Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
SHELBY
May, 2012
Yes Jake Ford could definitely still get my attention.
Living, breathing Jake Ford. Older, yes. Even a little gray in the temples. He was less muscularly cut than in his soap days, but still fit. He was shorter than I pictured him to be, and that wound around my brain in an unusual way. Jake was around 5’10” and I was 5’3.” I’d been used to much taller men, and I found myself imagining all the ways in which Jake and I might better…fit.
For a man who didn’t mind getting dirty, it seemed he also took great pride in being clean. Perfect scruff on his face. His dark, wavy hair was cut in a way that looked perfectly tousled without much product. Touchable.
His style seemed effortless, but I could sense the care with which he chose his clothes , more than likely having everything altered to fit perfectly. Before he’d changed into his “uniform” he wore a black button-down shirt, front tucked in, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. Dark gray denim pants cuffed just so, and… black brogue boots. Specifically, Frye James Lug wingtip boots. I had recently fallen in love with the quirky style enough to give a pair as a gift months before. A gift that had gone un-appreciated. I was happy to finally be seeing them on a man and I found it bonkers that that man was Jake Ford.
I was surprised and delighted to know that he may have been a secret sartorialist this whole time.
And he smelled amazing . It wasn’t all leather, cedar, tobacco... the usual manly odors. It was citrusy, spicy, pleasantly musky, and undeniably sexy. But the individual notes I could not place—the combination of whatever it was had created something entirely new.
And he had taken his shirt off .
I told myself I wasn’t going to look. I was already fangirling so hard I didn’t think I’d be able to keep it together if I saw his bare chest. But of course I looked. And no, not quite as ripped and sculpted as he had once been, but still trim, toned abs, and beautiful pecs and shoulders that indicated regular gym visits.
And for the one second our eyes met before he put the T-shirt on, I feared I might burst into flames.
As I was showing Jake how to apply the wax, I decided it would be easier for him to learn with a full applicator stick, not one broken in half where he’d likely get more wax on his fingers than on Amber’s leg. He dipped it in the pot of wax, slid off the access, and held his other hand under the stick as he brought it over to the table.
“Good. Now you're going to want to angle the applicator stick about forty-five degrees so it’s a nice even application.” Without thinking I put my hand over his to guide him like I’ve done with the other estheticians I’ve trained over the years. He flinched ever so slightly at my touch, and the full weight of what I was doing hit me like lightning. I didn’t want to snatch my hand away and ruin the take, so I continued as if there wasn’t a storm raging in my nervous system.
“What is it about being waxed by men that makes women uncomfortable? In your opinion.” Jake asked.
“I don’t know that it’s necessarily waxing in general. Eyebrows, legs, other parts might be okay.” I paused. “But now that I’ve said that I’m not even sure that it would be ok.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, in order to get waxed, you have to grow out your hair. Look at Amber’s legs. There is a fair amount of hair, right?”
“I’d say so. Sure.”
“Do you have any reaction or opinion about that?” I asked him. He was taking a long time to get the wax on the section of Amber’s leg he was working on, so we had to pivot. “Why don’t we go ahead and start using the strips now before the wax cures too much.” I handed him a muslin strip for him to put on. “Put the strip on firmly, leaving a little lip for you to pull. And then press it onto the wax in the same direction the hair grows.” He did as he was told. “Good. Now hold her ankle here like this and pull fast toward her head along the length of her leg, not straight up in the air.”
I’d trained enough people–correction: women–over the years to get the point across well. Not only was this going to make this much more comfortable for Amber, but Jake would immediately look like he knew what he was doing. Even if I’d intended for this to be fun and funny when I submitted my video, I now knew that the smoother this went, the more the topic would hit home. No need for comic relief.
He pressed. He geared himself up. He pulled. He had the reaction everyone has the first time they successfully wax a body part: staring at the hair-filled strip in his hand, feeling a thrilling little shock followed by deep satisfaction looking at the smooth, hair free line he’d made. He ran his fingers softly over Amber’s shin, and I was surprised at a tiny ping of jealousy.
“Hey! I did it!” He giggled. “I hope that didn’t hurt too much.” Amber shook her head,and I took note that she really tried hard not to jump that time. I smiled at her gratefully.
“Okay. Before all of that you were saying?” Jake asked.
I was impressed at his ability to multitask and smoothly get back on topic. He was clearly a pro.
“I asked you if you had an opinion about Amber’s hairy legs. Not ‘oh, she has hair because we were going to be waxing her,’ but a reactionary opinion when you first looked at her.” He had been concentrating on smoothing another coat of wax and he paused to look at me. Carefully considering his answer.
“Wow. That’s a good question.” He took another beat. “I will be completely honest. It was a thought I blew right past because I knew what we were doing here, but yes. When I first looked at her legs, I had a reaction that was probably not too favorable. You know, if I’d grown up in South America or Europe, it would be a non-issue.”
“And you probably wouldn’t be circumcised either.”
My hand flew to my mouth as if I were trying to scoop the words out of the air and shove them back in. The shock on Jake’s face was blatantly apparent. “Oh my God! I don’t know why I just said that.”
The silence broke in seconds with everyone erupting in laughter, including Jake, the director, and the producer. It immediately made me feel better.
“And this is why we have editing!” Dan choked. He took a deep breath. “Once everyone contains themselves, Shelby, I’d love for you to respond to Jake. Maybe this time without talking about his penis.”
I looked at Jake still laughing, my face hot and likely beet red.
“Also, Jake, I’m gonna need you to take at least one step away from Shelby. You’re not on a date, dude.” Dan added.
Now Jake was blushing. I have seen the show enough to know how much these two like giving each other shit, but this was on another level. And it certainly wouldn’t make it onto the show.
I took several deep breaths and tried to gather myself. “That’s just one of many reasons that women wouldn’t want to be waxed by men. They would feel self-conscious about growing out their hair, even though it’s what you are supposed to do. It’s as if we want men to think we just are effortlessly hairless all the time.”
“Or are women conditioned to want men to think that?” he responded.
“And you have eluded that men, at least American men, have been conditioned to want or even expect women to be hairless.”
“Touché.”
“But, probably, yes. Conditioned by the media, societal expectations, our mothers, etcetera.” This was good stuff, and I was really impressed at his tone. He wanted to explore this so thoughtfully, saying the things I was implying so that they really came across well. At the same time, highlighting the problems with all of it. “I told you before we started that Amber did not want her bikini area waxed today, not only because she’d be on TV, but because that would mean we’d have to acknowledge that she had pubic hair in the first place.”
Jake nodded without smiling, which I’m sure might have been difficult for some men. “Okay. Elephant in the room. Apart from the hair itself being an issue, what do you think is the biggest reason women wouldn’t want men to wax them?” he asked.
By this time, Jake had become quite proficient at waxing straight areas, now it was time for the knee. I had Amber bend hers and I began to show him how to navigate curves. Then I moved back on topic. “Women don’t just feel uncomfortable being waxed by men—and let’s just jump right to bikini waxing—I would think some of them downright frightened at the thought. A woman in a vulnerable position. Undressed. Laying down. Completely exposed. And then he is going to be working on not to mention inflicting pain in this most sensitive and sexually concentrated area. He could be the kindest, most personable, most professional male esthetician ever and it still would be a hard no for the majority of women. The only man that gets a pass to have access to this area has a white lab coat and degrees on his wall proclaiming him an OB/GYN.”
Jake’s mouth dropped open slightly and he stared at me as if I’d just demystified the Big Bang. He shook his head and continued. “Exactly. It just wouldn’t happen. Because all the thoughts would be there, right? The women would wonder about how he thought they looked, feel awkward about having any hair at all, and then go deeper and darker into why a man might want to be doing this in the first place. Like there has got to be an ulterior motive, etcetera.”
“Not to mention the power play. The man is standing and fully clothed. The woman is lying on a table and mostly naked. He is controlling every aspect of the situation.”
“Let me ask you a question, Shelby. Have you done Brazilian wax for men?”
I took a pause, much longer of a pause than was comfortable and I was grateful once again for editing. I began cutting more strips from the roll of muslin. This is what every esthetician does to breathe and buy time when something isn’t going quite right. “Yes.” I finally answered. “But I don’t do them anymore. And not for the reason you’re probably thinking.”
“Before you tell me the reason, I’d like to know how you feel the dynamic is different from women waxing men to men waxing women.”
“Well, first let me say, I’ve had some good experiences waxing men and some not so good experiences. Two of my regulars could not have been better to work with. One was a paramedic whose wife said she’d wax hers if he’d wax his and we talked about his daughters and normal things. He also was very good at holding his stuff.”
“Wait. Holding what stuff?” Jake looked amused.
“Well, when you are waxing the scrotum, the skin is loose. You get better results, and it doesn’t hurt as much if they stretch the skin while we are working.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “I’m picturing that, now, thanks. Go on.”
I giggled a little. It was never pretty, that’s for sure. And I remember being so surprised at how hard they could yank on their flaccid penis like so much skin taffy without it seeming painful at all.
“My other decent client was a nudist, and he would come in before he and his wife went to camp. He was like seventy. But then there were countless others. Like the guy who read the Playboy article that promised it wouldn’t hurt and it would make his junk look bigger. Or the ones who just think it’s a clever way to get a woman to touch them. Ironically, it is much easier to wax a man while they are aroused, and everything is…tighter, but obviously that comes with a host of other problems. Expectations. I will say that it was always a little sadistically satisfying to know that as excited as they may have started out, it was going to go south for them real fast. Once the pain hits, things…deflate.” I wondered how much of this was going to make it onto the show.
“Hmm, I bet. You always felt in control of the situation?”
“Yes, and although there were the borderline creeps from time to time, I was the one standing and clothed, and they were the ones lying and naked. Also, I had a pot of hot wax I could have dumped on them at any time.”
“Fair point.” Jake pointed his index finger at me and grinned. “You said you don’t do them anymore. How come?”
“It’s a little embarrassing. It has to do with me and my skill level. I’m good at everything I do in my job, but I couldn’t get good at that. Not as good as I wanted to be anyway. There was always more bleeding than I wanted, and the…topography is just so complicated. Just when you’d think you were done, boom—there’s another patch of hair you missed around this corner, or under that thing.”
Jake smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
With the end of Amber’s wax came the end of the conversation. Jake gushed and thanked me and Amber profusely as he closed out the segment. When Dan announced the cut, he looked at me and said, “That was great. You did great!”
I smiled gratefully.
Once the cameras were off, I was immediately rocked with all that my nervous system put on hold during the shoot. I had prepared, I knew the things I wanted to say, but I hadn’t expected it to come out so effortlessly. I think Jake must have been a tremendously talented interviewer because it felt so comfortable, so natural, and I was able to do my job at the same time. All while trying to ignore that not only was my teenage crush standing right next to me, but also that he was respectfully considering everything I had to say. The latter was something I was not accustomed to at all.
While Jake was out in the hall talking to Rita, I found myself standing around awkwardly not knowing what was supposed to happen next. The next thing I knew, Darius was coming down the hall announcing that lunch had arrived.
While we were filming, he, Randall, and Lyric had set up a buffet table out in the reception area and had sushi and teppanyaki delivered from the Japanese place down the street. Leave it to Darius to pull the smoothest move ever and earn my eternal gratitude for the fact that my time with Jake Ford was not yet over.
The team left all their equipment to be dealt with later and sprinted toward the food. Jake seemed excited and impressed at the gesture and at the spread, especially since Darius also had a bin with ice and Japanese beer. Darius never missed an opportunity to show off his entertaining skills and we often held events at the salon—holiday parties, brand promotions, and fund-raisers for the cosmetology school. The serving equipment was always onsite (and of course, meticulously organized.) I immediately realized how hungry I was, but I wanted everyone else to get themselves sorted first. Jake filled a plate, got himself a beer and stationed himself standing at the front desk. I grabbed a few things and made my way over to him.
“So, I used to watch you on Sault Ste. Marie. I was a big fan.”
Jake smiled. “I’m glad you waited until after we were done to tell me that. I might have felt self-conscious otherwise.”
“Why? I’m sure you have people saying that to you all the time.” I was actively trying not to seem too flirtatious but failing miserably.
“Sometimes, sure. And while it’s always flattering, I’m trying very hard to prove I’ve grown up a lot since then. Is that why you started watching this show?” The way his eyes considered me just then made my stomach do a back flip.
“Actually, it wasn’t even on my radar until my son stumbled on it a few years ago. Now I feel like I’ve seen most of the episodes during the marathons the Encounter channel does.”
“How old is your son?”
“He’s nineteen. His name is Brody.”
“You do not look old enough to have a nineteen-year-old son. And I’m sure you get that all the time,” Jake said.
“I had him when I was twenty.” I used to say I was nineteen when I got pregnant. But while the getting pregnant part was unplanned and terrifying, the day Broderick James Ristow was born was the best day of my life.
“So, you’re married.”
It was a statement not a question. I thought I caught a nearly imperceptible hint of disappointment, but I decided it was in my head. “Yes.” I reflexivelytouched the third finger of my left hand. “I don’t wear my ring to work since I’d have to take it off so much. I…well, anyway,” I trailed off. I desperately needed to change the subject. “I do find it funny that sometimes the magazines still write articles about you like you’re still a teen heart throb.”
“Hmm. Like what?”
“Just last month there was one of those fluffy ‘twenty-five fun facts about Jake Ford’ at the back of some gossip magazine,”I said.
“Oh? I must have missed that one. What did it say?”
“You know, the usual. Pets, hobbies, favorite movies, music taste. Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you about that. You say most of your favorite bands are prog rock—Rush, Pink Floyd, King Crimson. Then you go way off type and say Depeche Mode is your favorite band of all time.” I pause for effect. “It’s because of a girl, isn’t it?”
Jake had been taking a drink of his Sapporo just then and nearly did a spit take. A reflexive smile sprang to his face before he had a chance to decide how he was going to respond.
It was absolutely because of a girl.
I found myself having to fight the urge to lick the drop of beer off that full bottom lip of his, and I was grateful he beat me to it.
He touched his finger to his nose and tapped twice. “You got me there. Her name was Chloe. She was the makeup artist on Sault Ste. Marie . She was a couple of years older than me, and I was utterly enchanted by her whole goth style. All black all the time. Fishnets, Doc Martens. We dated for almost a year.”
Thirteen-year-old me would have killed to have been this girl. And even in that moment, the way he spoke about her with such fondness, it stung a bit.
“She got me into the darker, edgier side of new wave, Depeche Mode being my favorite. And they are still making such great music. I also tend to listen to Nine Inch Nails in some of my darker moments. Another significant departure from prog rock.”
It struck me that Jake’s darker moments were likely spent in solitude. I pictured romantic melancholy, all somber and poetic. Much different than the kind of darker moments I was used to.
“How about you, Shelby? What kind of music do you like? I don’t want to assume it’s only rockabilly and electro swing.”
Wait. What? “You don’t strike me as someone who’d know about electro swing.”
He visibly squirmed and cleared his throat. Running a crooked finger back and forth under his bottom lip, he looked down and stammered, “I looked it up after I watched some of your makeup tutorials.”
Holy fuck . He watched my videos. It quickly dawned on me that of course the link for the submission video would take him to YouTube where it would have so helpfully shown him all the other videos featuring me along the right-hand side of the screen. I liked to play music in the background while talking through the pinup hair and makeup looks.
“But back to music.” Jake diverted.
“No, it’s not just rockabilly and electro swing—that’s mostly to fit the vibe of my videos. I like all kinds of music. Funk, fifties and sixties Soul. Blues. I like new wave and Depeche Mode, too. Some rock, some pop. Definitely not prog rock.”
“No?” He smiled and shrugged. “Eh, I know it’s not for everyone. But like, what’s your favorite band?”
“I don’t know. I have music for moods, just like you do. I can’t think of a band right now that I would consider my absolute favorite.”
“Do you have a favorite song?’
I didn’t skip a beat. “‘I Can’t Go for That/No Can Do’ by Hall and Oates.”
Jake threw his head back and laughed.