Karen Cummings pressed the footpad of the barber chair and glanced in the mirror as she selected a pair of scissors from the tray at her side. The scar that ran the length of her left cheek caught her attention as it always did. Even though it had been three years now, it was still difficult to look at the marring of her pretty face. She was silent today, as was Michelle, the owner of the hair she styled. They were always quiet, as if they were in awe of her.
Her shop was in the basement of her SoHo apartment on Broome Street. It was the only one with a basement, and so, perfect for her needs. Her clientele was by invitation only, and not open to the general public. Trust fund dollars made it possible for her to operate this way now that she was twenty-two. No more lawyers, no more doctors, no more anyone to interfere with her life. Her family was all dead and buried now. The feeling was liberating, free, and so good.
Holding up a gooey clump of red hair, her fingers slipped and the scissors clattered to the floor. As she bent to retrieve them, she sidestepped a stream of red that trailed across the concrete and flowed lazily into the drain situated in the midst of the basement. It was dark and damp down here, but her customers never complained. No, they were grateful for her work. Thankful for the transformation she�d given them. From plain and mousy to sexy, scintillating redhead. She could see that when light replaced dark in their once blank eyes. Cassandra had been like that� before she died. Grateful, and so loving.
They had all been grateful. Each of the women she�d invited into her home had repaid her with fleeting pleasure, but everlasting love. In the candle glow, late at night, she toasted their unsurpassed beauty, her eyes twinkling as she whispered her love to them.
Michelle�s hair was complete. Karen pumped the footpad again, raising the chair higher. Taking out her expensive cosmetics, she set about turning Michelle�s unremarkable face into a vision of loveliness. Cleansing came first. With skilled hands, she removed hard, stiff mascara, and applied a soothing, non-alcohol based cleanser. As she wiped it away, she noted that the cloth came away far too red. Another application was in order. The thought made her angry, as she disliked anything that interrupted her established routine. Cassandra had discovered that, just before she gifted Karen with the scar that would always remain with her, and just before Karen had made her pay for that scar, as well as her constant infidelity. The second treatment did the trick and Karen was pleased to see innocent white skin at last, her canvas upon which to work.
Excitement grew in her belly. She felt moisture seeping from between her legs and forced herself to quiet her craving. �Tonight, my lovely Michelle,� she whispered as she picked up an eye-lining pencil in a muted shade of gray kohl.
Yes, tonight would be unusually special. Michelle was perfect, five foot two, slender waist, green eyes, and now, the beautiful red hair that Karen loved so much. It thrilled her to think how they all wanted her. Each night, she lovingly guided their faces, cradled within her trembling hands down to the treasure between her thighs. She felt the touch of their cool lips trailing along her skin. Receiving their adoration willingly, Karen reveled in the attention. She let them pleasure her with only a tiny bit of help from her own skilled hands. And, as her passion mounted, she parted herself further, feeling her lust stab repeatedly at the center of her essence. Then, at last, her moment was near. Breathing heavily, urging them on in quiet whispers, she grasped their heads between her thighs, rolled atop them and writhed her way to orgasm, smearing her careful work and plucking with shaking fingers at their soft red hair.
At last Karen was finished. She pumped the footpad again and turned the chair with a flourish towards the mirror. The single incandescent bulb swayed gently above her head. Its movement illuminated the dark walls of the room. Michelle and Karen were caught in the crossfire of a dozen, lifeless faces. Each one wore the same stylish red hairstyle, and appeared, on a casual glance to be copies of Karen Cummings, save for one small detail. None of them bore a three-inch scar that ran from the corner of her left eye down to the curve of her lips. They were, in a word, perfect. Michelle said nothing, but looked ahead with dead green eyes as her head rolled to the right. Karen thought how jealous Cassandra would be to know that these women loved Karen instead of her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As Karen prepared the small closet-turned-bedroom, that was originally part of the basement proper, a lady approached her front door. She glanced down at the card held in her fist and tossed her dull brown hair from her eyes. She looked at the nameplate on the door. This was the place all right, but it looked to be closed. Well, it was rather late she thought. She would return tomorrow morning, nice and early. As she turned to make her way home, she read the card again.
Cassandra Stewart has given you the gift of beauty. This card entitles you to one full makeover by Karen Cummings, the star pupil of Ms. Stewart�s New Concepts School of Beauty. No appointment necessary.
The lady smiled as she walked the streets of SoHo. A change would be nice.
Stacy Taylor 2002