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 constant meddling in her life. The last of her family died eleven months ago. Karen had been a busy young woman ever since. The freedom she felt was liberating, and so good.
Holding a gooey clump of red hair up to the light, her fingers slipped and the scissors clattered to the floor. As she bent to retrieve them, she sidestepped a viscous stream of red liquid that trailed across the concrete and flowed lazily into the drain in the middle of the basement floor. It was dark and damp down here, but her customers never complained. They were always grateful for her work. She transformed each of them from plain and mousy women, to sexy, scintillating redheads. She could see that when light replaced dark in their blank eyes. Cassandra had been like that� before. Grateful, and so loving.
They had all been grateful. Each of the women she�d invited to her home had repaid her with only fleeting pleasure, but the love they gave was everlasting. In the candle glow, wrapped together within the shadows of night, she toasted their unsurpassed beauty with eyes that shimmered. They in turn, simply stared back at her, a forever smile pasted on their beautiful faces.
Michelle�s hair was complete. Karen pumped the footpad again, raising her client up to a workable level. She took out her Clinique cosmetics tray, and set about turning Michelle�s unremarkable face into a vision of loveliness. Cleansing was always first. She applied a soothing, non-alcohol based cleanser in gently circular, upward strokes. Her practiced hands moved of their own volition, removing hard, stiff mascara, day old foundation, and the last traces of hideous blue eye shadow. As she wiped it away, she noted that the cloth came away far too red. In fact, a steady stream of red fluid traced its way from under Michelle�s perfect up-do and stained the cover that was securely fastened around her neck. Karen swallowed a surge of anger. 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. A few more swipes with the cleansing cloth 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 liquid heat seep from between her legs and forced herself to quiet her craving. �Tonight, my lovely Michelle,� she whispered as she picked up a lining pencil in a muted shade of gray kohl. Michelle�s eyes were closed in rapturous ecstasy.
Yes, tonight would be unusually special. Michelle was the definition of perfect at five foot two, with a slender waist, green eyes, and now, the beautiful red hair that Karen loved so much. It thrilled her to know Michelle wanted her. All of her clients wanted her, in spite of her scar. Each night, she lovingly guided their faces, cradled within trembling hands to the treasure between her thighs. She felt the touch of their cool lips trail along her skin as the air added its own unique caress. They wanted to taste her. They needed her. They loved her. And Karen binged on their adoration. She let them please her for hours with only the tiniest bit of help from her own skilled hands. As her passion mounted, she parted further, thrusting madly as the burn consumed her. Sharp, painful lust drove her ever on towards completion. Frenzied and desperate, she finally 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 smiled in triumph and ignored the blood splashes that blended perfectly with the red of the dye that stained her smock.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As Karen prepared the small closet-turned-bedroom, that was originally part of the basement proper, a lady approached her front door. She glanced at the card held in her fist and tossed her dull brown hair from her eyes. Long shadows colored the night gray as she strained to see the nameplate on the door. This was the place all right, but the windows were dark in the early evening chill. 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