A Partridge in...the barber's chair by Manny

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“This TV performance is exactly what we need to promote our new album. We’ll make millions from it," Danny exclaimed gleefully.

“We’ve got to get this gig, Mom!" Keith chimed in, sharing his little brother’s enthusiasm.

“Keep your fingers crossed. Reuben is in with the lawyers now, negotiating the contract," Mrs. Partridge replied, confidently. “We might have to make some adjustments to the music, if the producer requires any. But, we can be flexible, right?"

“Adjustments? Like what?" asked Chris.

An administrative assistant who was sitting at a nearby desk piped in to answer.

“Like nothing too jazzy or anything that sounds like that awful rock music," he said.

“Meaning, light on the drums, Chris," his mother commented in her perky, upbeat tone.

Then, the admin suggested another possibility. “And, not just the music. Other adjustments, like tidying up your appearances so that you look more like the wholesome, middle-class family the corporate sponsors are always eager to promote."

“Well, that’s exactly what we are!" Mrs. Partridge replied, offended by the insinuation.

The admin aide rolled his eyes.

“Those girly outfits on the fellows?" he sputtered. “And, as to their hair...!"

“Hey, no one is going to touch my hair!" Keith exploded defiantly.

He flicked his glossy mane so that his curtain bangs barely cleared his eyes. He was forever making efforts to keep the fringe off his face.

Keith’s center part, feathered sides and flow in back were his signature look. And, his fans loved his hair! So many letters gushing over it... And, some even offered to pay handsomely for a small lock to put under their pillow at night.

“See this, buddy?" the admin replied, running his hand up the back of his closely clipped nape. “This is the image the corporate sponsors want to promote: squeaky clean. Hair on fellows tapered short around the ears and close up the back. Side parts, slicked over with a dollop of pomade that gives the hair a real shine, like mine."

“You look like you’re stuck in the 1950s!" Keith scoffed. “I dress the way our fans find attractive and exciting!"

He modeled his tightly fighting floral shirt with floppy collar and puffy sleaves. His glossy light-brown locks danced about just off his shoulders. And, his low-slung bell-bottoms were snug on his shapely ass.

“Yeah," Danny chimed in. “Cool and modern, not some nerd wearing a button-down white shirt with short sleeves and a geeky bowtie!"

“If that’s what you think, Carrot-top," the admin smirked. “Just don’t be surprised by the terms of the contract -- if, in fact, your agent gets one. There’s a lot of competition to be on the show."

Keith got a little nervous. There was no way Reuben would sign something like that...he hoped!

“Mom, I’m going in there! To make sure Reuben doesn’t...." Keith began.

But, he was preempted by the door of the executive suite flying open.

“It’s done, folks!" Reuben announced, holding up a ream of stapled papers.

“That’s wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Partridge.

Reuben’s face clouded over.

“There are just a few minor things that can easily be resolved," he said.

“Like?" Mrs. Partridge questioned, a bit uneasily.

“Like you and the girls wearing dresses, not slacks," Reuben explained.

“No problem," Mrs. Partridge replied, “We brought a variety of outfits with us and the cranberry velvet ensembles should look swell on television."

“And...." Reuben’s worried expression deepened.

Alarm spread like wildfire among the three boys as Reuben’s gaze turned toward them. “Uh, um, and...."

“Reuben!" Keith snapped. “If you agreed to any sort of haircuts, you can just forget the whole thing!"

“The corporate sponsors require...." Reuben could hardly force the words out.

“No way!!" shrieked Danny.

“Told you so, Carrot-top," the admin smirked.

“Well, I’m not doing it! Cutting my hair, or the TV show!" exploded Keith.

One of the slick attorneys stepped forward, “That’s fine, Keith. You can send the $500,000 breach-of-contract settlement to the account listed in item #25."

Reuben squirmed uneasily and absolutely wanted to disappear.

“We don’t have a half a million dollars!" gasped Mrs. Partridge.

Reuben worked up his courage to confront Keith and his distraught brothers.

“Keith, I made a business decision!" he snapped. “That’s my job! We’re in a tough spot financially just now, and what we get for performing on the show will balance the books this month AND pave the way for a windfall on sales of the new album. Sorry about your hair, but it will grow back. So, just grow up!"

“Haircut time, fellows," the admin gloated.

Then, he whispered loudly as he aimed his scissor-like fingers towards Keith’s mane, “Snip, snip, snip. You’ll look so cleancut with a super short taper, lover-boy!"

“Oh, and as to your clothing, fellows, we do have a variety of sizes of what our admin Peter is wearing," the producer said. “See boys, how mature you’ll look in crisp dress shirts? Plus, the short sleeves are a nice middle ground between formal and casual. Maybe we can find bowties that match the girls’ dresses. Cranberry, did you say? I think that’ll give a little flair to the boys’ look. And, the color’s not too sissy, like pink or lime or yellow!"

Keith vacillated between anger and anguish.

Danny and his mind for business, on the other hand, shifted into high gear.

“Like Reuben said, bro, your hair will grow back," Danny chirped cheerfully, patting his brother’s shoulder.

“What’s gotten into you?" Keith grumped.

Keith fondled his mullet protectively.

“I can’t believe this is coming off," he seethed.

“I think I could market a good fifteen locks off the mullet alone," Danny remarked, with a twinkle in his eye. “At $20 each, that’ll bring in $300!"

“You’re not going to sell my hair!" Keith stammered.

“Why not?" chirped Danny. “Why have it all just thrown in the trash? I’ll split the profit with you, Keith."

Keith smiled lamely. At least he’d get something for the awful decision Reuben had made.

“The barber is waiting, boys!" the admin said in an upbeat tone. “Crewcuts for the younger two and a spiffy, short taper for lover-boy! Follow me, fellows. You too, Mr. Reuben. We’re throwing in a haircut-on-the-house for the group’s business manager. We have a barber onsite who caters to the requirements of our various corporate sponsors. After we have you tidied up, fellows, I’ll hand you over to the wardrobe people."

Keith followed his two brothers grudgingly. There was no way out of his predicament! Or, was there? Maybe he could persuade the admin to have the barber go easy on him.

“Hey, Peter," Keith said, catching up to the admin.

“What is it, pretty boy?" Peter answered, walking rapidly forward.

“Perhaps we can have the barber just trim it off my eyes a bit and comb the hair behind my ears. In back, I’ll tuck the long hair into the collar. No one will even notice, I’d bet," Keith said.

“I can assure you, I would," the admin deadpanned. “No, you’re getting the full makeover. I was thinking you might help popularize the return of whitewalls. Sides scraped clean halfway up leaving the ears fully -- awfully, that is! -- exposed."

Keith slunk back feeling dejected by his miserable failure.

“Gee, Reuben," squealed Danny. “A free haircut for you. That’s quite a benny! Chris and I are getting crewcuts, and Keith a short taper. What about you?"

“A flattop," Peter announced. “That wild mess of waves needs to be paired back for a more authoritative look. They way Reuben hesitated in delivering the contract provisions to you all was a bit pathetic. But, he did rise to the occasion â€" finally! -- and put lover-boy there in his place."

“A flattop?" Reuben stammered.

“That’s right!" laughed Keith. “A flattop! You’ll love your new look."

“Let’s be clear about this, and I did read the fine print carefully. I’m not appearing on TV so there’s nothing in the contract about the way I look," stated Reuben defiantly. “That said, I do think it’s fair that I share a bit in the general misery; I’m feeling a bit guilty about causing it. So, I suppose I will get the flattop...."

Reuben had actually sported a flattop when he was a much younger man and felt nostalgic about it as he remembered fussing with butch wax and the like.

“You did what you had to do as our business manager, Reuben," Danny said to conclude the matter. “Keith will just have to deal with his hair being cut short. He’ll get over it, especially when we rake in some bucks by selling those glossy locks."

"Perhaps you can rake in an extra $10 if the lock comes with a hand-written note from lover-boy," Peter suggested.

"Excellent idea, Peter!" Danny exclaimed.

“Here we are," announced Peter as they reached the swirling red and white barber pole. “Haircut time! Keith, you’re first in the chair. We need you caped up and cleaned up before you do something crazy like try to bolt for the door."

By the time he clambered up the footrest of the traditional barber chair, Keith was resigned to his fate.

The huge white cape fluttered down around him, and the barber secured it snuggly around his neck with a huge metal clip.

“Look at all this hair," the barber murmured. “This is your lucky day, kiddo. A good haircut will make an honest man out of you."

He began brushing the silken locks and smoothing them with his hands.

“Is GlenCorp the sponsor?" the barber asked with an eager smirk.

“Yep, so tapered short around the ears and up the back," Peter instructed.

“Side part?" the barber asked to confirm.

“Of course! With short, angled bangs. You may have to use the thinning shears to get them to lay down," Peter replied. “Oh, and Carrot-top has a request. Perhaps there’s a little baggy or box to save the longest of Keith's shorn locks. He’s going to sell them to fawning fans."

“Well, maybe the young entrepreneur would like to help removed this overgrowth back here," the barber remarked, swatting at Keith’s trendy mullet.

The barber handed Danny a set of shears.

“There you go, son. Now, cut it as short as you can in back. You can chop most of it off, about halfway up the back. Oh, and you can also take off the glossy wings that are covering your brother’s ears," the barber sniggered. “Here’s an empty tissue box to save your clippings in."

Danny went to town, shearing off as much hair as possible. Keith grimaced as Danny whacked away recklessly at his beloved hair in back.

“Oh, look at all this!" Danny squealed. “Just in back, I think I can get about 25 little bundles of Keith’s hair to sell!"

“Don’t cut off too much, Danny!" Keith said as he cringed.

“Too late for that instruction, lover boy," Peter laughed. “You now have some remarkable bald patches in back, thanks to your brother's zeal. The barber is going to have to taper you to zero!"

Danny began tackling the feathered sides with more maniacal zeal.

“Oh, my, you are going to have quite a lot of Keith's hair to market, young man," Peter said, barely containing a laugh. “Tsk, tsk. Well, I did mention whitewalls...."

“The military length will be just fine for him," the barber smirked.

Keith sat with a glum face in humiliated silence. No one would recognize him by the time the haircut was finished. But, then, he had been complaining a lot about his crazy fanbase always thronging him after concerts and begging for his autograph. Maybe his geeky makeover would put an end to that! He wanted to be known more for his musical ability than for his pretty face.

The barber took the shears from Danny and began combing Keith’s hair forward.

“These look like living room drapes!" the barber exclaimed.

Keith’s eyes were totally covered; his hair reached the lower lip.

“Angled, you said," the barber rhetorically conferred with Peter.

He started just above the eyebrow on Keith’s left side -- SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!!! -- and ended up at the hairline on his right.

Danny eagerly snatched the clumps that fell to the cape and stuffed them in his box.

Keith blinked his eyes in a horrified disbelief.

Chris let out a loud laugh and pointed at his brother’s brutally disfigured mod style.

“Looks like someone assaulted your hair with a hedge clippers," the youngest brother giggled.

“Don’t forget you’re getting a crewcut, Chris. You AND marketing maniac Danny," Keith mumbled.

“I won’t mind," Chris laughed. “Nor will Danny. We’re not little princesses who spend hours in front of the mirror like you, Keith!"

“Oh, a princess," mocked the barber. “How sweet!"

Then he unleashed the thinning shears on the bulky, truncated bangs.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP! COMB, COMB, COMB! SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!! COMB, COMB, COMB!!

“Is anything going to be left?" Keith whined.

“Enough to make you look like the respectful teenager. Hey, if the corporate sponsor likes your look, they may offer you a modeling contract," Peter said.

Keith perked up. “Really, modeling what?" he asked, thinking the haircut might open a lucrative door.

“Fruit of the Loom underwear," Peter smirked. “You’d look so smart standing in front of the cameras wearing nothing but traditional white undies. Now, a word of caution before you get your hopes up...if your little friend is too big, well, it won’t work. They won’t want any sleazy looking ad."

“Oh, I doubt that’ll be a problem with princess here," remarked the barber, flinging a real zinger at the Partridge in his barber chair.

“I’m not interested in modeling some dorky underpants sold at K-Mart!" Keith snapped.

In response, the barber forced his head down and fired up the clippers.

The whine of the machine signaled the haircut was moving into a more brutal phase.

Keith gripped the arms of the chair tightly. And, the assault was indeed brutal. The naked teeth of the huge Oster clippers pressed firmly on his neck, stripping off all remnants of his flow, from the nape through the occipital bone.

“You’re already looking much better, young man. There are no traces left of the awful shag you dragged into my shop," the barber said.

Keith used ever ounce of energy he had to refrain from reacting to the barber’s taunt, but he felt miserable. Nothing would make up for his loss -- not even seeing his brothers get crewcuts or Reuben a flattop. He wanted his silky long hair, parted in the center and feathered into an awesome shag his fans (and he himself!) admired so much.

The barber wrenched Keith’s head this way and that, quickly spreading the destruction of his mod look to all parts of his head. Nothing remained that was over two-inches in length on top.

“Now, for the grand finale! The pomade!" the barber announced.

The stuff he squeezed out of a small tube smelled awful. The barber rubbed it into Keith's remaining strands and then fashioned a ramrod straight side part. With a barber’s comb, he slicked everything to the side.

Keith was unrecognizable.

Just then, Mrs. Partridge burst through the door.

“There’s a solution, boys!" she chirped in her maternal, protective way. “I spoke with the Executive Director of the...."

Then she saw Keith in the chair, all tidy and slicked. Her mouth dropped open.

“Oh, honey, it seems I’m too late," she moaned. “My good news...."

Keith had a look of despair in his eyes.

“What is it, Shirley?!" Reuben demanded.

“He, the big guy upstairs, agreed to swap corporate sponsors for our TV gig," she said, deflated, because her good news had been overcome by events. “And, get this, the new company wants to sponsor us precisely because we are modern and trendy...the would’ve welcomed Keith’s shag style, in the eyes and all."

The barber began to unfasten the big metal clip.

“I still think you look better like this, lover boy," the barber smirked.

“Oh, you would," sneered Keith defiantly.

Peter was bursting at the seams, trying to contain his laughter as Keith gawked at his horrible haircut in the mirror.

“You could use my wig, Keith," his sister Laurie offered. "I brought it just in case I didn't have time to wash my hair before the TV filming."

“Your waist-length fall?" Keith stammered. “Oh, I’ve always wanted hair that long!"

“Got any dresses that will fit him, sis?" Peter joked.

Mrs. Partridge gently touched the brittle strands that were plastered across the top of Keith’s head.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I remember when my brother used to wear his hair just like this," Mrs. Partridge murmured. “It was in style back then. But, poor guy, he wasn’t even 20 years old when severe male pattern baldness claimed his hair. By the time he finished college, he had just a wispy fringe around the sides."

“I hear the hair gene runs through the maternal line," Reuben noted. “Geneticists say to look at your mother’s brothers, and you will see your own hair future."

“Can things get any worse?" Keith stammered. “This has been that most awful day of my life!"

“Not mine!" Danny said holding up the tissue box full of Keith’s cut locks. “We should visit the barber from time-to-time, Keith. You have a valuable renewable resources. That is, at least for the time being."

“Come on, kids, let’s cheer Keith up," his mother said, bursting into their theme song, “Hello world, here's a song that we're singing...."

Despite his horrible haircut, Keith couldn't help but to join the rest of the Partridges, singing, “...c'mon get happy!"

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