Clipper Club, Part 2 by Vittore

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At the sports bar, where the muscled guys with short hair were always having a good time, I watched from the sidelines every Friday night for two or three weeks, until Barry took me by the arm and pulled me into the group.
Barry was fairly short but thick in the arms and legs, like he worked out at the gym regularly. He always wore a black polo shirt that showed off his chest and arms. And his head was shaved completely bald, not a speck of hair. The bare skin reflected the lights from the ceiling, and I couldn’t help staring.
Barry didn’t mind at all. He was a very outgoing guy, and he loved the attention. The guys constantly kidded each other, and he gave as good as he got. They teased him for being an egghead and a cueball, and he smiled from ear to ear.
"You guys think you’re so hot with your flattops and high-and-tight haircuts. And you, Rick, with that conservative crewcut, like it was still the 1950s."
"I went to the barber today," Rick said. "Last week you told me it was too long and I should get a trim, and I did."
"Sorry, but it’s still too long. What is that, a mop hanging over your forehead?"
"It’s a bumper, just enough to comb." Rick nervously pushed the hair back with one hand.
"Look at Porkchop," Barry said. "Nice and clean on the back and sides, with some bristles on top. Now that’s what I call a haircut, crisp and masculine."
Porkchop was pleased. A medium-size man with a barrel chest and stumpy legs, he had a fair complexion shading to rose and red that glowed through his white T-shirt. His hair might be blond, but it was too short to tell.
"What about your friend?" Wendel said, pointing at me. "What’s his name?"
"Vic is new here, and he is interested in joining the clipper club."
Sporting a recon, an oval of hair on a bare scalp, Wendel looked at my light brown hair with disgust. I realized if I was ever going to fit in with this crowd of jocks and roughnecks, I needed to show some gumption.
"That’s right," I said. "Barry is going to give me some pointers."
"Just don’t let him near your head with the clippers," Ace said.
"And why not?" Barry said. "I happen to be skillful and careful. I would never cut a man’s hair without his consent. Ask Leonard."
"It’s true," Leonard said. Tall and spare, Leonard made the least noise of the group, which made him seem like the silent type by comparison. His black hair was a trim flattop with stubble on the sides. "When I joined, Barry gave me a classic brush cut, two inches swept up and back, which was a big change from what it was."
"And Leonard has been steadily going shorter ever since," Barry said.
"Are you a barber?" I asked Barry. The others laughed.
"No, not a full-time professional. More of a part-timer. An enthusiastic amateur, you might say. Those of us in the club sometimes give each other a trim, just for fun. And I’m glad to help a newcomer get started, like I did with Leonard."
"Ace was giving you a hard time," Leonard said to me.
We were all standing close together. Leonard wrapped an arm around my shoulders in a gesture of reassurance. He was taller than I and considerably stronger, but the gesture felt friendly, even protective. Wendell was still on the offensive.
"So, Vic, what is Barry going to do to you?"
"Back off, Wendell," Barry said. "Vic is going to tell me what he wants, and we’ll go from there. No pressure, no sudden moves."
"Thanks, Barry," I said. His bald head shone bright enough to make me blink.
"Before we discuss a haircut, we need to look at the whole package."
"What is that?" I had no idea what Barry meant.
"We need to get you into a workout routine, build up your muscle mass, correct your posture, and find you some decent clothing." He gave my bar outfit of faded blue jeans and rumpled plaid shirt a pitiful glance. "The top of the package is the haircut."

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