when talking about the barber shop.

"I’d like that very much, Mr. Helm," I said, feeling my groin stirring with excitement about the impending haircut.

"Good! Haircuts tomorrow," he announced. "You boys be in front of the school at 4: 30 p.m. I’ll swing by and pick you up."

Derek knew better than to protest. When his father had decided something, that was it. His curls were as good as strewn about the barber shop floor. The only doubt was about how much would remain on top.

When the car pulled up, right on time, Mr. Helm’s beaming face had that same excited glow to it.

"Get in, boys! Kyle, you up front here with me," Mr. Helm said. Derek slunk into the back seat, happy to not be the focus of his father’s attention.

I pulled the visor down and looked at my curtain hairstyle. "This looks awful. Can’t wait for the clippers," I murmured, pushing the wedges of hair back, away from my face.

"What about you back there, Raggedy Andy? Click, buzzzzzzzzzzzzz," Mr. Helm teased. He simulated a set of clippers with his fingers.

"Please, no baldy cut. It’s fine if that’s what you want for yourself," Derek pouted.

"Well, I am going shorter today. So many men at the warehouse are clipped down to the wood," Mr. Helm affirmed, brushing his short crewcut with his hand. "I’ve always wondered what that would be like. A butch haircut! You know, I just loved the way the clippers felt going straight down the top of my head!"

"So, you’re not missing your pomp?" I asked.

"Change is a good thing. I guess when I go to run my fingers through my hair - it’s a habit I have - and I feel a short pelt instead of soft wavy locks, it’s a bit jarring. That said, rubbing the bristles back here gives a different sort of pleasure," he said, demonstrating at his nape.

"And in a few minutes you’ll have the pleasure of stubble all over," I noted, anxious to see Mr. Helm once again under that vast white cape that reached almost to the floor, his head bowing submissively to the clippers.

"Do you think I ought to go for a zero butch?" Mr. Helm asked excitedly. "Down to the scalp! It would be rather drastic. Or a #1 like Blake’s?"

"NO!" snapped Derek from the back seat. "That would look odd. All the kids were mocking Blake’s haircut behind his back at school."

"It means he has character. Looking the way he wants without bending to peer pressure. I admire that," Mr. Helm said. "I probably won’t have the guts to go as short as Blake with a full induction. A #2 butch - that sounds right. What about you, Kyle?"

"I can’t decide," I murmured.

"Should I instruct the barber, for both you and Derek?" Mr. Helm proposed.

I absolutely loved the idea of Mr. Helm assuming the father-role. Driving me to the shop, telling the barber how short my hair should be cut… And, the length of my hair would be totally at the mercy of a man eager to see the clippers mowing everything off, down to the scalp.

"I would really appreciate that, sir," I replied, grinning from ear to ear.

Mr. Helm leaned over and tussled the curtains. "Well, don’t expect these hanging limply about on the return trip!"

The trio entered the shop to find it empty. The barber was reading a newspaper, sitting comfy in one of the big thrones. He quickly got up and greeted Mr. Helm.

"We didn’t have time yesterday evening for these two," Mr. Helm said, pointing at me and Derek.

"Ah, yes," the barber said, smiling broadly with his attention riveted to Derek’s huge collection of loopy locks.

"But, this fellow other fellow here is the more eager of the pair to get a proper haircut," Mr. Helm said, patting my shoulder affectionately.

"Have a seat over there, young man," the barber instructed me.

I felt a spring in my step as I moved to the chair. My destination was nothing like the low-slung modern boxy seat at the salon my mother sent me to. I sat perched high with a commanding view of all the barbershop accoutrements - the jars of blue barbicide, the line of clippers poised to shear, the straight-edge razors, a lather machine, whisk brooms and dusters, tubes of gel and pomade, thinning shears….you name it. So many tools at the barber’s disposal!

As the barber shrouded me in a voluminous white cape, I saw Mr. Helm studying a chart labeled ‘Official Haircuts’ with old-timey illustrations.

"So, what’ll it be?" the barber asked me, as he cast a disapproving look on my curtains.

I stammered, waiting for Mr. Helm to instruct him.

"He wants something that’ll make him stand out at school and have the other fellows take notice of him. Something manly," Mr. Helm said with a twinkle in his eye.

After a dramatic pause, Mr. Helm blurted out, "Give him a spiffy flattop!"

I grabbed the arms of the chair and braced myself. OMG! It was a secret fantasy of mine….to sport a flattop.

"With some length on top, or a landing strip?" the barber asked, not hiding his approval of Mr. Helm’s choice.

"Leave some length, and then we can take it down if there’s a consensus on going shorter," Mr. Helm said.

The clippers sprang to life, and the barber wasted no time in snagging one of my bulky curtains with a comb, lifting it away from the forehead. He wasted no time in taking it off near the hairline.

The severed curtain fell to the cape with an almost audible thud. I felt exhilarated.

Then the other curtain fell.

"No turning back now," Mr. Helm gloated.

The barber was very authoritative with his shearing machine. He began clipping my hair down into a very close aggressive taper. The amount of cut hair falling to the cape was amazing. He pushed my head forward and tackled the back. The pressure was palpable, and I envisioned him mowing everything down to an extremely short and tidy length.

"Like how that feels, son?" Mr. Helm asked.

Had he just addressed me as son?!?!

"Love it," I answered back….and then tacked on in a very low, audible to only me, "Dad."

As the clipper action continued, the cape accumulated clumps of cut hair. Increasingly the white gave way to my mousy brown color. I wouldn’t miss that hair one bit….

When the barber shifted gears to start taking my top down, his concentration intensified.

I was giddy with excitement. A new flattop, thanks to a new ‘dad’!

"Sure you don’t want a landing strip?" the barber asked.

I imagined that having the clippers graze the top of my head would feel heavenly.

The barber did not wait for a reply.

"Well, we’ll do what your father instructed. A deep pile and then decide whether to take it down. My feeling is that if one is going flat, do it up right, with a landing strip and all," the barber opined.

"So, what do you say, Kyle? I think the barber is right," Mr. Helm said.

Then, Mr. Helm stood and walked over to where I was getting my haircut. At this point, the flattop was plush and boxy.

Mr. Helm took a close look and instructed the barber, "Yep, give him a landing strip!"

I shuddered with excitement in the chair, and my unexpected lurch sealed my fate. The clippers carved out a massive swath of exposed scalp!

"Wow!" Mr. Helm exclaimed. "That’ll be wide enough for a Boeing-747! You’re looking handsome, kid!"

I watched Mr. Helm examining himself in the mirror. I knew what he was thinking. Oh to feel the clippers again….

"No more obnoxious hair falling into your face," the barber chuckled, pleased with his handiwork in transforming my appearance. "Now to finish it off, some shaving cream and razor action."

I watched transfixed as the barber applied a wonderfully warm foam around my ears and in back. The scraping of the razor was meticulous and precise.

Off came the cape! Cut locks of hair tumbled in all directions. I emerged from the chair a very different man.

Mr. Helm gave me a quick hug. "You were so brave, and a good role model for Derek."

Attention turned to the mass of loopy curls Derek sported.

"All right, son. Your turn to get transformed," Mr. Helm commanded.

Derek shuffled over and plopped down. The huge white cape sailed through the air and fluttered down to conceal almost everything but his curly top.

Mr. Helm walked over to where the locks were being prepared for the shearing.

"So, what do you want done here?" the barber asked Mr. Helm.

"A tidy look. Definitely out of his eyes," the father said.

"Off the ears and collar too? Tapered with a side part, perhaps?" the barber suggested.

Mr. Helm nodded his assent.

Derek fidgeted but did not protest or say anything. At least it wasn’t going to be a baldy cut!

His head was pushed forward so that it bowed low as the clippers traveled up through the nape, carving a medium taper. The first mass of shorn curls hit the linoleum floor of the barber shop. Circles of hair quickly surrounded the barber’s feet as he continued to gently taper the back.

Mr. Helm shifted nervously on the chair in the waiting area next to me. He crossed his legs and felt his clipped head repeatedly.

"I want to go shorter, but the truth is, I’m still trying to get used to this length," he confided to me.

I thought back to the lovely mane he had sported â€" such soft, elegant hair….swept back into an executive coif. It was a dreamy look seen in the movies and male fashion magazines.

We sat in silence as we watched Derek’s haircut proceed. The barber worked meticulously, switching from clippers to shears and back again.

Gradually, the lad’s unruly mop morph into a tidy…could it be?!...elegant business cut! As the barber trimmed, thinned and brushed Derek’s hair, his hairstyle was transformed into an almost exact replica of his father’s former coif!

"There!" chirped the barber, delighted about his own work as he showed off the back with a mirror.

Derek smiled. He looked more mature, more sophisticated. "I like it," he announced with a generous grin.

"One dab of witch hazel, and you’re through, young man!" the barber said as he patted down the neck with a pungent smelling liquid. "Your hair has so much body that I didn’t need to use any pomade to keep it in place. It’s a wonderful mane of hair!"

Derek examined the piles of his curls on the floor around the barber chair, resting atop my former curtains, as he dismounted the steel footrest.

"That’ll be $30 for the two boys," the barber said to Mr. Helm, who was shuffling about nervously, trying to make up his mind.

He glanced at the mirror.

I knew what he was thinking. And, perhaps it was time for someone to make the decision for him….

"But, Mr. Helm is also here for a haircut," I said, from the waiting area.

The barber looked surprised. He had just had a radical makeover two days ago

Mr. Helm looked at me and gave a lame smile, like ‘gee, thanks’ for putting me on the spot.

"Well," he stammered nervously, "it wasn’t as short as I wanted."

"My clients should always leave here satisfied. We will take care of that right now!" the barber exclaimed.

This time Mr. Helm had no spring in his step or excited look in his eye. He forced himself into the chair.

In a flash, the huge white cape floated down around him and the barber secured it tightly around the neck with a sturdy metal clip.

"What was that we were discussing in the car?" Mr. Helm asked me nervously.

"Give him a butch!" I stated firmly. "A #2 all over."

"With pleasure," the barber said, reaching for his huge set of Oster hair clippers, grinning from ear to ear.

---