by Vivien Dean
“Not even close.”
“Then it’s settled. Get in here.”
I followed her into the living room where her laptop was wired into Janet’s TV, an episode of Orphan Black frozen on the larger screen. Dez dropped to her stomach onto the floor in front of the computer and killed the feed, then rolled onto her side to stare up at me. “Pick your TV poison. I can stream anything you want.”
We decided on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, though when I brought up the fact that the show almost broke her twenty year rule, Dez announced it didn’t count because of its cult following.
Two episodes and half a six-pack later, Dez had an addendum to her earlier reasoning. “Hot vampires are timeless,” she said. “Buffy was an idiot for not doing Spike sooner.”
On that, we agreed, though I held my tongue. “Not everybody likes Billy Idol.”
She snorted. “That wasn’t what made him fuckable.”
“Have you seen the actor without the bleach job? I’m telling you, it was the hair.”
“He’s a bad boy who’s really a good boy who doesn’t want to be a good boy but can’t help it. That’s irresistible.”
“Nope. It’s the hair. And maybe the coat.”
“The coat, I’ll give you. But seriously, guys look ridiculous when they bleach their hair. Not even Ryan Gosling could pull it off.”
“Since when is anybody looking at Ryan Gosling’s hair?”
Dez laughed. “Fair enough. What about Johnny Depp when he went blond? That was just sad.”
“What about Tom Felton?” I countered. “Everybody thought Draco was hot.”
“Because he was another bad boy. The hair was incidental.” She hesitated. “But Jason Isaacs did it, so I’ll give you the point that it works for the right guy.”
“I have no idea who Jason Isaacs is.”
“Yes, you do. Draco’s dad. That wig could’ve been awful, but he was pretty much sex on a stick.”
I hadn’t known the actor’s name, but she was right about the rest of it. I wouldn’t mention the bad boy angle she’d tried selling, though. That would diminish my argument.
“You could do it,” Dez surprised me by saying.
“Do what?”
“Bleach your hair without looking desperate.” Her dark gaze was intense as she looked me over. “You’re cute enough now, but a dye job could really set you off.”
Nobody had ever called me cute before. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I didn’t think I was bad-looking, and I was a little anal about personal grooming because I’d been terrified as a kid that I’d get picked on if I appeared different in any way, but nobody ever really noticed me as special, either.
Her eyes softened. A moment later, she reached over and killed the stream on her laptop. “Come on.” She hopped to her feet and held out her hand. “Drive me to the store.”
I scooted beyond her reach, suddenly wary. “For what?”
“For supplies. I’m going to bleach you.”
“No.”
“Don’t be a baby. It’s just hair. I mess with color all the time.” She put her hands on her boyish hips. “Are you trying to tell me mine looks like shit?”
“No, it’s cute. But—”
“No buts.” Grabbing my arm, she tugged with alarming strength, forcing me to stumble to my feet or risk pulling her over on top of me. “It’ll be good for you. Nobody will ever call you Ark Boy again.”
“You’re the only person who’s ever done that.”
“There you go.”
There was no stopping her. I’d never met anybody who was such a force of nature, not even Janet. I was starting to think Janet had pushed me into this arrangement to redirect Dez’s energy away from her for a night.
At CVS, she never stopped talking, garnering glances from the other customers in the store. I nodded and smiled at Mrs. Bench when we walked past her in the vitamin aisle and silently prayed she didn’t say anything to my parents about seeing me tonight. Mrs. Bench was our church secretary and knew everything about everyone. I had no doubt rumors about me would be flying long before Sunday service. Fingers crossed she didn’t embellish the story by adding condoms to our shopping basket.
On the other hand, if people thought I was having sex with Dez, nobody would be speculating on why I wasn’t dating anybody. That wasn’t necessarily bad.
Two hours later, I had my head bent over the kitchen sink while Dez stood tiptoe on a stool next to me, washing my hair. My scalp felt like it was on fire, and the acrid smell of the bleach threatened the return of the pizza bites we’d noshed on while my hair had been processing. I liked Dez, but if I threw up before she was done, I was going to shave my head in protest.
Her touch was gentle as she towel-dried my hair. “Don’t look yet,” she said, reaching for one of the bottles lined up on the counter. She spritzed it over my damp head, then ran her fingers through to style it. Only one word described the look on her face when she was done. Smug. “I love it when I’m right.”
I went into the bathroom in search of a mirror and came up short when I finally caught my reflection. My normal light brown hair was now platinum, carefully disarrayed into a disheveled chic I’d seen splattered across fashion stories for the past year. The contrast to my brown eyes and darker brows was startling, but each offset the other to create an edge rather than look silly.
Dez appeared at my shoulder. “Grow out a little scruff, loosen that collar a bit, and you’ll be able to snag anybody you want,” she said. “You could even get me, and I don’t even do boys most of the time.”
Her unabashed admission jerked my focus from me to her. My shock must’ve been written all over my face, because she flicked her nail at the side of my face to startle me out of it.
“You need to get out of your own head every once in a while and realize there’s a whole world out there,” she said. “You’ll have a lot more fun, I guarantee you.”
We watched another episode of Buffy, but when Janet called to say she was on her way home, I decided to leave. I had no desire to deal with her reaction to my new hair, and Dez would be better off if Janet didn’t find out she was behind it. At my car, Dez surprised me again with a quick hug.
“You’re a good guy.” She slapped my ass before she let me go. “Find someone who’ll appreciate that, okay?”
My head was a muddle when I got home. Though it wasn’t that late, Mom and Dad were already in bed, making it easy to sneak to my room. If I timed it right, I could avoid explanations about my hair until after work tomorrow, which would give me ample time to either come up with a good cover story or get rid of it because I hated it that much.
Staring at my reflection while I brushed my teeth, I didn’t think the latter would happen. The more I saw it, the more I liked it, until I was practically bursting with newfound confidence as I crawled into bed with my laptop.
I went straight to Fisher’s blog where I found a brand-new post from this afternoon. It was short, but sweet.
Inspired by recent comments, I want to know what acts of bravery you’ve done lately. Big, small, doesn’t matter. We should be taking inspiration from each other, and what better way to do that than sharing?
The post had over thirty comments already, but I knew by the second one I couldn’t let this entry go by without making my own.
Bleached my hair tonight.
In the scheme of things, it wasn’t much. But I was going to keep the color, at least for a little while, and there was no telling what kind of flak I would need to endure.
I crashed in the best mood I’d had all day. It was a shame it couldn’t last.
Chapter 4
You really do have the biggest balls here if you think for a second that a dye job makes you brave.
I stared at the comment, unable to look away as my eyes filled with hurt tears. I’d been so excited when I saw the notification somebody had responded to me, but now all I felt was shame. Whoever this Roger was, he was right. I must’ve been high on bleach fum
es to think for a second that just because I’d had the nerve to walk into my house with different colored hair, I had done anything notable. I wasn’t even courageous enough to face my parents right away, staying in bed until I’d been sure both of them had left for work. What had I been thinking?
I snapped the laptop shut and went to take my shower, trying to forget about the stupid post and focus on what I was going to do about my hair later. I couldn’t keep it now. Every time I looked in the mirror, it’d be a reminder of that asshole’s condemnation, and my ego wasn’t nearly hardy enough to tolerate that for long. I’d have to go to the barber after work and get it all buzzed off.
I was in a leaden fog as I got ready. Instead of styling it like Dez had done, I slicked my hair back as usual and forgot about it. Hopefully, I’d be too busy today for anybody at the hospital to mention it.
My phone pinged as I dressed. Though I had no desire to see who else had an opinion on my hair, I picked it up out of habit. One new email. From the Naked Remedy.
Against my better judgment, I clicked the link rather than indulge the urge to open my laptop again. The plan was to glance at it, then delete the email so I didn’t torture myself all day. Then I saw it was from Fisher in response to the asshole and that idea went straight out the window.
I debated deleting your comment, but I decided you’re probably not a troll. You’re just an insensitive jerk. You don’t know his circumstances. It’s very possible that dyeing his hair could mean facing retribution from any number of people. The fact that he considers it an act of bravery is enough for me to respect it as such. So should you. I’m letting this stand, but frankly, if you can’t treat my followers with respect, I’ll ban you. Say or think what you want about me. That’s your prerogative. Doing it to someone who’s a guest here is not.
Fisher’s defense soothed my bruised feelings. I’d never seen anyone online with such a great attitude before, so supportive of his followers without caring too much about how they might attack him personally.
I headed to work feeling better.
From the minute I stepped into the hospital, I got comments on my hair.
“A little early for Halloween, isn’t it?” From David, the security guard at the front desk. I ignored him. He’d been a jerk football player in high school, and he was a jerk now.
“Whoa, that looks great!” From Marianne, another sonographer. She was married to David’s brother, which I didn’t hold against her because she was too nice for that. I smiled and said thanks.
“That’ll get the girls climbing all over you.” From Dr. Roth, one of the ER docs.
“Nice.” From the new orderly working in the ER. I didn’t know his name, but I’d caught him watching me once or twice in the past month since he started. He was younger than me and wasn’t originally from around here—which begged the question of why he’d ever move to this hole in the wall if he didn’t have to—but I had the sneaky suspicion he might be gay. Especially after his smiling compliment.
At lunch, Janet cornered me before I could sit down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve given you a better heads-up on Desiree.”
“What for?” I felt the need to defend her, now that I had a bit more confidence it wasn’t awful. “She didn’t do anything I didn’t want her to do.”
Though Janet frowned, she didn’t say another word until we were settled at our usual table. “Turning you into a boy band candidate was not what I had in mind when I said you two should hang out.”
I laughed. “I haven’t heard that one yet today. But seriously, it’s all good. I like Dez.”
“She must like you, too. She asked me to tell you to call her about getting together again.”
“What’s her cell number?”
Janet took my phone and typed it in. “Looks like you’ve got email, by the way,” she said when she handed it back.
As she started to eat, I opened my inbox with a hint of worry. The last thing I wanted was to spark some flame war at Fisher’s blog, but I couldn’t think of why else I’d have new messages.
It wasn’t from the blog. It was Fisher himself. My fingers shook as I opened it.
I hope it’s okay that I’m using the email from your comment to contact you directly. I don’t normally do this, and I don’t know if you saw the reaction to your act of bravery last night, but I wanted to check in and reiterate that my blog is a safe place for guys like you. I’m not sure how you found my little cyber-corner, but I’m glad you did. I’ve really appreciated your added presence in the comment section. It reminds me why I’m doing this in the first place, how it’s so easy to get stuck in the ebb and flow of just getting by, and how good it is when we make a breakthrough.
My offer to contact me still stands, though now you have my email to do it. I’d love to see a picture of the hair. I bet it looks great.
Fisher
I read it through two more times, each slower than the last. Fisher. Wrote. Me. He must’ve felt awful about what the asshole had said, though the closing salvo about a picture of my hair seemed a little out of left field.
“I hope that’s not bad news.” Janet’s words startled me into looking up. She nodded at my ramen. “That’s gotten cold from you sitting there so long ignoring it.”
“Not bad news.” I dug into my soup, which had definitely overcooled. “Just not something I was expecting.”
Fisher’s email distracted me all afternoon, though thankfully it was a slow day. Around four, I sent a text to Dez asking if I could meet up with her after work. She shot back a quick, “Sure,” that made it easier to finish my shift.
I found Dez sitting on the hood of my car, her nose and cheeks bright red from the spring wind that whipped through the parking lot. Though she was grinned when she spotted me, it immediately turned into a grimace as she slid off.
“What did you do?” She reached up and ruffled the front of my hair. “Going schoolboy totally ruins the effect.”
I stood there patiently as she fussed. “I couldn’t duplicate what you did.” All right, that was a lie since I didn’t really try, but it probably would be true if I attempted it on my own. “I was hoping you could show me what products to use and how to style it the way you did.”
When she stepped back, her narrowed eyes were locked on my face. I forced my features to remain neutral, but I couldn’t escape the feeling she was reading my thoughts anyway.
Whatever she saw, she kept to herself as she headed around to the passenger side of my car. “Buy me dinner, and I won’t let you go home until you can do it every time.”
The next two hours were more fun than I’d had in a long time. Dez did most of the talking, chatting on about L.A. and how she wished she had the balls to drop out of UCLA and follow her dream about being a photographer, but she was too practical to give up on the education she knew would help her pay bills and put food on the table later on.
“Besides, I can still mess around in my spare time,” she said as I primped in front of the mirror in Janet’s bathroom. She sat on the toilet, giving me tips every time I paused. “Once I start getting some attention, maybe I’ll be able to cut back on the nine-to-five.”
“I would’ve thought you’d chase it, no matter what. Isn’t that what dreams are for?”
“You’re conflating chasing with a sprint. I’m in it for the long haul, which means pacing myself.”
I stepped back, turning my head from side to side to see it from every angle. “I think I’ve got it. What do you think?”
Dez leaned around to get a better view. “You’ll do.” She hopped up. “Where’s your phone?”
I followed her out to the living room, but she beat me to where I’d dropped my keys and phone. “What’re you doing?”
“We did all this for a picture, right?” She held it up, her fingers flying over the screen, and took steps back until she seemed happy with the distance. “Are we smiling, going goofy, doing the sexbomb thing, what?”
I grinned at her pletho
ra of choices. Before I knew it, she’d snapped the pic and holding it up for me to see.
“Not bad,” she said. “So who are we sending this to?”
Before she could do something on my phone that would reveal more than I wanted, I snatched it away. “We’re not.” I shoved my phone in my back pocket, then realized too late that wouldn’t stop her from grabbing it if she really wanted.
She regarded me with a finely arched brow. “Then all of this was because…?”
“Just because.”
Dez didn’t believe me. It was written all over her face. And frankly, if there was anyone I thought I could trust coming out to, it was Dez, which was more than a little bizarre since we’d only just met. Well, maybe not that bizarre. She had confessed to dating girls most of the time. She likely already knew and was giving me every opportunity to come clean.
But she didn’t press, and it made me like her all the more. She sent me home with a bag full of hair products and a firm request to call her the upcoming weekend.
Mom and Dad were in the living room when I walked in. Dad didn’t even look up from his book, but Mom’s eyes widened when she saw me.
“What did you do?” she said.
I stifled the urge to run to my room, especially when Dad tore his attention away from his Clancy to see what had sparked Mom’s response. “Dez did it last night.” Sorry for throwing you under the bus, Dez. But because I couldn’t ignore the truth, I added, “I got a lot of compliments today at work about it.”
“It’s different, that’s for sure,” Dad said.
Mom jerked her chin toward the bag dangling from hand. “What’s that?”
“Styling stuff.”
Mom pursed her lips. After a minute of my heart pounding in terror at the declaration about to come, she nodded. “I like it. You look like you should be on The Voice.”
From a woman who still listened to her *NSYNC CDs, that was a compliment, so I took it at face value. I said good night and tried not to run to my bedroom. It was late in Florida. Fisher might’ve been up to the wee hours of the morning on the weekend, but the odds of him doing it on a night when he had to work the next day weren’t great.
