Gorgeous George Visits Mr. Lee by Manny

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There was understandable commotion when my new officemate showed up, having just re-located from California. "Gorgeous George" was the moniker that quickly stuck, thanks to his imposing looks and impeccable tailoring.

Gorgeous George stood 6’4" tall. His height was augmented by a shock of thick, wavy blond hair that added another inch or two, worn swept back from his tanned face. The mass of blond was sun-kissed and silken, lapping over his ears and hanging in artistic waves to nearly the base of his collar in back. The deep bronze tan made his straight, white teeth dazzle and sapphire blue eyes sparkle.

With a wardrobe to make Cary Grant jealous, George looked every bit the Hollywood matinee idol. I wasn’t surprised when he mentioned that he’d had a few gigs in the film industry -- bit parts, however, that never led to the career he’d hoped for.

"I guess I’m just a poor actor; I rarely got called back for a second audition," he confessed. "The most dependable income I was able to muster was from commercial ads, peddling clothes and cologne, mainly. When my agent pushed me to accept modeling underwear, I drew a line. That was it! I knew my California phase was over. And, now I’m here, wanting to blend into a ho-hum office job, one that’s in line with my college degree."

George and I worked in close proximity, sharing cramped space, and instantly got along. Despite his gorgeous looks, he was quite down-to-earth and modest. No braggart, no narcissist, no feelings of entitlement or superiority.

"I want you to show me the ropes, how to get along in the office, how to succeed," he said to me on his first day.

I did as best I could, making key introductions and answering a lot of his questions.

As the first week came to a close, George asked me an unexpected question.

"Where do you get your hair cut, Jim?" he asked, eying my plush, boxy flattop with beveled edges.

"Me?!" I stammered. "Why, uh, at a barber shop on my commute home, near the subway station. Why?"

"I’ve been admiring your flattop all week. It keeps reminding me that my hair is way too long; I need a barber like yours," George explained.

"No way!" I objected, a bit horrified that he’d want to send his to-die-for mane to the floor of traditional barber shop. "You’ve got such great hair."

"Too much of it," he replied flatly. "It’s getting cut into a conservative, office-type length this weekend. Or, something shorter, like yours!"

"Well, my barber, Old Mr. Lee, really only does military-length haircuts," I warned. "In fact, there’s a sign in the shop window to that effect, that they specialize in military-length haircuts."

"Excellent! Sounds great! When can we go?" George asked with a glimmer of excitement in his eye. "How about today, right after work?"

"George, you need to think about this," I moaned.

"I have! I’ve been thinking about it all week," he replied. "And, the longer I’ve thought about it, the shorter I think my mane needs to be cut. It will be a catharsis, of sorts. Putting my failed aspirations and dreams of silver-screen success behind me. No more Hollywood-inspired hairstyle for me! Just a no-nonsense, close crop. It’s been forever since I’ve had a clippers mow off this thatch."

"If that’s what you want…." I replied, reluctantly.

I thought back to my first time in Old Mr. Lee’s chair. My executive coif had been almost the length of George’s and every bit as fussy! Crossing the threshold into the barber shop that day had been a sort of liberation for me, so I understood where George was coming from.

"When I first ditched my executive coif for a military-length haircut at Mr. Lee’s," I explained, "It was quite a shorn look; but, the flattop came later."

George beamed. "Sounds like the best plan for me too!"

There was only an hour or so before the close of business, and I kept snatching glances of Gorgeous George’s gorgeous mane.

While I had expressed reluctance about George getting a severe haircut, there was no doubt I certainly would enjoy watching it fall in sheaves to the feet of Old Mr. Lee in his white moccasins!

Over the years, I had developed quite a love of barber shops, in general, and Mr. Lee's Barber Shop, in particular. I loved the way all the barbers in that shop wore solid white uniforms, down to the shoes â€" even the chaffing, muscular Young Mr. Lee who resented the old-timey tunic and full uniform dictated by his father and uncles.

On our way out of the office, George asked to stop by the men’s room. There was a bit of anxious brushing and gazing at his doomed Hollywood looks.

"What if Old Mr. Lee gives me a baldy!" George laughed nervously.

"Oh, I don’t think so," I replied. "Recon, high ‘n tight, horseshoe, regulation, crewcut, ivy...lots of choices, but he’s too professional to administer a simple butch."

"I used to get a baldy at the beginning of summer when I was a kid," George said wistfully. "Right in my uncle’s garage. Me, my brothers and my cousins. One right after the other. Up on the stool. Everything mowed off in minutes."

We rode in silence on the subway toward the Ballstone Station. George’s leg bounced nervously, betraying the calm exterior he was projecting about his upcoming haircut.

Out of the corner of my eye I could seeing him looking at himself in the reflection of the train window, arranging his pretty locks in a protective, caring way.

"This is it," I said, as the train pulled into the station.

George gulped, again letting his nervousness sneak into the open.

I suggested, "You know, maybe you should think about this over the weekend."

For a moment, I thought Gorgeous George was going to agree to the reprieve for his styled locks.

"Maybe. But, since we’re already here," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. "Best to get it over with. The Hollywood hair has to go."

The train doors opened and George stepped out.

"Scared?" I asked as we rode the escalator up toward the street level.

"Yep. S**tless, really," he confided. "I know that sounds dumb…"

"No, it doesn’t," I replied. "I had jitters too when I was convincing myself to ditch the coif."

"It’s almost like I’m punishing myself for failing at acting," George confessed.

We stepped off the escalator. I didn’t know how to address his developing gloom and anxiety.

"Let’s not do anything drastic, George," I implored. "You’ve had a lot of changes in your life, of late, and now might not be the time to have some old Korean barber buzz off your...please, don’t take this the wrong way...your beautiful hair."

George blushed and even basked in the praise. His blue eyes seemed to silently say, thank you for admiring my hair.

"It is beautiful, isn’t it?" he admitted. "All the bluster about wanting it shorn off is, well…."

He paused, then continued, as if working through a thought process aloud, "Jim, it’s just something I need to do. Yes, there have been lots of changes in my life of late. Most of them have been hard, like leaving California and admitting that I need a ho-hum, steady 9-5 job. Part of the package of changes needs to be sitting in a barber’s chair and watching the mane fall to the cape. A good scalping will drive my new reality home in an observable and very personal way. It’ll be a tangible milestone in my transformational journey. This of Mr. Lee grabbing a broom and sweeping up the Hollywood hair to toss into the trash. Of course, I admit it will be somewhat gut-wrenching. But, I know I’ll walk out of that shop feeling a relief of sorts."

I admired George's vulnerability and sincerity.

"Relieved of a burden, literally and figuratively," I said lightly, eliciting a chuckle of relief from George.

Then, I added, "If you want, let me do the talking at Mr. Lee’s. It’s going to be cut short, but nothing drastic. You’ll leave looking like a typical mid-level corporate worker. A medium taper around the ears and several inches on top, thinned down a bit so that your hair looks tidy and groomed. How’s that?"

"You mean, kind of boring, right?" George asked.

"Yeah, I guess so," I laughed.

"But, the barber shop specializes in shorter lengths," George argued. "How about 'an aggressive taper around the ears and up the back, and just long enough on top to lay to the side?' I want to see a few piles of blond locks around the chair at the end. How’s that?"

"Sure! Let’s go!" I agreed, beginning to focus again on how fun it was going to be to watch George's dramatic transformation.

We walked quickly toward the shop.

In the dusk, as the store lights cast a cozy glow on the sidewalk, George put his arm through mine and drew me close.

"Thanks, Jim, for all your support. You’ve been great this week. And, now, you’re spending your Friday evening hand-holding and helping manage my rollercoaster emotions about the big chop," he murmured. "I’m going to owe you big time when I get through this adjustment."

"Happy to help," I replied softly. "Honestly, I’ll enjoy watching Old Mr. Lee take the clippers to your Hollywood hair. I could spend hours as a spectator in a barber shop. And, if there are any big transformations during the parade of haircuts while I’m there, that’s a big bonus."

"Then, you’ll be in for a treat tonight. I see the barber pole ahead," George remarked as he pulled me even closer to him.

I detected a bit of excitement and less gloom as we neared our destination. Obviously, our chat had helped him work through his nerves about the haircut.

Young Mr. Lee was drawing deeply on a cigarette outside as we walked up. Oh, he was a handsome hunk! So muscular and lithe. I imagined him being a master blackbelt at some martial art -- jujitsu or judo, perhaps.

"Hey, Jim," he said in a cool, husky voice as he eyed George. "You taking Goldilocks into the shop?"

"Yep, George here needs a makeover, a proper business cut," I remarked.

"Goldilocks needs a flattop," Young Mr. Lee smirked, flexing his muscles. "This arm is itching to wield the clippers; how about me sending that pretty-boy coif of his to the shop floor?"

"Come on, George," I replied. "I see that the consummate haircut professional is available inside."

"Ah, my dear father," Young Mr. Lee said. "Too bad. I would love to have transformed my new friend, George."

George eyed Young Mr. Lee with an intense gaze that went in both directions. I sensed a bit of chemistry between the two and felt, well, like I didn’t want that developing any further.

I moved George quickly toward the shop door and thought back on the day...the way George had put his arm through mine and drawn me in close...the way he had confided such intimate feelings to me and exhibited such vulnerability...the way he had studied me and examined my flattop all week. Surely, the chemistry was between him and me -- not with that bullying young barber, Mr. Lee, Jr.!

"Good evening," I announced as we entered.

The shop was aglow with the dominant red color that covered the Formica counters, the upholstery of all chairs, and many of the decorative items. White was the secondary color, with the barber uniforms, capes, neon lighting and walls in blinding uniformity. The larger red-and-white checkerboard floor, along with the whirling barber pole, brought the two colors together. Splashes of chrome rounded out the shop’s clean aesthetic.

Two of the five barber chairs were occupied, with the owner’s brothers -- Old Mr. Lee #2 and Old Mr. Lee #3, as they jokingly referred to themselves -- at work.

Old Mr. Lee (#1!) moved toward one of the empty chairs and patted it gently.

"Who’s first?" he asked, staring at George.

"Uh, that would be me," George replied, looking at himself in the mirror. "I’m quite in need of a good shearing."

He pawed momentarily at his Hollywood hair out of habit.

"We specialize in military lengths," Old Mr. Lee warned as George advanced to the chair.

"Yes, but he’s not going so short," I said, intervening. "At least not on his first barbershop visit. We need to ease him into the military length, Mr. Lee."

"That was the way with you, if I remember correctly, Jim," Old Mr. Lee said with a twinkle in his eye.

What a memory that barber had!

George mounted the metal footrest and shot me a grateful glance. He sank into the chair and squirmed about a bit, trying to seem relaxed.

Mr. Lee snapped a huge white cape open and cast it with the skill of a seasoned barber. It floated gently through the air, settling perfectly in place to cover George’s light-weight worsted wool suit and coordinating lavender silk tie. The barber swathed George’s neck with a generous strip of tissue and then pulled the cape tightly into place. He withdrew a large metal clip from the pocket of his tunic and fastened it snuggly below the nape. George gulped nervously, as if he’d just been fitted by the police with a straightjacket.

"High and tight, you said?" Mr. Lee joked as he began to brush Gorgeous George’s gorgeous mane.

"Uh, no!" George stammered.

"Too much hair," the barber murmured as he plied the brush. "But, Mr. Lee has powerful clippers. How short you want?"

George gathered up the courage to pronounce the sentence on his Hollywood hairstyle.

"A short taper around the ears and up the back. Quite short on top, just long enough to lay to the side," he instructed.

Mr. Lee gave an approving smile before combing all George’s hair straight forward. Unruly blond waves covered half of the handsome face.

Then, the barber seized a pair of shears. He gathered a large chunk of the forelock with his comb and lifted it up, off George’s face. In a flash, Mr. Lee lopped off the targeted clump, quite close to the hairline.

The first lock to fall was like an appetizer at a seven-course banquet. And, Mr. Lee was starving!

LIFT, CHOP! LIFT, CHOP!! LIFT, CHOP!!!

The assault was more ferocious and unstoppable than a Nazi blitzkrieg. George’s long, bulky fringe was all but obliterated after a few strategic whacks with the shears. Mounds of glistening blond hair filled his lap.

My caped colleague swallowed hard and blinked nervously as he surveyed the carnage. It was the beginning of the end of his Hollywood hair.

"So much hair," Mr. Lee chafed as he continued chopping the length off the top, seizing and snipping off lock after lock.

The brutal hacking of the coiffed mane was a visual feast for me. The speed, the severity...everything coming together for a perfect show.

"Remember, long enough to lay down on top, Mr. Lee," I said, trying to suppress a smirk.

"I have 40 years of experience," Mr. Lee harrumphed. "Including decades on US military bases in Korea, before I immigrated. Blond hair, wavy hair...lots of GIs bowed their head before Mr. Lee’s clippers. Their family members too -- college boys back in Korea for Christmas, dragged in by their father the colonel, and off come the hippy hair. Shaggy hair and mops like this -- needing fastfeed clippers. Mr. Lee makes all the college boys look cleancut! And the colonel gives good tip! You see, your friend will get short taper he wants. He look like a commanding officer when I finish with him."

"Glad to hear that," George quipped, just as Young Mr. Lee returned to the shop from his cigarette break.

Then, with a mischievous grin, George added, "For a moment, I thought I was heading for a flattop."

"That’s exactly what you need," Young Mr. Lee snapped, taking the bait and strolling over to examine the progress on George’s makeover.

As his father shooed him away, Young Mr. Lee added, "And, not a prissy flattop, like Jim’s there. Real men get real flattops with the sides stripped to the scalp and lather shaved. Big landing strip on top, too."

"Oh, that sounds soooo short," George gasped, gazing at the muscular Young Mr. Lee via the mirror.

"You want to try? Flattop?" Old Mr. Lee asked his client, eager to take George down super short.

"No, not this time, Mr. Lee. Maybe in the future," George replied nervously.

"Good, bold look for you," Old Mr. Lee said. "Very manly, the flattop."

"What about you, Jim?" Young Mr. Lee said, pointing at me. "Tonight’s the night for both you and your friend get makeovers. The boxy top with the beveled edge…it’s for old geezers. Let me strip that off and take you down aggressively TIGHT. On the house!"

I squirmed on the hard chair where I sat in the waiting area. Young Mr. Lee's barber throne would be a lot more comfortable. It was tempting...I had often fantasized….

"Do it!" George urged. "I’d love to see you with a very short, military top, Jim."

I ran my hand up the back of my head. The soft, plush pelt, so carefully crafted. Why not? A change!! Shaved smooth! Creamy, bare scalp instead of a prissy pelt.

"Really, George? You think I should? Ultra-short?" I asked.

It pleased me that George had an opinion on how I should look.

Without waiting for his answer, I stood up. "Okay, Junior! I’m all yours. Give me that makeover you’re dreaming off!"

Young Mr. Lee smiled from ear to ear as I strode over to his chair.

"Oh, I’ve wanted to do this forever," Young Mr. Lee chirped as he snapped open his cape.

My heart raced as I mounted the footrest and eased into the red vinyl upholstery.

"Free of charge, you said," I reminded him as the cape was fastened into place.

I heard Old Mr. Lee switching from scissors to clippers. Suddenly, I regretted losing my prime location for watching Gorgeous George get shorn. I could only imagine the mounds of glossy blond waves falling in the wake of the clippers.

I heard George gasp, "Oh, that’s very short!" as Old Mr. Lee finished the first swipe up the side of his head.

"A recon you said?" Old Mr. Lee laughed. "Tough soldiers all want recons."

"I’m not a soldier," George whined playfully. "But, I do like this very short length you’re cutting. Look at those tan lines!"

"Just wait till I clip you up the back!" laughed Old Mr. Lee. "A very tanned neck, and then a few inches of white scalp before we get back to a tightly tapered blond hair."

My attention was suddenly riveted to dramatic events closer to me. To my head! Balding clippers were stripping me of my hair on the side.

"No more fussy-like boxy top for you!" Young Mr. Lee taunted me. "Boyfriend wants you looking like a tough marine."

"We are colleagues," I insisted.

"Walking arm-in-arm, all lovey-dovey toward the shop?" Young Mr. Lee scoffed playfully. "I think lovers!"

Then Young Mr. Lee leaned over and whispered in my ear, "He’s very handsome! You found yourself some real eye candy, Jim."

I imagined George and me as lovers instead of colleagues and began to really enjoy the fantasy. Thank goodness for the billowy white cape concealing my private enjoyment.

Young Mr. Lee was brutal with the clippers. The best part was the landing strip! I almost jumped out of the chair as he stripped the top of my head down to the scalp.

"You liked that?" Young Mr. Lee laughed. "Here, let me make it wider!

Another grazing of the top augmented the exposed area of the scalp.

"How’s it going over there, George?" I asked, still processing how sparse my flattop was going to be.

"Short! VERY short!" he chirped. "Mr. Lee is just starting with the thinning shears. Lots of blending the taper and reducing the bulk on top."

"When I finish, those waves will all be gone," remarked Mr. Lee.

"I’ll call you Jesus, then, for calming the stormy sea up there," George joked. "Mr. Jesus Lee, miracle worker."

"You be born-again, for sure, when you walk out of shop looking decent," Old Mr. Lee laughed, building on my sacrilegious allusion.

The clippers roared back to life.

"Just a little clipper-over-comb on top to make sure everything is perfect, and you’ll be all finished," Old Mr. Lee told George.

"I’d say about 4/5ths of my hair has been cut off," George informed me.

"Mine, as well," I replied, feeling a bit proud to sport a manly, sparse look.

"But, you have yet to sit still for the lather shave," Young Mr. Lee reminded me. "I’m going to scrape most of this noggin clean."

I studied myself in the mirror. I was glad that I had accepted the challenge. It further bonded me with George, both of us shedding about 4/5ths of our hair to the father-son Lee duo.

Just then, my chair was swiveled so that I got a full view of George. ‘Short’ did not begin to describe the length of his hair. SHORN! was more like it.

"Whoa, you’ve gotten your money’s worth, George," I remarked with undisguised surprise.

Then, I watched Old Mr. Lee ply the short taper with some pomade. He made a rigid side part and plastered George’s hair to the side. No hint of any natural wave was left from that California coif.

Old Mr. Lee treated him to every trimming the barber shop offered. Lather traced around the ears for some exaggerated arches with the nape shaved above the natural hairline. And then the sting of witch hazel to elicit a yelp! Finally, a duster brimming with talcum powder raised a nuclear cloud about the very barbered head of (no longer) Gorgeous George.

At the end of the haircut came the hand mirror showing off the aggressive taper up the back of George’s head, all the way to the crown.

"Very clean, very tidy," George said, praising Old Mr. Lee’s work.

"And, very short," the proud barber beamed.

George’s cape came off, his cut locks were dispatched to the floor with a quick shake, and he descended via the metal footrest.

I couldn’t tell how my colleague was truly feeling about the drastic haircut.

Truth be told, he was no longer Gorgeous George. Without his Hollywood hair he looked a bit like an outdated member of the office geek-squad.

George touched the brittle-like strands that were slicked over the top of his head and gave a bit of a sick smile. Then, his eyes darted to the floor where he surveyed the extensive wreckage.

"No more long hair for you!" Old Mr. Lee chirped as George carefully stepped over a mound of his shorn locks.

"How much do I owe you for this fine haircut?" George asked, feeling his clipped nape.

After payment was made, George ambled over to examine my progress.

Young Mr. Lee was scraping the back of my head clean.

George cooed, "Love the way those muscles bulge when you pull that razor across Jim’s scalp, Mr. Lee."

Young Mr. Lee could not help but crack a satisfied smile. Their eyes met and locked on each other momentarily.

"I didn’t think he would accept the challenge, Loverboy here, but he did," Young Mr. Lee remarked. "To impress you, perhaps?"

"I hope so," quipped George. "You’re doing such a good job. Do you make house calls? I mean, what if I feel the urge to suddenly go flat, like Jim here, and the shop is closed?"

"I’ll give you my card. Call me any day or night, preferably night," Young Mr. Lee said with a wink.

The flirtation made me feel crabby!

"All right, let’s wrap this up," I said, not hiding my irritation. "Since it’s free, I thought you’d give me a rush job."

When George turned, I got a very close look of the back of his head. That wide white band of freshly revealed scalp at his nape looked quite awkward! Overall, the haircut appeared as much a 1950s schoolboy crop as it did a short business cut.

Young Mr. Lee had fun dousing my freshly shaved scalp with witch hazel.

As I gazed in the hand mirror at my new length, I felt dominant and aggressive.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Lee," I said, giving him a firm handshake after I'd emerged from the chair. "I think this new length will be a keeper."

After George and I left the shop, I felt his hand begin to explore the bare back of my head.

"This feels so sexy," George cooed as he ran his fingers tenderly across the expanse of sensitive skin.

"Surprised you noticed, given all that flirtation with Young Mr. Lee," I spouted.

"So, I made you feel jealous!" George laughed. "That was my intent."

Then, he added, "My haircut is, well, awful, don’t you think?! But, I’m relieved Gorgeous George is no more…."

"The whole office telecommutes next week. Wash out the pomade, get a bit of growth on that severe taper, and, voila! By the time you go back into the office you’ll look like a simple commuter who’s hoping he has enough money at the end of the month to pay his bills. Welcome to your new life, just George!" I said, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

"How about we get a bit to eat together?" George asked. "A treat from 'just George' for all your help and friendship!"

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