Having My Hair Done

by Elaine Grace

 

Joyce owns operates a little beauty salon not far from where I live. She calls it Tres Chic. This is where I went one Tuesday, late last spring, after work, for my first ever perm and set while dressed as a woman.

I have been a client at Tres Chic for over two years. Joyce has set and styled my hair in a variety of styles. For a couple of months she had been talking me into trying a permanent wave.

My job allows me often to work at home at my discretion. That particular Tuesday, I went into the office early (7:30 am) and worked there until 11:30. I collected a project file and went home to work. Actually, I went to change clothes and do my makeup in preparation for my hair appointment.

I fixed my self some lunch, set out my clothes, showered and, after drying myself, I applied a generous amount of lavender body talc. I shaved my face meticulously. I proceeded to dress in a black panty, a new long-line bra, a firm control high-waisted and long-leg panty girdle, dark beige pantyhose, white slip, long-sleeved light blue blouse, grey jumper which reaches about 3 inches below my knees and plain, blue pumps with a two inch heel. I placed on my wrist my slim, silver-colored, lady's wristwatch and selected a pair of small silver loop clip-on earrings. I applied a conservative makeup–-foundation, blush, light red lipstick, a bit of mascara to my lashes and a dash of grey eye shadow to my eyelids. I applied two coats of clear polish to my fingernails. I spritzed on some lady-like cologne and covered my hair with a light blue turban, decorated with a pretty pin on the left side.

My appointment was scheduled for 4:30. Tuesdays are usually slow days at Joyce's shop. Her two employees are generally off that day. It is usually on late Tuesday afternoon or on Thursday evenings that I have my shampoo and set.

Driving slowly and carefully, I arrived at Joyce's exactly at 4:30. As I entered, I cringed as I noticed that Joyce had another client in her chair.

Joyce greeted me with her usual cheerfulness."Hi, Elaine, honey! Why don't you hang up your coat and go change into a robe for me? I'm just finishing Mrs. Harrison." I recognized Mrs Harrison as a lady I'd seen leaving the shop and entering a taxi at other times as I arrived. I have never spoken to her and do not know her.

Not wanting to risk saying anything, I nodded my assent, hung up my coat, and went into the little changing room near the front of the salon. I removed my turban and earrings and placed them in my purse. I transferred my jumper and blouse to hangers. Taking a purple robe off the rack, I placed it around myself and buttoned the left-side buttons. I felt feminine as I walked over to Joyce's station wearing the smock over my slip, realizing that every lady who gets a perm from Joyce sits there wearing such a gown over her undergarments. I was being treated no differently than any other lady about to have her hair permed and set. The reflection in the mirror showed a middle-aged woman, dressed in smock, hose and conservative shoes, carrying a purse, about to get her hair done. I also felt greatly relieved that Mrs. Harrison was paying Joyce and preparing to leave.

As soon as Mrs Harrison left, Joyce came over to me. Sensing my relief at Mrs Harrison's departure, she commented, "You don't have to worry about that old dear, honey. She's very near-sighted and could never tell who you are." Joyce asked me some questions to confirm our discussion at my last appointment about the type of perm and the style we were doing. She moved me over to a shampoo sink. She wrapped a towel around my neck, covered towel and smock with a big black plastic shampoo cape which reached below my knees, leaned me back and turned on the water. After making sure that the water was just at the right temperature, she throughly wet my hair. Joyce applied the shampoo and worked up a nice bubbly lather as she shampooed me. When my hair was clean to her satisfaction, Joyce rinsed off the shampoo. Sitting me up, she towel dried my hair. She dumped that towel in a basket, placed another dry one over my wet hair and directed me back to her station.

Joyce pulled a cart full of perm supplies beside the chair. She sorted out rods, creating two mounds of them, one of white rods, one of grey, placing other colored rods in the lower drawer. She fixed a neat pile of end papers within easy reach. "Okay, honey, let's get that hair of yours wrapped."

With a flourish, the now wet towel vanished from my head. Joyce combed my hair and sectioned it with several long silver clips. She started on the back of my head, deftly selecting hair, pulling it toward her, placing an end paper, rolling the section on a shaft and snapping the rod in place. I could feel the pull of the tightly placed rods but could not yet see them. She alternated white and grey rods. When the back of my head was completed, Joyce moved to my right side, repeating the process of selecting strands of hair, pulling, placing end paper, rolling and fixing the wands in place. As I was sitting facing the mirror, I could now see my hair in the rods.

As soon as my right side was completely wrapped, Joyce turned the chair so that my back was to the mirror and my left side was turned toward her and her cart. As she adjusted the chair, she asked,"You doing all right, Elaine? I know these things aren't pleasant, but that's the price we ladies pay to look pretty. If any of them feels too tight, let me know. They have to be firm in order for the perm to take properly but none of them should constrict too much." I assured her that I was not really uncomfortable.

She commenced rolling the left side. As she worked we chatted pleasantly about the weather, new movies, local politics and her youngest daughter's recent wedding. Joyce is well aware of who I am; however, she treats me "like one of the girls." I appreciate her.

When she had my left side completely in perm rods, she turned the chair back toward the mirror. My face in the mirror appeared with lots of perm rods, on both sides. I could feel the pull and pressure much more. Instructing me to raise my head "just a bit, please, Elaine," Joyce began to wrap the top of my head. She continued to alternate grey and white rods until she came to the very front which she had left for the last. To make sure my hair will not fall in my face after the perm, she wrapped the entire front of my scalp with smaller amounts of hair on all grey rods placed very close together. As she snapped the last grey rod into place, she declared, with contentment, that I was now ready for the application of perming solution. Looking at the clock on the salon wall, I noticed that almost an hour had passed since Joyce had started on me. My head was completely wrapped in sixty-eight perm rods. I stared in a pleasant fascination at my hair, now meticulously, entirely and very fixedly done up in perm rods.

As I peered at my ladylike appearance, Joyce prepared to apply the perm solution. She placed a thin white line of cream around my hair line. This was followed by a roll of cotton. Loosening the cape, she placed a towel around my neck, clipped it in place, retied the cape, and placed another towel around my neck. She handed me yet another clean towel, saying, "This is just in case any solution drips." She removed the plastic bottle from the kit, added another small bottle to its contents, shook vigorously and snipped open the applicator top. Beginning at the front of my head, Joyce applied the solution. The strong smell almost brought tears to my eyes. She did not stop until all the perm rods were soaking wet with solution and the applicator was completely empty. Only once did a few drops run down the left side of my face; I quickly caught them in the towel I was holding. Joyce removed the wet cotton role, tied a clean dry one around my head and covered the rods with a clear plastic cap. She set a timer.

"You want some coffee, honey?" After I nodded my yes, she said "I know, you like one sugar and enough milk to make it brown. You want a magazine to read while you process?" I nodded again. She handed me a copy of Ladies Home Journal, one of Good Housekeeping and a back issue of Vogue. I reached over for my purse and removed my reading glasses. Joyce helped me slide them on without disturbing any of my perm rods. She left me facing the mirror and moved beyond my line of sight to fix me a cup of coffee. Alone for a few moments, I stared with a certain infatuation at myself, a willing captive to a head full of perm rods. I could see the rods under the plastic cap.

Joyce returned with my coffee. "Relax, honey. We're through the worst part now. You need about fifteen to twenty minutes to process. I'll check you in fifteen. If you need anything, call me." She went to the front desk to check her book for the next day. I alternated between sipping my coffee while gazing at my plastic covered head, with scanning the women's magazines. After fifteen minutes, the timer buzzed and Joyce lifted the plastic cap and checked several rods. "You need another five minutes, honey." She reset the timer and disappeared into the back of the shop.

When the timer buzzed again, Joyce did not immediately appear and I felt a moment of panic. In another minute, she walked over, lifted the cap again and rechecked my perm rods.

"OK, honey, you're properly cooked. Let's get you rinsed and neutralized. Come back to the sink for me, please." I carefully removed my glasses, put them in my purse, placed the purse on her work counter, stood up and followed Joyce to the sink. As I stood at the chair, I smoothed down my smock and then seated myself. Joyce removed the plastic cap and the cotton roll, dumping them in a trash container. She detached the towel from my neck and leaned me back into the opening in the shampoo sink. The feeling was unpleasant as the perm rods at the back of my head pressed against the sink. I must have grimaced for Joyce said, "I know that's awkward, honey, but the sooner we get you rinsed and neutralized, the sooner we can get those off of you."

For the next four or five minutes, Joyce rinsed what felt like gallons and gallons of warm water over the solidly wound rods. Eventually, she sat me up as she covered the rods with a thick towel. Moving quickly, she used it to soak up moisture, then dumped that towel in the basket and, taking a fresh one, covered my head with it. For another few minutes, she firmly applied her hands on the towel over each perm rod to remove moisture. The sensation was both pleasant, from the pressure of her touch, and painful as the rods pressed tenaciously against my scalp. When she had the water absorbed to her satisfaction, Joyce wrapped fresh cotton around my head and placed a fresh towel around my neck.

She reclined me again into the sink and soaked my perm rods with neutralizer. While the smell of the neutralizer was sweet, the liquid felt cold. I shivered a bit. Joyce apologized."Sorry about the cool temperature of this stuff. Perming is always a bit sadistic, honey, but there's no other way to do it." I just nodded my understanding."I know its not your fault, Joyce. It's just a strange experience." "Sure, even for women who've had perms all their lives. You're doing fine, honey. We'll soon have you finished."

With the rods throughly dampened, she sat me up, changed the cotton and the towel again and set a timer.

"About seven minutes, honey, then you're free of those rods. You want a magazine again?"

"Yes, please, Joyce."

She walked back to her station, picked up the copy of Vogue and brought it over to me, along with my glasses. "You doing all right, Elaine?" I assured her that I was fine.

As soon as the timer buzzed, Joyce stood by me. I handed her my glasses and the magazine, both of which she placed on a ledge behind the sink. She removed the cotton strip and the towel, leaned me back, rinsed the rods with water and began to rapidly remove the perm rods, dumping them in the sink behind me as she went. With all the rods out, she gently ran her fingers through my hair. "Oh, you turned out well, honey. You're going to love this perm."

At Joyce's direction, I returned to her chair. As I looked in mirror, I saw my hair was a wet mass of large curls, falling on top of each other. Even without styling, I loved the look. I glanced at my wristwatch and noticed that it was almost 6:30. Two hours of a wonderful womanly experience and I had barely noticed the time passing.

"Elaine, I'm going to trim your hair before I set you. I'll just neaten you up a bit. Now as to your set, honey, when do you have to go back to work?" When I answered that between working at home and taking a few vacation days, it would be a week before I went back to the office, she excitedly remarked, "Oh, honey, that's great! I'm going to give you something fancy and set you in a nice upswept do. And while you're under the dryer, I'm going to polish your nails, my treat, no cost to you." Sensing that I was about to voice my concern about feminine shaped nails, she continued "You don't have to worry, honey. I'll shape your tips as plainly as any man's manicure but I'm going to send you home with nice shiny polish on, OK, honey?"

Recognizing her sweet awareness of needs, I answered, "Joyce, you're a dear. Thank you so much."

"My pleasure, honey. You're one of best customers. Let's get on with the evening's work."

Joyce took comb and scissors and went to work. In ten minutes, she had my hair nicely trimmed and shaped. She removed the cape and the towel which had been underneath it during the perm, then placed a fresh cape around me.

Joyce rolled up her cart, full of various colored rollers, clips, pins, hairnets and her other hair setting tools, to the right side of the chair. She misted my hair with spray-on styling gel. In reverse order from placing the perm rods, she started in the very front of my hair and began arranging green and yellow magnetic rollers, held in place with clips. She had me set in about twenty minutes. Opening a drawer in the cart, she removed a black hairnet, opened it and fastened it around my rollers. She had me sit there a moment while she moved across the shop to the line of dryers. She turned one on and put her hand under to feel the flow of air. Returning to my side, she asked me to follow her over to the row of dryers and pointed to the one at the far left end. I sat down and Joyce lowered the visor, being careful that my roller-covered head was placed just so under the dryer hood. Her dryers are models with the heat control dial on the back of the chair. "Elaine, when that gets too hot, let me know and I'll turn it down." I nodded and mouthed an "OK" to her. "Now don't go away. I'm going to do your nails. No dryer reading for you tonight." She smiled and walked away.

Joyce pivoted a manicure table in front of me. She pushed into place a chair on wheels with a low back, sat down across from me, took a swab and removed the clear polish from my nails. She placed my right hand in warm water to soak. After a minute, she removed my right hand, placed the left one to soak, dried the right one with a small towel and started cleaning and shaping my nails. Finished with the right, she commenced the process on my left hand.

When all ten nails had been prepared, she applied a clear base coat of polish. She selected a bright red polish labeled "Red Rose" and covered each nail with three coats. This she followed with a clear top coat. By the time my nails were polished, I had been sitting under the dryer for thirty minutes. Joyce reached under the visor to check my hair.

"Still damp, honey. Let's turn up the heat just a notch and keep you under there for another ten or fifteen minutes. Please, keep your hands on the table till your polish is totally dry. Wouldn't want any smears on that nice color." I agreed.

Joyce checked my rollers again in ten minutes, decided that my hair was still a bit too damp, and left the dryer on for another seven minutes. She clicked it off, raised the visor and directed me back to her chair. I walked gingerly back to Joyce's station, keeping my hands carefully extended in front of me as my nail polish still a bit moist. Once I was seated, being fastidious about crossing my legs in a lady-like manner, Joyce replaced the long black cape with a pretty aqua-colored cloth one that reached only to my waist. She began to carefully detach my rollers from my head. I felt the gentle but quite firm tug as she removed each one.

Taking a comb, she began to arrange my hair with great attention to each individual curl. I was utterly fascinated as I watched her turn, shape, and place every lock of hair. At one point, she turned the chair so that my back was toward the mirror. She continued, with special consideration to detail, to place each lock of hair just so. After all the curls was arranged to her pleasure, she reached for a can of hair spray. Joyce placed her left hand over my eyes and, beginning at the front, moving to the back, then to the right side and finishing with the left, she applied a generous amount of holding spray. She put the can down and again assured me that I would be more than contented with the result.

She turned the styling chair directly toward the mirror and held up a large hand mirror behind me so that I could see how she had styled the back of my head. What I saw was marvelous. Looking back at me from the mirror was an attractive middle-aged woman with her hair freshly and beautifully permed and styled. While not a stunning beauty, my appearance was beyond a doubt feminine."Well Elaine, what do you think of your hair? Now, aren't you glad that you went through this?" For a few seconds, I was speechless! I was awe-struck! In the mirrors in front of me and behind me were the images of a woman with wavy hair styled in a gorgeous updo. I had often admired such styles on other people. Now, for the first time, that lovely hair was my crowning glory!

"Joyce, you are an artist!" I exclaimed with admiration.

"Just call me the Michaelangelo of hair," she giggled, obviously pleased with herself and pleased that I loved the results. She handed me back my reading glasses which she had retrieved at some point from the shelf over the shampoo sink. "OK, honey, you can go change. I'll meet you up front."

I stood up, picked up my purse, noticing my bright, shiny red fingernails as I did so, and went into the changing room. I slipped off my robe, placed it in the available hamper, buttoned my blouse, and pulled my on jumper. I looked at my watch and noticed with surprise that the time was 8:10. I had been in the beauty salon for almost four hours. Aside from a bothersome pinch from sitting so long in my best and firmest girdle, the time having my hair and nails done had just flown by. The experience left me feeling delighted and wonderfully ladylike. I opened my purse, took out my earrings and re-fastened them to my ears. I looked in the small mirror on the wall, reached for my lipstick and applied a fresh coat to my lips. I touched up my foundation and blusher. As I walked over to the front desk to pay my bill, I saw with fascination in the salon mirrors the very womanly likeness which I projected.

As I stopped at the counter and reached my well-manicured hands into my purse to retrieve my wallet, Joyce declared "You look great, Elaine. Enjoy your time away from work." She leaned over the counter and placed a sisterly peck on my right cheek. In return, I placed my powdered cheek against hers and gave her a little hug.

"Joyce, you are just a dear. Thanks so much for everything this evening, especially doing my nails for me. That was so very thoughtful. I love the perm. I didn't know I could look so good" I handed her several large bills and told her to keep the change. I scheduled myself for a shampoo and set in two weeks.

I left Joyce's beauty salon feeling very delicate after receiving my perm, new hairdo and manicure. The click of my heels on the concrete as I walked over to my car provided satisfying music to end my wonderful occasion at Tres Chic. I felt more chic then ever before.

  

  

  

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