Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
JAKE
May, 2012
As I walked into that unassuming little salon, my eyes immediately found her. She was peeking out from behind a group of people at first, but then when she noticed I recognized her, she smiled and came out to greet me.
It had been an ordinary Monday when the forwarded email landed in my inbox with the subject line: Check this out ASAP . Rita Agbayani, my co-executive producer, was the first to field all the emails and video audition submissions for the show. Typically, it would be a video from someone’s phone uploaded in an email, but this was a YouTube link. Usually that meant a well edited, semi-professional looking submission and I always looked forward to them. The videos always ended with someone saying “I dare you” as part of the deal.
This video, however, I could have never been prepared for.
It began with a familiar song, The Heavy’s “How You Like Me Now,” the camera focused on a blank wall. Into the frame came a woman with magenta hair put up in a 1940’s style, luminous porcelain skin, winged eyeliner and pouty red lips. I remember immediately sitting up in my chair, at attention, and leaning in closer to get a better look.
She never spoke. While the song was playing, she motioned for the camera to pan down to capture the hapless subject on her table, a man lying face down exposing one of the hairiest backs I’d ever seen. Seriously, he looked like the missing link. When the camera panned back up to her she dipped a stick into what looked like a pot of honey, letting the wax run off back into the pot. At one point she mimicked a lick. Jesus Christ . I wasn’t even sure of what the hell the job was yet, but I knew I wanted to go there to do it.
She began to “apply” the wax, but just out of the camera view. Then she showed us the clean strip she was about to use and again, did something out of view. An exaggerated motion of ripping and then showing the camera a strip covered with hair.
I smiled, knowing enough about editing to be able to appreciate the hell out of this. It was fast becoming my favorite submission of all time.
As the song skipped to its instrumental crescendo, the lighting switched to a frenzied strobe. While dancing along to the music she was pulling strip after strip, almost maniacally. Making plenty of eye contact with the camera.
When the song was nearing the end, the video faded to black. The next scene was a closeup of a pair of red lips whispering in her model’s ear. Another fade to black, then a second later the lights were on, and her model was sitting up.
He had his back to the camera, and she was peeking out from behind his shoulder. Waxed, or, I’m guessing, artfully shaved as part of the greatest edit ever, into the hair on his back were the words I DARE YOU.
I sat back in my chair and couldn’t wipe the dumb smile off my face. The show had been changing quite a bit and I wondered how I’d be able to backtrack and go learn how to wax and be silly with this woman. I knew I needed to figure it out. I pressed replay. Maybe more than once.
It was when I finally minimized the submission video that I saw them. Off to the right-hand side of the YouTube homepage were several other videos set against a bright aqua background. Same magenta hair, porcelain skin, and red lip all under the name Cherrie Bombshell. Just as I thought; she was no amateur after all. I was more than a little curious and I clicked on the first one.
I truly had not expected her to look in person like she had in the videos. I thought maybe the pinup thing was just for drama or part of her YouTube persona. But nope. Here she was looking like a sexy cartoon. Like if Jessica Rabbit had a day job.
Over the years, I have learned to control (or at least to identify while working to control) the aspects of my testosterone driven maleness that could potentially get me into trouble.
First, there is Cave Man. Cave Man notices (or whatever the least subtle form of notice is) the things primitive man cared about. TITS! HIPS! ASS! This one would make good babies! These enter my brain as marginally useful information and I immediately file them away as inappropriate for this moment in time. I’ve come a long way since puberty. Or at least since my frontal lobe was fully developed.
Next is Mad Man. I named him this as I picture John Hamm in his iconic role as a womanizing ad man in the late 1950’s. What he notices are more nuanced, but only slightly less misogynistic. Mostly things that make women innately feminine-- lipstick, high heels, long mascaraed lashes, a diminutive stature. She’s so pretty and fragile. I could protect her.
The default I strive for I call Evolved Man.
Cave Man noticed the way the letters curved on Shelby’s black Aspire T-shirt and how she filled out her fitted black pants. Son of a bitch made an hourglass gesture with his hands in my head.
Mad Man noticed her hair, her makeup, her petiteness, and the way she tried to hide wiping her hand on her pants before shaking mine. She’s nervous. Fuck, she’s cute. He wondered if she wore matching lingerie. She might even be the stockings and garter type.
Evolved Man noticed the sparkle in her eyes and the warmth in her smile. And a little tingle of electricity when our hands touched.
“Shelby? Hi, I’m Jake.”
“Hi, Jake, nice to meet you.” Still smiling. But still nervous. She gestured to the man standing next to her, “This is––”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Darius! It’s good to see you, man! It’s been a long time.” I enthusiastically extended my hand for a high five handshake and pulled him in for a hug. He was older, a little heavier, balder and more bearded than I remembered, but I’d recognize that infectious smile anywhere.
“Great to see you too, Jake. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”
“Of course I remember. We did, what? Five, six shoots together? I remember ‘cause you always had the good Hollywood gossip. I couldn’t wait to sit in your chair and hear all about all the straight actors who hit on you.”
He laughed, “Yeah, back then I thought everyone was in the closet and into me.”
“I always wondered if you’d tell the next client that I hit on you, too.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure you did hit on me,” he joked.
“You might be right—you’re a damn handsome man.” I laughed. “This is your place?”
“It is.” He introduced me to his husband and then to a statuesque femme fatale named Lyric. Clearly the lost love child of Cher and Antonio Banderas.
I turned back to Shelby. “While the guys are unloading the equipment, why don’t you show me around?”
“Ok! Do you want to see the whole place or just where we’ll be…” She made ripping gestures with her hands—it seemed she was finding words to be somewhat elusive. Still nervous. I wanted so badly to put her at ease somehow. It couldn’t have been just being on TV, right? I mean she was so comfortable in front of the camera in her videos. And then the thought occurred to me. Was she nervous because of me?
I’d guessed she was in her late thirties which meant she was a teenage girl when I was on the soap. And in the magazines. It usually made me cringe a little internally to interact with a fan from those days, mostly because I didn’t like who I was then. But this was different. I suddenly felt like I wanted her to have been a fan. I immediately pushed the thought away. Evolved Man reminded me not to get too caught up in myself––this was work, and I had to remember the tone of the episode we were doing.
“I’d love to see the whole place.” I told her. “I know we’re focusing on why men don’t typically do your job, but it always gives me a good perspective to see the space and how everyone interacts with one another.”
“Oh! We closed the salon for the morning. For the filming. Should we not have done that?”
“Oh no, it’s fine! We always worry about intruding anyway. It’s all good.”
She seemed to be starting to calm down a bit, and we began our tour. What struck me right away was how cozy and comfortable the salon felt. I was so used to very minimalist or industrial decor in salons where the spaces felt cold and intimidating. This was just the opposite, teetering on the edge of maximalist but done in a very tasteful and purposeful way. Exposed Cream City brick (the only other time I’d been in Milwaukee was to film a show about reclaiming Cream City brick from old buildings before they were demolished. I had no idea Milwaukee was nicknamed Cream City because of the brick made from native clay and not Wisconsin being a dairy state. Always learning new things with this job.) Natural light spilling into the space from the large windows. Afrocentric art on the walls and live plants everywhere. There wasn’t a hint of an intimidating vibe anywhere to be found.
We walked through the bank of hair stations. Twelve altogether, warm brown leather chairs and large round mirrors. All meticulously clean and free of clutter. Except one.
Shelby read the slight confusion on my face. “This is Dimitri and his friend Talia. Sometimes people come in on their off days to do friends and family.”
I turned to the twosome. “Hey, how’s it going? I’m Jake.”
“Yeah, we know who you are.” Dimitri’s lips curled into a devilish smile aimed right at Shelby. She shot him a look full of daggers and shook her head.
“How’d you like Shelby’s video, Jake?” he asked.
I swear I saw Shelby’s cheeks flush. “That's the reason I’m here.” I smiled at her, and the crimson deepened a little. “Hey about that…,” I motioned for her to walk with me out of earshot of the stylist and his friend—I didn’t want to give him any more ammunition to embarrass her. “You know how we always show at least a little bit of the audition video before the segment? Well, we won’t be able to show yours. I tried, but we weren’t sure it would be appropriate for the tone of the episode. And…it’s a…well, it's a family show, after all.” I grinned.
What I’d told her was only partially true. The truth is hers would have been the only video in the episode and it would have felt unbalanced. I’d spent weeks racking my brain trying to figure out how to spin an episode around waxing with the show’s new tone. Since we’d done an episode last year about women doing jobs mostly done by men, I got the idea to do one about jobs rarely done by men and the reasons why. Shelby’s segment would be first and I was grateful she’d agreed to the more serious subject matter surrounding the job itself. With the other two jobs, a daycare worker and a labor and delivery nurse, we had approached them. That was something we’d never done before, and of course, there would be no audition video.
“Yeah. I thought about that after I’d sent it. I guess I just really wanted to get your attention.”
Oh, you did . No doubt about that. I nodded.
She walked me around the whole salon before taking me through the door into the spa area where the crew were unloading cameras and equipment outside of one of the rooms.
“Oh good, you found it,” said Shelby.
An attractive brunette peeked her head out of the room. “Hi!” She stepped out into the hall to get Shelby’s approval of her booty shorts. “This okay?”
Shelby nodded and turned to me. “This is our model, Amber. She’s one of the other estheticians, so she’s used to newbies.”
“Hi Amber. Thanks for helping us out today,” I said. We all stepped into the room.
“So, I am all set up for us in here, but I can adjust anything if you need more room or whatever.” Shelby offered. “Oh! Your uniform!” She hurried out of the room.
I had forgotten that part of the pre-filming communication was Rita asking if there is something they prefer for me to wear. Most of the time it’s my own clothes, safety equipment or coveralls. Shelby came back smiling and bearing…of course—a black bedazzled Aspire T-shirt.
I smiled and started to unbutton my shirt, trying not to look at Shelby. I didn’t want to know if she’d be watching me, I knew it would have been way too distracting. I handed my shirt to Dan, but before I tried on my new uniform, I couldn’t help myself. I looked toward where Shelby was standing just in time to catch her eyes trailing over my chest and then lifting to lock with mine for a few loaded seconds. I couldn’t let myself get all caught up in this moment, however, I had a job to do. I pulled the T-shirt over my head and outstretched my arms, turning side to side to show off for the room. “How do I look?” I kind of regretted not doing that on camera, but I thought it would ultimately be more tongue in cheek if we’d just start the show with me in the shirt.
Shelby grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.
Back to business. I said, “Okay, so we’ll start filming, but keep it loose so we can see how it’s going. We never know how the acoustics will be, and sometimes we’ll have to tweak lighting and things as we go. The most important thing to remember is, this is not live. We can shoot, stop, mess up, go again… it doesn’t matter. That’s the magic of editing. There will be times that maybe you say something and part of it doesn’t get caught, but we will like it, and want you to say it again. The best you can remember it, that is. It might sound a little daunting, but don’t worry. You’ll do great.
“This is kind of your show,” I explained further. “Yes, I want you to show me how to wax, but primarily I want to delve into the why this is mostly a job done by women. You do get that it’s not my intention to demean this job in any way, right? It’s more that I want to get into what has happened up until now between men and women to make a woman hesitant to ever get a bikini wax from a man.” I had been a little worried that she thought I wanted to make fun of her. “Amber will be on this table, right?”
“Yes, but…I need to tell you she doesn’t want her bikini done. She’s perfectly happy with a leg wax, but at the end of the day, she wasn’t comfortable with everyone seeing her grown out pubes,” Shelby explained. Amber looked mortified.
I stifled a laugh. “Oh no, that’s fine. The network was having issues with that anyway. We can still talk about bikini waxing though, right? And if everyone is comfortable, maybe we can even discuss this conversation.”
I introduced Shelby to the boys as they finished setting up. Jeff, our main camera guy, was 6’4” and lanky as hell. He could pretzel himself into positions a contortionist would envy to get the shot he wanted. He’s loved the more serious tone the show has taken, seeing things through more of a photojournalist’s eye. We called Mohammad and Ben the Wonder Twins. They had been documentary filmmakers and could both float between camera, sound, lighting and all things tech. Absolutely brilliant on the fly. I must have done something right in a past life to have had these geniuses on my team since the beginning.
“Later I’ll do an intro spot outside the salon and then a quick little thing with you and Darius at the front of the salon. I always like to promote the business a little when I can, and I’m so happy to be able to do that for Dar. I still can’t believe it’s his place.” I ran my hand through my hair, caught in a wave of nostalgia. “By this point you and I will have met, and I’ll have introduced you already. So, we’ll just be able to start. You okay?”
Shelby nodded. Rita and Dan stood just outside the open door. They would be catching the things that I wasn’t, interjecting if they felt like we needed another take. Boom and cameras in position, I nodded to Jeff we were ready to begin, and he counted us down.
“Okay, Shelby. I guess you’re about to teach me how to wax.”
“That’s right. And this is our brave model, Amber.”
“I am sorry in advance for any pain I may cause you, Amber,” I said. She smiled and nodded.
Shelby grinned at me. “Don’t worry, I’m a very good teacher. I won’t let you hurt her. Too much.” She winked.
I got a little flash of some kinky thought I had no business thinking and immediately pushed it away. “Why don’t you show me your setup here.”
Shelby turned to the cart between us and explained all the things we’d need, gloves, sticks, strips. She talked about “double dipping” and that we can only use a stick once before throwing it away. We’d go through a lot of sticks. She handed me my gloves and gave the wax a stir. Then she put some solution on a cotton pad and wiped down Amber’s leg. I jumped slightly at a loud snap. She broke one of the wooden applicators in half.
“We go through so many of these. It helps save waste.” She heaved a sigh of determination as she got ready to train me. “Okay. The most important thing to remember is that you want a thin, even application in the direction of hair growth.” She demonstrated with ease. The honey-colored wax had a great deal of dripping potential– as she had so seductively demonstrated in the video. I had to work hard to keep myself from getting too distracted thinking about that. She expertly scraped off one side of the stick on the wax pot and held her hand underneath it as she brought it to Amber’s shin. In one fluid motion she spread it from under the knee all the way down to the ankle. Then she threw the stick half away and went back to repeat the whole process.
“Some people might pull out the strips at this point and start removing, but I find that applying the wax to this whole quadrant of the leg gets this done much faster.”
Once she had all the wax applied, she grabbed a strip, placed it on one side of Amber’s ankle, pressed it with her hand several times, held the skin below it and ripped. The paper on the table made a crinkle noise as Amber lurched.
“Oops! Sorry. I forgot to tell you I’m a jumper.” Amber said.
“That’s okay. I think we all jumped with you.” I laughed.
“Do you want to try?” Shelby asked me.
“Not yet. I’d rather watch you do this whole part, then I can start with the wax on the other side?”
“Okay.” Shelby continued her task. This was one of my favorite parts of the gig. When I watched people who were so very good at their jobs, when movement becomes a well- choreographed dance—it’s hypnotizing.
Efficiency porn.
There was something else I noticed about Shelby.
When I was in college, I had a history class with a teacher I nicknamed Professor Mush Mouth. He glossed over his consonants like he was perpetually practicing a ventriloquist act, his lips barely ever touching. It drove me crazy, and I’d almost dropped the class because of it. Since then, I’ve come to greatly appreciate people who have a sharp edge to their consonant pronunciation. Shelby not only had a soft melodious quality to her voice and an endearing hint of a midwestern accent, but her diction was giving me goosebumps in my brain. Her c’s cracked like the ice in my scotch glass. Her p’s popped like bubble wrap. Her t’s were a tiny spoon tapping the side of a teacup. Watching and listening were pure pleasure.
“So now let’s get down to it. You’re called an esthetician, right? A skin care specialist.” I asked.
“That’s right.”
“Do you know any male estheticians?”
“There was one guy in my class when I went to school, but he never actually worked in a spa though. He got right into makeup. Last I’d heard he was representing and educating for a popular makeup brand, doing very well. When we were in class, the teachers had to ask our client models if they minded working with a male student. We all had to have a certain number of each service completed before we could graduate, and I think he barely made his quota. Mostly because we let him work on us.”
“The other students?’
“Yeah.”
“So, if someone called and tried to schedule a bikini wax, they’d ask if they’d be okay with a guy, and most of the time they’d say no?” I asked.
“Exactly. At the time a lot of us were pretty naive. We knew him, knew he was harmless. We didn’t really understand the problem. But we also knew he was gay, so that helped.”
“And they wouldn’t tell the client that, because that would have been weird and awkward, not to mention a violation of his privacy, right?”
“He’d even offered for the instructors to tell the clients on the phone, he didn’t mind. But they wouldn’t do it. They would try to alleviate their worries by telling the client that they would be observing the whole time. Sometimes that was enough,” Shelby said.
She finished the outside of Amber’s shin. She’d been able to maintain the conversation effortlessly while doing her job. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to say the same.
“Okay, Jake. Your turn.”