Three weeks after her high school graduation Andrea Olsen found a job in the claims adjustment department of Hometown Mutual Insurance Company. The department consisted of fifteen male “outside adjustors" who investigated accident claims and an equal number of female “inside adjustors" who reviewed the reports prepared by their male counterparts, entered records in the computer data bank, and made sure payments were properly processed.
Andrea’s supervisors soon realized that their new adjustor was an exceptionally meticulous and conscientious worker; just the kind of employee they prized but rarely found. Most newly hired clerks made frequent mistakes in their first weeks, but no one ever discovered an error in Andrea’s work. Before long, when other women encountered a difficult case, they said, “Ask Andrea, she’ll know." The “outside adjustors" also learned that her advice was always correct. It seemed that she had memorized the entire two-volume set of regulations governing their work. She progressed from trainee to senior adjustor in record time. After two years she was put in charge of the other women and, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, when her manager retired, Andrea was selected to be the youngest and first female department head in the company’s history.
Andrea took her job very seriously. She was the first to arrive at the office each morning and, when the other workers departed at quitting time, she frequently stayed after hours, making sure that all tasks were completed. With the exception of a one-week vacation each July, she never missed a day of work. The president of Hometown Mutual, William Anderson, appreciated his exceptionally dedicated employee. “That Miss Olsen is a gem," he often remarked. “I wish we could clone her."
The other women working in the claims adjustment department respected their manager’s knowledge and expertise, but behind her back they whispered. “She’s the youngest spinster in the world," Fanny observed. “Before I met her I didn’t think it was possible to be an old maid at twenty-five, but she definitely is one." In the early days her co-workers asked her to go with them to Friday evening happy hours. Andrea always declined, claiming that she was needed at home to care for her elderly father. It wasn’t long before the invitations ceased.
Each day she ate her brown bag lunch in the company cafeteria, sitting alone at the same table, reading a novel until it was time to go back to her desk. Andrea soon gained a reputation as an aloof, no-nonsense authority figure, caring for nothing except perfection in her work. She was unfailingly proper when dealing with subordinates, but unforgiving when she encountered careless or sloppy work. She tolerated no foolishness during work hours. From nine to five the atmosphere in claims adjustment was “strictly business." Productivity was high; so was turnover. Only a few equally dedicated women stayed in her department for more than a year.
Andrea’s stern professional demeanor was reinforced by her austere appearance. Everyone agreed she was an attractive woman. Standing five feet ten with a fashion-model-thin figure and a flawless complexion, she drew admiring glances from men wherever she went. Except for a hint of lipstick, however, she made no effort to enhance her features. A simple wristwatch was the only jewelry she wore. Following her promotion to department head, Andrea’s attire consisted entirely of tailored business suits and crisp white blouses. Her shoes were sensible pumps with one-inch heels.
Andrea’s most striking feature was her rich strawberry blonde hair. From her very first day at Hometown Mutual she wore it in the same fashion—parted down the middle and gathered at her neck in a neat bun. “If I had hair like hers I wouldn’t hide it, I’d flaunt it," sniped Liz the receptionist. “It’s like she’s a nun without the habit," added Cathy from accounting. “Has anyone ever seen her with her hair down?" asked Peggy, who had worked in the office for less than a year. “Never," the girls replied. “Her hair is always the same. I wish just once she would let her hair down."
Andrea’s life outside of the office was a mystery to her co-workers. They knew her mother had died when Andrea was a child and her father passed away a few months after she began working at Hometown Mutual. Mary in Personnel revealed that she lived alone in the house her parents left her in a quiet neighborhood not far from the airport. She had no dependents, no boyfriends that they knew of, and no companions except her cat, Yolanda.
If they had followed her home, the women in the claims department would have had their suspicions confirmed. Andrea occupied a modest two-bedroom bungalow that dated from the 1940s. It was the home she had been raised in. The rooms were sparsely furnished and immaculately kept. In the summer months elderly neighbors occasionally observed her tending a weed-free flower garden. Many had known her since she was a young girl. They exchanged friendly greeting in passing, but nothing more. None of them knew her very well. Like her colleagues at work, the neighbors concluded Andrea was a very private person.
Her morning routine never varied: up at six, feed Yolanda, a breakfast of granola and tea, read the newspaper, catch the eight-fifteen bus; enter at the office precisely at ten to nine. Evenings she arrived home between six and seven depending on the demands of work, fed her cat again, fixed a simple dinner, usually Lean Cuisine in the microwave, then played classical music on the stereo and read until retiring at ten-thirty. Before going to bed she sat in front of her dressing table and removed the pins that held her hair in place. Freed from their restraints, the long blonde strands tumbled down her back, past her slender waist. Every night without fail she counted out one hundred strokes, just as her mother had done when she was a little girl. Brushing imparted a sense of calm contentment and helped Andrea sleep untroubled until the alarm rang seven hours later.
Andrea didn’t own a television or a car. “Don’t need one," she remarked when Fanny asked why she always rode the bus to work. “Don’t need a television either," she explained. “We had one years ago, but books are much more interesting and you don’t have to endure those dreadful commercials."
Andrea’s orderly world turned upside down the day Maria came to work at Hometown Mutual. Mr. Anderson escorted the new employee to Andrea’s sparsely furnished office. “Miss Olsen, I’d like you to meet Maria Iannucci," he said as the two women shook hands. “I hired her to fill the vacancy in your department. I know you’ll teach her everything she needs to know." Andrea groaned inwardly. Orienting new employees was the part of her job that she disliked the most. This young woman appeared to be a more formidable challenge than most. She was short, about five feet two, with curly dark hair pulled back into a loose pony tail. She wore a long flowing skirt, dangling earrings, and sandals on her feet. A low-cut peasant blouse revealed a generous bosom. She looked more like a refugee from Woodstock than an insurance adjustor. It seemed that Maria had never been briefed on the corporate dress code. Andrea wondered how she had made it through the personnel screening process until Mr. Anderson cleared up that mystery. “Take special care of Maria," he said. “Her father is my tailor and her cousin cuts my hair."
As soon as the new trainee opened her mouth, Andrea blanched. “Hiya Andy. I’m Maria," she said. Her supervisor detested this breezy informality. No one ever called her Andy, but she was too taken aback to correct this brash young woman. As she explained the job to her new charge that morning Andrea discovered that Maia was bright and eager to learn. She was full of questions that revealed a quick comprehension of her duties. By noon Andrea’s opinion of her disheveled trainee had changed completely. Three hours of orientation convinced the boss that this free spirit would be a welcome addition to her staff.
At lunch time the trainer escorted the trainee to the employees’ cafeteria. Andrea took her brown bag to her usual seat while Maria went thought the line. The young woman soon emerged with a tray loaded with pizza, pasta, and salad. “Mind if I join you?" she cheerfully asked without waiting for a reply. She pulled out the chair opposite Andrea and for the next twenty-five minutes Maria talked non-stop while her supervisor set aside her book to listen. Usually Andrea had little patience for idle chatter, but for some reason she found Maria’s spontaneous, uninhibited commentary amusing and sweetly charming.
For the next four days their routine was the same. Each day Maria appeared in a slightly different version of her hippie garb. Andrea resisted the urge to tell her young trainee to dress more appropriately, figuring her family’s connection to Mr. Anderson gave Maria a special dispensation. By Friday afternoon her basic training was done. “You learn very quickly, Miss Iannucci. I’m sure you’ll make a fine adjustor," Andrea congratulated her at the end of the day.
“And you’re an excellent teacher, boss," Maria replied. “I think we should go out to celebrate."
“Celebrate what?" Andrea asked.
“To celebrate the completion of my training. Call it a graduation party," Marie replied gaily. “My uncle runs a restaurant not far from here. Do you like Italian food?"
Under most circumstances Andrea would have declined the invitation, but she was certain Maria would be offended if she refused. Besides, in the week they spent together Andrea had developed an unexpected fondness for this carefree young woman. In most respects they were completely different—short and tall, dark and fair, Italian and Scandinavian, uninhibited and reserved—proving once again that opposites attract.
They walked three blocks to the Café Italia where the proprietor greeted them like his most valued customers. “Any friend of Maria’s is a friend of mine," Uncle Luigi boomed in his loud bass voice. They occupied a corner booth and dined on antipasto, linguine with clam sauce, and cannoli for dessert. Although Andrea usually didn’t drink, this evening she helped Maria polish off a bottle of Chianti.
“I ate so much. That was the best meal I’ve had in years," Andrea exclaimed as the waitress cleared their plates.
“Well, if that’s true, you definitely need to get out more," Maria admonished her. “Let me drive you home."
As Andrea stepped out of Maria’s battered Honda she confessed, “I really enjoyed myself tonight Maria."
“We’ll have to do this again Andy," Maria promised before she drove off.
Watching the Honda’s taillights fade in the distance, Andrea felt a sudden twinge of sadness. Under normal circumstances she would have looked forward to a solitary weekend, free from interruptions, but spending Saturday and Sunday alone now seemed unbearably bleak.
On Monday Maria reported for work at her own desk in the claims adjustment department. Andrea restrained an impulse to check to see how her young friend was doing. At lunch they found each other in the cafeteria. “Hi Andy, how’ya doing," Maria beamed. “Have a good weekend?"
“I missed you," Andrea admitted, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one else had heard. As soon as the words left her mouth she blushed in embarrassment at her uncharacteristic directness.
“I was thinking ‘bout you too," Maria smiled pleasantly. “You free this Saturday? I’ve got a plan." Without waiting to hear any details, her supervisor readily agreed.
Despite Andrea’s daily entreaties, Maria refused to disclose her plan for the weekend. “I’ll pick you up at noon and we’ll make a day of it. Don’t wear your best clothes," was all she would say.
Andrea was standing at the front door when Maria pulled up. Neatly dressed in a beige silk blouse and cream colored slacks, she had been waiting for thirty minutes. “You’re way too dressed up,“ were the first words out of Maria’s mouth. “Don’t you own a pair of jeans?"
“I have a pair of slacks I wear for gardening," Andrea offered.
“Good, change into those," Maria ordered.
Ten minutes later Andrea emerged wearing a sharply creased pair of black slacks and a flowered shirt. “These are my gardening clothes," she announced.
“I guess that will have to do," Maria replied, still not pleased with her companion’s choice of clothing.
“Where are we going?" Andrea asked as soon as she buckled her seat belt.
“Can’t tell you. It’s a surprise," Maria said with a twinkle in her eye.
Twenty minutes later they pulled into a large parking lot next to a Catholic school. Carnival rides crowded the playground. The aroma of sausages cooking over a charcoal fire filled the air; lively music blared from loudspeakers. “What’s going on?" Andrea inquired.
“It’s the feast of San Genarro. He’s the patron saint of Naples where my family comes from," Maria explained. “Each year we have this festival to celebrate our heritage and raise lots of money to keep the school going."
They walked through the grounds until they came to a large tent bearing the Café Italia banner. Uncle Luigi stood near the entrance. “Where you girls been?" he demanded. “We got lotsa customers and no one to serve them."
“Sorry uncle," Maria apologized. “Andrea had to change her clothes."
“Well, you better get to work," he said, handing each woman a large apron and a white cap. “Maria, you show your friend what to do."
Andrea held the apron with a puzzled expression on her face. “What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked.
“Put it on, silly. We’re going to be waitressing today. Everyone in the family pitches in on the feast of San Genarro," Maria explained. “Just watch me; you’ll catch on in no time." Andrea was astonished. She had never done physical labor of any kind. Never before had she envisioned herself working as a waitress, yet here she was donning an apron and taking orders from her young employee. Even more astonishing was her easy inclusion as an Iannucci family member.
That day it was Maria’s turn to be the trainer while her boss was the trainee. Although Andrea had never worked any place other than Hometown Mutual, it didn’t take her long to learn the routine. For the next six hours the two women toiled non-stop taking orders, carrying heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs, and clearing dirty dishes when the customers were done. Maria teased Andrea who struggled to lift the heavy trays she carried so effortlessly. They laughed over Andrea’s inability to distinguish among seven varieties of pasta. They flirted shamelessly with the elderly Italian men and swatted away the inquiring hands of their sons who tried to feel their butts. When Uncle Luigi finally discharged them that evening he gave Andrea a big hug. “Andy, you should quit that insurance job and come work for me. You’d make a bundle in tips from those young stallions. You sure you don’t got a little Pisan blood in your veins?"
As dusk descended over the bustling festival, Andrea and Maria strolled the grounds, taking in the sights and enjoying each other’s company. “I never worked so hard or had so much fun," Andrea admitted. “Whoever thought I’d be a waitress?"
“Andy, you’re a natural," Maria enthused. “That’s why I keep saying you’ve gotta try new things." When they came to the Ferris wheel, Maria grabbed Andrea’s hand. “I absolutely love this ride," she shouted. “When you get to the top you can see the entire world."
After three trips on the Ferris wheel Andrea begged for relief. “Enough already," she pleaded. “I can’t stand much more fun. Take me home." As they walked back to the parking lot Andrea felt Maria’s warm hand slip inside hers. She was not entirely at ease with the unanticipated affectionate gesture, afraid someone might see them together, but she did not pull her hand away.
Maria chatted merrily on the ride home but when they stopped in front of Andrea’s house she switched to a serious and confidential tone. “Andy, I’m worried. Next month I have my final evaluation. I really need this job and from what some of the girls are saying, I’m afraid I won’t score high enough to stay on."
“Nonsense, Maria, you do excellent work. I’m sure you’ll be kept on. Besides, you’ve got a friend in the presidential suite."
“Haven’t you heard, Andy? Mr. Anderson is leaving at the end of the month. He’s being replaced by Mr. Kincaid. I won’t have that friend around when I really need him."
Andrea knew Kincaid’s reputation as a stickler for rules. She suspected he would not grant Maria any leeway. “That is troubling, Maria, but the performance evaluation I’m writing for you will be very positive."
“It’s not the work I’m worried about, it’s my appearance. I understand that counts for one-third of the evaluation. Sarah Cavanaugh in Personnel does that and I can tell she doesn’t like me much." Andrea nodded in agreement; she had heard the same thing though the office grapevine. “Andy, can you help me?" Maria pleaded.
“Well, I can’t tell Miss Cavanaugh how to rate you, but there may be some things I can do to help," Andrea agreed. Normally she didn’t interfere with personnel decisions, but this was different. She now was an adopted member of the Iannucci clan; Maria was family.
Monday at lunch Andrea told her young friend, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot after work."
“Where are we going?" Maria asked.
“We’re going shopping," Andrea informed her. She directed Maria to drive to an exclusive suburban mall and park in front of the Brooks Brothers store.
“Isn’t this a men’s store?" Maria inquired.
“They sell women’s clothing too; respectable clothes for business women. This is where I buy all my outfits. We’re going to get you some new clothes."
Maria made a face as if shopping for a new wardrobe was as painful as a visit to the dentist, yet she obediently followed Andrea into the store. After two hours in and out of the fitting room Maria exited Brooks Brothers laden with packages. She carried two business suits, one pinstriped navy blue, the other charcoal gray, two pair of sensible shoes, and four blouses. Andrea would have preferred that all of the blouses were white, but Maria insisted her new wardrobe must include some bright colors. She selected shirts in various hues—cinnamon, chartreuse, lavender, and ivory—the last one a concession to her friend’s taste. As they stood at the cash register, Andrea discreetly slipped the saleswoman her credit card. When Maria dug her checkbook out of her purse she was discreetly informed, “It’s been taken care of, madam."
“I wish you would let me pay for these clothes," Maria said to Andrea when they reached the car.
“It’s my pleasure, Maria. I know how much you earn. I can afford it much better than you."
An audible murmur arose from the claims department cubicles Tuesday morning when Maria marched into the office in her new attire. Not only was she wearing a crisply tailored business suit, but her hair was pulled back into a modest bun, and small gold studs replaced the dangling earrings she usually wore. “What happened to your clothes?" Fanny asked.
“My fairy godmother waved her wand and look what happened," Maria playfully informed the other women.
Fanny gave her a knowing smile. “I guess we know who that fairy godmother might be," she said.
Over lunch Maria and Andrea discussed the reaction to her new look. “You should have seen their faces when I walked through the door. They just stood there with their mouths hanging open, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing."
“I can hardly believe it myself. You look so different—so professional."
“It’s all thanks to you, Andy. But there’s still one problem."
“What’s that?" Andrea asked.
“My hair. No matter what I do, it won’t behave. Even when I pull it back it won’t stay put. See how it’s starting to come undone already."
“Yes, I see," Andrea agreed as she noticed the strands that had slipped free of their restraint. “What do you propose?"
“Maybe I should get my hair cut," Maria suggested.
“But I love your hair like it is," Andrea protested. “It’s so natural, so genuine. I can’t imagine what you would look like with another hairstyle."
“Neither can I, but it wouldn’t have to be permanent. After I pass the evaluation I can always let it grow back," Maria told her. “Besides, change is good. You might like me better with a new haircut."
Andrea didn’t think that was possible, but she agreed a more conservative hairdo would help Maria gain Miss Cavanaugh’s approval. “Well, I suppose that might be a good idea," she conceded.
“Good, that settles it," Maria declared. “Today after work I’m gonna to get my hair cut."
Andrea had no experience with hair salons, but she suspected that more advance notice was needed to arrange a haircut. “But where will you go? Won’t you need an appointment?" she protested.
“Nah, no appointment needed. My cousin Tony runs a barber shop. He’ll be happy to fit me in," Maria brightly informed her.
“A barber shop?" Andrea proclaimed in horror. “I would never dream of going to a barbershop."
“Tony is a skilled professional," Maria replied, somewhat defensively. “He cuts my mother’s hair and my sister-in-law’s too. Why pay a stranger when there’s someone in the family who will do it for free?"
“I’m sure your cousin is a very good barber," Andrea continued. “But aren’t you afraid that you’ll wind up looking like a guy."
“Would that be so bad, Andy? Wouldn’t I make a cute guy?" Maria teased.
Andrea felt her face redden. She sensed the sexual innuendo behind Maria’s light-hearted banter. She found her dark-haired colleague an attractive and fascinating companion. After their weekend together she began fantasizing about Maria as an intimate partner. Andrea had never been involved in a relationship with anyone, male or female. She spent most of her teen years resisting the advances of high school hotshots. She could have had her pick from among the most popular and handsome young men, yet she never found any of them attractive. Women were much more interesting.
Despite Maria’s youth, Andrea understood that her friend was more sexually experienced than she was. Off-hand comments suggested that Maria had enjoyed romantic relationships with both men and women. Now she was hinting that she also might take pleasure in a bit of gender bending. Andrea was shocked, but not completely offended. In her mind’s eye she pictured her young companion dressed in boy’s clothing, with a short, masculine haircut. It was not an unpleasant prospect.
At quitting time Maria marched to Andrea’s office. “Time to go, boss. I called the shop and Tony’s ready for us." They drove across town to an older neighborhood of modest homes and corner taverns. Maria pointed to a small white building with a revolving red, white, and blue barber’s pole outside. “That’s Tony’s place," she announced as they got out of her car. Andrea was a bit hesitant about entering this all-male bastion, but Maria was insistent. “Come on, Andy. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of; you’ll be among family."
“Hiya Tony," Maria called cheerfully to her cousin as they entered. “This is my friend Andy."
“Yes, I heard about you, Andy. Pop says you’d make a first-class waitress if you ever want to give up the insurance game. Sorry I couldn’t be there to help out, but Saturday is my busiest day here." Andrea realized that Tony was Uncle Luigi’s son.
“I’ll be with you ladies in a couple minutes," Tony said to Maria.
The two women sat side by side watching Tony put the finishing touches on a haircut for an elderly patron. Maria soon got bored and stood up to inspect the many framed photos arrayed along the wall. Andrea recognized many of the famous actors and singers in the pictures—Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Marlon Brando, Perry Como, Al Pacino, Robert DiNiro, Sylvester Stallone. “This is Tony’s Italian-American hall of fame," Maria pointed out.
“Where are the women?" Andrea asked.
“Over here," said Maria, directing her to a much smaller collection. “See, there’s Gina Lollobrigida, Sofia Loren, Anna Magnani, Patti LuPone, even Annette Funicello and Connie Francis."
“Who’s that?" Andrea asked, gesturing toward the image of a stunning, dark-haired beauty sporting a brief boyish haircut with short irregular bangs.
“That’s Isabella Rossellini," Maria declared, “but she’s only half Italian on her father’s side. Her mother was Ingrid Bergman. Italian and Swedish, just like us. She’s been in lots of movies."
“I don’t see many films," Andrea replied, “but she’s very beautiful."
“So what can I do for you ladies today?" Tony asked, interrupting their conversation as the old gentleman shuffled out of the shop.
“Like I said on the phone, I need to get my hair cut," Maria reminded him.
“So, you’re finally ready for a decent haircut," Tony declared with evident satisfaction. “It’s about time."
“Yeah, I know," Maria answered with an air of resignation. “Mom and Pop have been bugging me for years to get a respectable haircut," she confided to Andrea. “I’m sure they’re going to be very happy."
Tony spoke up. “You know I don’t do any fancy hairdos, Maria; nothing like you’d get in one of them high-priced beauty salons downtown," he cautioned.
“That’s okay, Tony. Something short and simple is what I want. This mop has got to go," Maria boldly declared as she tossed her tangled locks from side to side for emphasis.
“So, Maria, there’s all kinda short haircuts. I gotta know how you want to look," Tony insisted.
“When you’re done I want to look like Isabella Rossellini," Maria boldly proclaimed, pointing to her photo on the wall. “That’s the haircut Andrea picked out for me. She wants me to look beautiful, just like Isabella."
Andrea felt a sudden rush of emotion. What was Maria doing? She had said nothing of the sort, of course. Why was she making her responsible for this fantastic idea? Still, she couldn’t deny that the prospect of seeing Maria wearing Isabella’s breathtaking haircut was turning her on. How had Maria sensed that she was drawn to that haircut? Was it that obvious?
Tony instantly recognized the actress and her trademark pixie hairstyle. “Well, I might be able to give you a haircut like Isabella, but it’s gonna take more than that to make you look like her," he kidded. “You might need plastic surgery on that nose of yours."
“Okay, Tony, I’ll settle for Isabella’s haircut," Maria jovially assented, not the least bit offended.
“That’s gonna be a great look for you, cuz," Tony agreed. “Andy made a good choice. Let’s get to work."
Maria eagerly hopped up into the big barber chair. She held her hair up as Tony wrapped a tissue around her neck. He spread a white cloth over her shoulders and fastened it behind her neck. He pumped the chair up several notches until her head was within his easy reach. Then Tony selected a long lock from the top of Maria’s head and stood poised with scissors in hand.
“Whatcha waiting for, Tony?" his cousin asked.
“Just want to make sure you’re ready."
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Go ahead. Work your magic. Make me look like Isabella," she commanded.
Andrea couldn’t believe how casually Maria regarded her impending transformation. She felt a knot forming in her stomach and she was only a spectator. Andrea held her breath as Tony closed the scissor blades and removed a foot-long curly strand from Maria’s crown. It dangled from his fingers like a thick black ribbon before falling to the floor. She tried to imagine what it must feel like to sit submissively while a man hacked away at her crowning glory. If it had been her in the barber’s chair she would have been petrified. Maria, however, seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. She winked at Andrea and joked with Tony as he reached for a second strand. “Make in snappy, cuz. We don’t have all day."
Andrea watched in amazement as Tony systematically cropped the top of Maria’s head until the longest hair was no more than four inches. Never in her life had she witnessed something so profoundly unsettling. On the way to the shop she tried to persuade Maria to consider some other alternative—having her hair straightened perhaps, or even wearing a wig to work. But Maria would not be dissuaded. Now that the haircut had begun, Andrea found herself getting aroused as she never had been before. She couldn’t wait to see how Maria would look with her hair cut radically short. She wanted to pick up the long strands Tony was casually discarding and save them away with her most precious belongings, but fear of being too conspicuous kept her frozen in her seat.
Tony casually snipped lock after lock of Maria’s dark hair and dropped them to the floor where a large mound began to accumulate. He trimmed the hair on the sides of her head shorter than the top so both ears were half way exposed. He clipped the back to match the sides. He scissored the hair above her forehead to create feathery bangs in imitation of Isabella. He returned to the top with thinning shears. Tony explained that this would help her thick hair lie smoothly. Finally he used a brush and blow dryer to give Maria’s new style some volume.
Through it all Maria remained remarkably calm. She actually seemed to be relishing the experience. When Tony put down his scissors at last, she ran her fingers through the shortened hair on top of her head; then felt the back. “Oh my God! It’s so short!" she exclaimed with glee.
Tony held a mirror so Maria could inspect the haircut from every angle. “I hope that’s not too short," he apologized.
“Let’s let Andy be the judge of that," Maria replied. “Andy, come here and tell us what you think."
Andrea rose from where she sat and walked to Maria’s side. She slowly walked around the barber’s chair, critically inspecting Maria’s haircut from every angle. After a long silence she offered her verdict. “The back and sides are just fine, but the top would look better if it was cut shorter."
“Then you won’t have Isabella’s haircut," Tony objected.
“But shorter will look better for Maria," Andrea insisted.
“Andy’s right, Tony," Maria instantly agreed. “You gotta cut it shorter just like Andy says."
“If you insist, cuz" Tony reluctantly agreed as he took up his scissors again.
Andrea returned to her seat and watched breathlessly as the barber reduced the hair on top of Maria’s head to an irregular, spiked thatch barely two inches in length. Through it all Maria seemed supremely happy, smiling and winking at Andrea as Tony snipped at a furious pace. For her part, Andrea sat transfixed, scarcely believing the words that had come out of her mouth a few minutes ago. What had come over? Why did she want to see Maria with such a radically short haircut? And why had Maria gone along so willingly, without a word of protest? Something about this haircut was forging a strong bond between them.
When he finished cutting Tony applied a large dose of styling gel to Maria’s hair and arranged it so the spikes were pointing in all directions. Maria now more closely resembled a mod young rocker than the Italian film star, but neither she nor Andrea seemed to mind.
“So what d’ya think now, Andy?" the barber asked.
“That’s just about perfect," she declared. “You’ve done a marvelous job."
Tony beamed with pride as he shook the dark clippings from the cape and Maria slid down from her perch, stepping over piles of her dark hair.
“Do you like me with short hair, Andy?" she asked flirtatiously.
“Oh Maria, you look so beautiful," Andrea gushed with uncharacteristic passion. “It’s perfect!"
“Now look what you’ve done, Tony," Maria gently teased her cousin. “Andy probably wants me to keep my hair like this forever."
The barber turned to Andrea. “Your turn next, boss lady," he called out.
“Who, me?" Andrea stammered, her shocked expression immediately obvious. She automatically shot a hand to her head to shield her locks.
“Don’t see nobody else ‘round here needing a haircut," Tony said, taunting her.
“No, not me. I only came for moral support. I like my hair just the way it is," she said with a note of panic creeping into her voice.
“Knock it off, Tony," Maria admonished her cousin. “Can’t you see she’s not ready?"
“Relax, Andy. I was only fooling with you," Tony assured her. “I know you’re not ready for such a big change yet. But when you are, be sure to come back. I’ll take real good care of you."
Andrea stood in the middle of the shop feeling foolish. Why had she reacted so defensively? Why had she felt so threatened by Tony’s harmless offer to cut her hair? Maria had parted with her lovely long locks without apparent distress. Why couldn’t she be spontaneous and uninhibited like her young friend? And what did Tony mean when he said she wasn’t ready yet?
Andrea offered to pay for Maria’s haircut, but Tony refused. “Don’t take money from family, you know that," he scolded her. Once again Andrea was reminded that she had been adopted into this welcoming Italian clan.
As they walked to the car Andrea was uncharacteristically expressive. “You were so brave," she exclaimed. “If that had been me getting my hair cut off, I would have been blubbering like a baby."
“Do you really like my new hairdo, Andy, or were you just saying that to make Tony feel good?" Maria teased. “Do you still find me beautiful? Or are you going to dump me for that long-haired redhead in accounting?"
Andrea knew that Maria was joking, but there was a serious message beneath her kidding. “Maria, you are the most beautiful girl in the world. If you shaved your head completely bald you would still be beautiful in my eyes," she said with heartfelt sincerity.
“That’s good," Maria replied, suddenly serious, “because I feel the same way about you. Why don’t we go home now?"
They drove back to Andrea’s house without saying much. The pop music blaring from the radio filled their silences. Both women sensed they had come to a turning point in their relationship. For her entire adult life Andrea had steadfastly avoided anything resembling commitment. She desperately wanted to experience love but feared rejection. Maria worried about the deepening relationship with her boss. She knew what the other girls in the office were saying—that she was brown nosing Andrea to get ahead in her job. If they became lovers they wouldn’t be able to hide it for long. This affair could have an unhappy ending for all concerned.
Andrea unlocked the door to be greeted by a hungry kitten. “Which way to the bathroom?" Maria asked. “I need to take a shower—too many prickly hairs down my neck."
“That way. You’ll find a robe hanging on the back of my closet door," Andrea offered.
Twenty minutes later Maria emerged from the steamy bathroom with her damp hair slicked back. The bangs that had covered her brow were brushed off her face. She had completely altered Tony’s haircut. She looked more like twelve-year-old schoolboy than a twenty-five year old office worker.
“Well, what d’ya think, Andy?" she asked her friend. “Do you like me as a boy or should I start growing my hair back?"
“You have never looked more beautiful," Andrea murmured with great sincerity.
Maria let her robe fall open, partially exposing her full, round breasts. “Well, what are you waiting for?" she said seductively.
Andrea rose from the sofa and approached her young companion. “Maria, I love you like I have never loved another person," she confessed. She reached over and mussed Maria’s short damp hair. She pulled Maria close and placed her lips on the younger woman’s waiting mouth.
When they separated Maria admitted, “Andy, I’ve wanted you to do that since the first time I met you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
The tall blonde and the short brunette embraced with Maria standing on her tiptoes. “You wait here while I slip into something more comfortable," Andrea said as she retreated into her bedroom.
Andrea was seated in front of her dressing table wearing a silken night gown. A dozen fragrant candles provided the only light when Maria entered the bedroom.
“Let me take down your hair," Maria softly offered.
“Sure, okay, I guess," Andrea said as she turned to face the mirror. Maria stood behind her and carefully removed the hairpins one by one. When the last pin was extracted she stepped back and admired the sheet of thick blond hair covering the back of Andrea’s nightgown.
“My God, you’ve got a lot of hair," she exclaimed. “When was the last time you had it cut?"
“I was about ten years old."
“And you haven’t had a haircut since then?"
“No, not once."
“Let me brush it," she said. Without waiting for an answer, Maria picked up a brush from the dressing table and began stroking Andrea’s long, thick hair. She continued brushing for almost a quarter of an hour. Andrea sat enthralled, reveling in the luxury of being worshipped by another person and anticipating what was to come. When at last Maria rested the brush, Andrea took her hand and the two friends moved to the edge of Andrea’s queen sized bed.
“Please be gentle, this is my first time," Andrea whispered.
“Your first time with a woman?" Maria asked.
“My first time with anyone," Andrea confessed.
“I would never do anything to hurt you, Andy."
Andrea reached out and pulled Maria’s head to her breast. “You are so beautiful, Maria. I feel so lucky to have found you."
Maria wistfully fingered Andrea’s luxurious long locks. “I was afraid my haircut might freak you out," she said.
“Actually, it kinda turned me on. I started thinking maybe I should cut my hair too."
Maria suddenly grew serious. “Don’t you ever do that, Andy," she scolded. “You’re perfect just the way you are. Promise me you’ll never cut your hair."
“I promise," Andrea replied.
The long-haired Swede and the short-haired Italian embraced and slowly undressed each other.
“You have such a sexy body. I always wanted boobs like yours," Andrea said.
“And I spent most of my teen years wishing I was skinny and tall like you."
They laughed and rolled into bed together, kissing and caressing each other’s hair.
The next weekend Maria moved in with Andrea. “This makes so much sense," Andrea explained. “I’ve got this big old house with plenty of room. You’ve got the car. We’ll save so much money living together."
Maria and Andrea soon became the talk of the office. Although they tried to hide their affection, it seemed that everyone realized they were lovers. Their colleagues called them “Salt and Pepper" or “Fire and Ice." No one was surprised when they picked the same week in July for their vacations.
“Have you ever thought of wearing your hair differently?" Maria asked Andrea on a quiet evening at home.
“No, not really," her lover replied. “Do you think I should?"
“It might be fun. Let’s try some different looks and see what you think."
Tongues began to wag the first day Andrea arrived at the office with two braids coiled on the sides of her head, Princess Leia fashion. Andrea felt acutely self-conscious, but appreciated the admiring comments of her co-workers. The next week she showed up with her hair in a French twist and sporting sparkling earrings. “What’s come over her?" Fanny asked. “She’s in love, can’t you see," Liz reminded her.
It took two months before Maria finally persuaded Andrea to wear her hair down. Maria spent nearly half an hour pulling her lover’s long blonde tresses into a spectacular high pony tail that swung down beyond the small of her back. “I’m not so sure about this," Andrea worried. “I’m not ready for this."
“Nonsense," Maria assured her. “You’ve got marvelous hair; you should show it off instead of hiding it."
Andrea’s entrance to the office was greeted with stunned silence at first, then there was a smattering of applause that quickly turned into a standing ovation. It seemed that the women in the claims department had formed a pool, betting on whether she would appear with her hair down. Some were convinced it would never happen, but everyone agreed that Andrea looked stunning when she released her hair from its captivity.
Each of the “inside adjustors" at Hometown Mutual was assigned to work with an “outside adjustor." The men stopped in the home office two or three times a week to exchange information about clients with the women who coordinated their accounts. In September Maria began working with a recently discharged Navy officer. Charles Ransom was six-foot-two; handsome and witty. All of the women drooled whenever he appeared and tried their best to attract his attention. But Charles only had eyes for Maria. At first she tried to ignore this flirting and compliments. Soon, however, she weakened and began returning his admiring looks. Somehow Andrea remained oblivious to the romance blossoming under her nose, although the rest of the office could talk about little else.
The first hint that their relationship was changing came after living together for one year when Maria informed her lover, “Andy, I’m thinking about growing my hair longer. Would you mind?"
Andrea’s preference for a short-haired lover was deeply rooted and unwavering, but she was afraid to deny Maria’s request. “I love your hair the way it is, but would never stand in your way. Let your hair grow out if you want." The growing out period was difficult for both of them, but after six months Maria’s dark curls was refashioned into a stylish chin-length bob.
Maria felt guilty about the growing affection she felt for Charles. She didn’t want to betray Andrea, but she was powerfully attracted to the handsome young adjustor and he clearly was infatuated with her. They began meeting secretly. Maria told Andrea she was needed to help out at her uncle’s restaurant. That was the truth, but at night, after the Café Italia closed, she and Charles would get together for a drink or a late movie. Before long they were sleeping together.
Shortly before Christmas Maria broke the news that she and Charles were going to be married. “But why?" Andrea cried. “I thought you loved me."
“I do love you, Andy," Maria insisted. “But you know I’ve always wanted children and a family of my own."
“We could adopt a child," her lover pleaded. “There’s always artificial insemination."
“I don’t want an anonymous sperm donor to be the father of my child," Maria declared. “Besides, I’m two months pregnant."
“I’m very happy for you," Andrea said bitterly. “I suppose you’ll be moving out soon."
“Charles is coming to get my things Sunday," Maria informed her.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I think I will be going in to the office then."
Andrea received an invitation to the hastily-arranged wedding, but sent her regrets. She cherished the feeling of belonging that came from her honorary membership in the Iannucci family, but seeing Maria walk down the aisle in a white wedding gown would have been too painful. Instead, she decided to take an unscheduled vacation and spent the week of the wedding in Aruba, sitting on the beach, sipping pina coladas, and contemplating the future without her lover. Each evening when she retired Andrea took down her hair and carefully brushed it out as she had done at the end of each day for the last twenty-five years. But this time she did things differently. She pulled her hair back behind her head and peered intently into the bathroom mirror, trying to visualize what she would look like with a new hair style.
Andrea returned to the city on a Friday evening with her mind made up. Early Saturday morning she drove across town in car she had rented at the airport. For twenty minutes she sat behind the wheel, trying to screw up her courage. Finally she resolved, “No point in delaying any longer." She resolutely marched to the door of the small shop, firmly grasped the handle, and walked in.
“Why hello, Andy," Tony greeted her with a pleased but surprised look on his face. “Haven’t seen you in ages. We missed you at the wedding."
“I went on vacation. I’m sure it was a lovely affair," Andrea said, trying without success to conceal her heartache.
“I know it must be tough for you," he replied sympathetically. “It’s good to see you anyhow. What brings you here? Is this a social call or have you come for a haircut?"
“I’d like to get my hair cut," she said with a hint of sadness.
“So you’ve finally decided to take the plunge," Tony observed.
“Yes, it’s time," Andrea confirmed.
“What made you change your mind?"
“Lots of things," Andrea answered vaguely. “I just decided it was time."
“Well, I’m glad you came. Business has been kinda slow this morning. Step right up," he said, gesturing toward his vacant chair.
Andrea stepped up and slid into the wide leather seat; her narrow bottom occupying less than half of its wide expanse. She reached behind her head and began removing the pins that held her bun in place. Tony let out a low admiring whistle as three feet of strawberry tresses uncoiled and fell down the back of the chair. “Wow, Andy, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so much hair on one head."
“That’s not going to be a problem, is it?" she inquired nervously.
“No, of course not," the barber told her. “But are you sure you want me to cut all this beautiful hair? You know the kind of haircuts we do here."
“Yes, and that’s precisely why I came. I want you to give me a short haircut—something very short."
“You want me to make me look like Isabella Rossellini?" he asked, repeating the words Maria had uttered before her haircut the year before.
“I don’t think that would work," Andrea declared. “For one thing, Isabella’s a brunette and I’m a blonde."
“You look more like Isabella’s mother, Ingrid Bergman," Tony observed.
“I don’t know about that," Andrea informed him, “but what does she have to do with my haircut?"
“Well, there was one movie, For Whom the Bell Tolls, in which Bergman played this woman caught up in the Spanish Civil War. She was quite lovely, but didn’t look very Spanish."
“What does this have to do with me?" Andrea demanded.
“I was getting to that," Tony patiently explained. “Bergman had her hair cut short for this role. It was supposed to be her punishment for helping the rebels. I could make you look like Ingrid Bergman in that movie."
“Okay, I really don’t care as long as it’s short," she repeated impatiently.
“Oh, it will be short alright," Tony assured her. “I just don’t want you getting mad at me if you don’t like the way it turns out."
“That won’t be a problem. You’ll be relieving me of a heavy burden. You’ll be doing me a great favor," Andrea stressed.
“Okay, you’re the boss," Tony answered. It was clear that he wasn’t crazy about the idea of cutting her hair as short as she had requested. Still, she was a customer and a valued friend. He felt obliged to give her what she demanded. If she didn’t like the result, she was the one responsible, not him.
“So let’s get started," Andrea suggested impatiently. The extended conversation was getting on her nerves. She wanted to get the ordeal over as soon as possible.
“You bet, Andy," Tony replied, responding to her frustration. “One Ingrid Bergman haircut coming right up."
He spread a fresh white cape around her shoulders. Andrea held her hair up so he could fasten it behind her neck.
Tony selected a pair of shears and drew a lock of blonde hair from the center of Andrea’s head just as he had done for Maria. He placed his scissors three inches from her scalp and paused. Their eyes met in the mirror and Andrea solemnly nodded her permission. Tony closed the blades and lifted the thirty inch strand away from its base.
“I’d like to save the hair," she instructed the barber.
“Sure, no problem," he said as he carefully laid the ribbon of hair on the counter and returned for a second piece.
Andrea shut her eyes and tried to hold back the tears welling up inside. She mourned her lost lover; she remembered how tenderly Maria had caressed her long tresses the first night they spent together; she recalled the promise, now broken, to never cut her hair; she reminisced about the fun they shared as Maria arranged her locks into a series of exotic creations. Life would be different with short hair, she knew, but it was a step she must take—a clean break with her past. An image of Maria sitting in the same chair, receiving a similar shearing, flashed across her brain. Lighthearted Maria, smiling and joking with Tony while winking across the room at her. How happy they were then—a blissful moment they could never recapture.
“Hey Andy," Tony called, wakening her from her reverie. “You okay?"
“Yeah, sure, I’m fine," Andrea assured him. She looked in the mirror and realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. She dabbed at her eyes and resolved to stop crying like a silly schoolgirl.
Andrea stared at the bizarre image reflected in the large mirror in front of her. The top of her head was almost entirely cropped; no hair was more than three inches long. It was almost more than she could endure, yet there could be no turning back. Once begun, Tony must complete his task.
She steeled herself to watch as Maria’s cousin systematically clipped the hair from the right side of her head. Here he cut it shorter, leaving only an inch or so. Before long Andrea spied the outline of her ear emerging from the blonde curtain that formerly concealed it. She observed Tony deliberately trimming the back of her head, laying more pieces on the steadily growing pile of severed tresses.
When he finished removing the last of her long hair, Tony went back to work with his scissors and comb, trimming and tapering her shortened locks into a neater, less ragged look. After half an hour of nearly continuous cutting, Tony paused. “Is this what you had in mind?" he asked. Once again Andrea stared at her unfamiliar reflection. She didn’t much resemble Ingrid Bergman. The pixie style with wispy bangs made her look more like Anne Heche in Psycho. It was a radical departure from her old look, but not an unattractive one. She had to give Tony credit; he certainly was an expert at short haircuts.
Andrea continued gazing into the mirror on the wall. Tony held a small mirror behind her head so she could inspect the back. She ran her fingers through the shortened hair on the top of her head and felt the back. The expression on her face revealed a mind deep in deliberation. Finally, after a painful silence she announced, “It’s a great haircut, Tony, but it’s not short enough. Can you take it shorter?"
“Sure thing, Andy," Tony responded. “I can always take it shorter, but that’s gonna mean using the clippers. I’ve done about as much as I can with the scissors. You okay with that?"
“Go ahead," Andrea insisted. “Whatever it takes."
“I’ll use clippers on the back and sides and leave the top longer so you can style it," he offered.
“I want the top short too," Andrea insisted,
“How short do you mean?" Tony inquired.
“Short enough so it will stand up," she informed him.
“Spiked like I did for Maria?" Tony asked hopefully.
“Nope, I want it all the same length just like the guy in that picture," she informed him, pointing to a chart on the opposite wall illustrating various men’s haircuts.
“You mean you want me to give you a flat top?" Tony asked in amazement. “You want your hair that short?"
“Not super-short," she cautioned. “I don’t want to be bald, but about this short on top," she said, holding her fingers less than an inch apart. I want a completely new look when I leave here," she stressed.
“Well, that’s sure gonna look different," Tony agreed.
“So let’s get started before I lose my nerve," she commanded.
Tony went back to work, this time exchanging his scissors for a large electric clipper. He fastened an attachment over the blades and switched on the power. Over the steady drone of the clippers he informed her, “I’ll use a number two guard on the back and sides."
Andrea had no idea what the barber was describing, but she was past the point of questioning. She just wanted the haircut to be done as quickly as possible. “Sure, that’s fine," she replied.
Tony placed his left hand on the top of Andrea’s head and forced her chin down toward her collar bone. She closed her eyes and tried to prepare herself for the next stage of her transformation. He placed his clippers on her bare neck and skillfully guided them up into the short blonde pelt now covering the back of her head. Andrea concentrated on the strange sensations flooding her body as Tony systematically reduced her hair to a mere quarter of an inch. The feeling was strangely exciting. Never in her life had she done anything as impulsive at this; never had she based her actions on emotion rather than intellect. She knew that this haircut would mark a turning point in her life. One relationship had ended; what lay ahead was anyone’s guess.
Andrea tried to imagine what she would look like when Tony was finished shearing her. With only a few deft moves the barber peeled away almost all of the hair covering the back of her head. She couldn’t see what it looked like, but knew very little remained. The insistent buzzing of the clippers intensified as he ran the clippers around her right ear and up toward her temple. She could feel cool air washing over the newly exposed areas of her scalp. It was a novel and refreshing sensation.
The barber shifted to the other side of the chair and resumed buzzing the left side of her head. Andrea opened her eyes when switched off the power to his clippers. She beheld a rather bizarre sight. All of the hair below her crown had been clipped to an almost microscopic length; her pale skin was visible beneath the blonde stubble. The hair on top of her head, however, remained three to four inches long. She found the contrast between the top and sides alarming—this was not at all what she wanted.
Tony sensed her distress. “Don’t you worry, Andy. I’ll have the top looking ship-shape in a couple a minutes," he assured her. The barber put his silent clippers back on their hook and returned with a spray bottle. Andrea flinched as he doused her head with a fine mist of water. When she was thoroughly soaked he attacked the top with a stiff brush. “You’ve had that part down the middle of your head for so long, it’s gonna take some work to make it disappear," he explained. When Tony finished Andrea’s shortened blonde locks were slicked back so she now rather resembled a gangster from the Roaring Twenties.
“Now comes that hard part," he warned her. “You gotta sit real still while I do the top."
Andrea realized that the final critical stage of her haircut was at hand. She steeled herself for another round of cutting. This one, she knew would reduce the hair on her crown until it more closely resembled the style she had selected.
Tony approached with his clippers in his right hand and a long-toothed black comb in the left. He stood directly in front of her and used the comb to lift a section of hair from above her forehead. He ran the clippers along the horizontal comb, neatly slicing off the two inches of hair protruding above its teeth. Tony moved his comb further back on her head and cut repeated his action. A third and a fourth cut followed as he slowly and deliberately worked his way toward the back of her head.
Andrea could not see what was happening because Tony’s body blocked her view. However, she could observe the intent expression on his face as he concentrated to keep every cut at the same precise length. Andrea saw the clumps of damp hair that were dropping onto the cape that protected her clothing; she felt the comb as it scraped against her scalp; she heard the blades of the clippers as they chewed a path through her thick hair.
Tony finally stepped aside to work on the right side of her head. Here he held his comb upright and used his clippers to create a precise vertical wall, perpendicular to the flattened top. Andrea gasped at the remarkable sight she saw in the mirror. The hair on top of her head had been carved into a neat geometric shape, perfectly flat along the top and barely an inch long. She now bore a striking likeness to the man in the poster, the one whose haircut she had selected only ten minutes before. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Tony continued without interruption. He brushed the cropped top of her head again. This time all the hair stood up as she had requested. He returned with the comb and clippers, removing another fraction of an inch from the top, pausing after every pass to check his work. Andrea wondered how much longer he would continue. Surely there wasn’t much more hair left to cut. She never realized that administering a haircut could be such exact and painstaking work.
Finally Tony stepped back to give her head one last critical inspection. Apparently satisfied, he switched off the clippers and said, “There you go, Andy. What do you think?" He held the mirror behind her head again so she could see the back.
Andrea didn’t know how to respond. Tony had given her the haircut she had selected. Her head was a nearly perfect replica of the young man with the crew cut in the poster. But the image in the mirror looked so strange and unfamiliar she scarcely knew what to say. She reached her hand out from under the cape and gingerly felt the back of her head. She ran her fingers across the flattened top. It was a totally unexpected sensation—like an alien creature had taken possession of her body. She admired Tony’s skill in creating his perfect haircut but had not yet accepted that it now was her signature look.
“Yes, that’s fine," she mumbled, wanting only to escape before she further embarrassed herself with another emotional meltdown. “How much do I owe you?"
“No charge. You’re family," Tony said as he unfastened the cape and released her from the chair. He hastily gathered the remains of Andrea’s strawberry mane into a plastic bag and handed it to her as she headed toward the door. “Come back any time. You’re always welcome here, Andy," Tony called.
Andrea staggered out of the barber shop in a state of shock. She found her car and tried to catch her breath. She looked in the rear view mirror and ran her fingers through her shortened hair. In the back, where her bun used to rest, her neck was bare and the hair above it was a quarter of an inch long at most. The sides were only a little longer and the level top was cut nearly as short as the sides. The woman looking back at her was a complete stranger. She couldn’t have pictured a more complete transformation. Had this haircut been a colossal mistake? Or would she look back one day and realize that cutting her hair was the best move she could have made? Her emotional state tottered between regret and relief. There was no way she could resolve this issue tonight. She decided a strong drink would settle her nerves. Andrea she drove straight to the Recovery Room. Many times she and Maria had passed this bar near the hospital, each time Maria remarked this was a place where lesbian nurses and doctors hung out.
Andrea found her way to a booth in the back of the dimly lit establishment and ordered a single malt whiskey. She didn’t like the taste of liquor, but she needed anesthesia to dull her pain. As she drank a kind-looking middle aged woman with a spiked haircut much like Maria’s approached. “You look like you’ve just lost your best friend," she said.
Andrea motioned for her to sit down. “You don’t know the half of it," she laughed bitterly.
“I noticed when you came in," she said. “I’m a big fan of short hair. I love your haircut."
“It happened about an hour ago. I’m just getting used to it. I’m still in shock really."
“You used to have long hair?"
“Very long, down to my butt."
“Well short hair looks good on you although I wish I could have seen you before your haircut."
“I have a picture in here somewhere." Andrea rummaged through her purse and pulled out a photo of her together with Maria on the beach.
“Yes, you definitely look better with short hair," she pronounced. “Is that your girlfriend?"
“My former girlfriend," Andrea corrected her.
“Well then, it seems that I’ve arrived at the right time. I’m single too. Can I buy you another drink?"
Andrea looked down at her empty glass. “Yes," she answered, “I’m still getting over the loss."
“Losing your girlfriend or your hair?"
“Both I guess. It was sort of a package deal."
“Tell you what. I’ll stay sober and you can drink. When you’ve had enough, I’ll drive you home."
“A genuine good Samaritan," Andrea cracked.
“Just call me Sam; it’s short for Samantha. My patients call me Doctor Sam."
“I’m Andy, short for Andrea."
An audible gasp went up from the clerks in the claims department when Andrea strode into their quarters at ten after nine Monday morning. “Have you seen Miss Olsen?" one new employee said to her friend in the next office. “You won’t believe your eyes. She cut off all her hair! She’s got this short butch haircut. I can’t believe it!"
A few minute later she summoned Judy Spencer into her office. Before Andrea could say anything, Judy exclaimed, “Miss Olsen, you cut your hair!"
“Indeed I did, Miss Spencer," Andrea replied with a satisfied smile. “Do you like it?"
“I think you look totally awesome," her assistant answered. In ten years of working together this was the first time they had discussed anything personal; anything other than business or the weather.
“Thank you, Miss Spencer," Andrea said. “Now about that report."
Saturday afternoon there was a knock on the door of the small bungalow occupied by newlywed Maria and Charles. Maria answered the door and found a UPS deliveryman holding a square box. “Sign here," he told her.
Maria was puzzled; there was no return address on the package and she hadn’t been expecting a delivery. When she cut through the tape and opened the flaps she uncovered a mound of long strawberry blonde hair nestled inside a pocket of tissue paper. There was no card or note, but she instantly knew who had sent the package. Maria sank into an overstuffed chair and wistfully fingered the remains of Andrea’s splendid mane, thinking of the many times she had brushed it and the intimacy that followed. This was Andrea’s way of saying good-bye. That chapter of their life was over. She had moved on; they both had. Maria smothered her face in Andrea’s severed hair and inhaled the lingering fragrance of her herbal shampoo. She began to sob, remembering her stately Swedish lover and the year they shared.
Everyone at Hometown Mutual agreed that Andrea Olsen was a changed woman beginning that day. She never relaxed her high standards; she was as precise and demanding as ever when it came to their work, but they agreed that she was kinder and more considerate than before. She complimented her clerks on their appearance, remembered their birthdays, and even joined them for an occasional Friday after-work happy hour.
Andrea never went back to long hair after that. The first year she returned to Tony’s shop every four weeks for a trim, but eventually let her hair grow out into a softer, more feminine style. Andrea lived together with Samantha for many years in a contented domestic partnership. Occasionally, when she spied an attractive young woman with short dark hair or when she passed an old-fashioned barber shop, she fondly recalled Maria.
Some people say you never really get over your first love. In Andrea’s case that definitely was true.
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