Starboys

by Jeremy Jenkins

  I looked down at the two dollar bills in my hand. “Um, thank you,” I said, a little crestfallen.

  “Oh, you’re welcome dear. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  She took a few steps toward the exit as I pocketed the money, then turned back and said, “And Charlie, dear?”

  I looked up into her wild silvery eyes.

  “Don’t ever settle for average. You’re shiny.”

  And just like that, she made her way out of the salon and vanished into the mall.

  I was speechless as I watched her go, turning over all of the unexplainable, bizarre things she’d said to me.

  “What happened to you?” my coworker Scott asked as he walked past me to his chair. He set his purse down on the floor and began arranging the products on his vanity, just as he always did when he came into work.

  “I… I think I just met a witch.”

  Chapter Two

  That evening, I did exactly what Hazel said: I wrote down what I wanted.

  It was a warm and peaceful night in L.A., so I opened the window so the desert breeze could wisp through the screen.

  Throughout the rest of the day at the salon, I had normal client after normal client. But I couldn’t devote my full attention to them; I was too busy thinking about what Hazel said.

  The encounter with her stuck in my mind like rubber cement.

  When I told my coworker Scott about my run-in with her, he didn’t seem that interested. “Oh, she must just be a crazy. We get them here all the time.”

  I pressed him for details, and he simply shrugged and said, “This is L.A. People around here really like attention if you haven’t noticed. I’ve had a few people like that come and sit down in my chair.”

  My shoulders sagged when he said that, infusing me with doubt.

  “Look, I know you’re new to L.A.,” Scott said while he prepped his station, “but trust me, attention seekers come in all the time. If she told you some woo-woo crap, just ignore it.”

  I frowned. Even though I knew Scott was speaking from a rational place, I felt like I had a bond with Hazel. I was slightly offended that he was taking the power out of her words.

  Throughout the rest of the day, two voices warred in my head: The logical, rational voice that reasoned Hazel was just some crazy old woman, and this intuitive feeling that she was… more.

  By the time I got home, I had given into the voice of reason. She was just some crazy trying to mess with me, who’d given me some kind of entertainment for the day. The suspicion that was coming from the deep sense of curiosity within me was nearly extinguished.

  I pulled my tip money out of my wallet and set each bill on my kitchen table. There was a wad of ones and change that a frazzled soccer mom had handed me, a twenty-dollar bill that I’d gotten from an average dude who wanted the sides of his hair taken down, another twenty from that guy who wanted to look like some new movie star he showed me a picture of, and…

  My heart felt like it stopped.

  The last two bills I pulled out of my wallet were two hundred-dollar bills.

  I scanned my memory, trying to figure out how so much money ended up in my wallet. And without any sort of rhyme or reason, Hazel’s twinkling silvery eyes came to mind.

  I knew it was her. Even though she’d only given me two one-dollar bills earlier, I knew that with her… with her whatever, she’d somehow bent reality around the money she gave me.

  But that was impossible. The two hundreds must have already been in my wallet from earlier, and I’d just forgotten about them.

  Maybe I’d misread the numbers on the bills — maybe they were two one-hundred-dollar bills all along, and she was just loaded.

  She must have made a mistake — no one tipped that much. A strong sense of justice within me knew that I had to give the money back to her.

  Her number was in the client's notes on my phone, I could give her a quick call and arrange to give her money back.

  I glanced at the clock — it was already late. I imagined Hazel having dinner with her family, or watching T.V., or having some quiet alone time.

  No, I’d give her a call tomorrow.

  As I counted out the rest of the money, my phone vibrated on the table next to the pile of bills with a zzt.

  Peering down at the glowing screen, I saw a text from one of the guys I’d met on Grindr.

  “Hey,” it said simply.

  It seemed so mundane, such a lazy way to start a conversation. And this guy wasn’t even that interesting — just someone I was casually dating. I wasn’t excited or happy or ignited, and I wasn’t even a little bit scared.

  Suddenly Hazel’s voice echoed in my mind:

  “Don’t ever settle for average. You’re shiny.”

  With a new determination, I left the phone on the table, untouched. I wasn’t going to keep pouring energy into something that didn’t excite me.

  And just as I had that thought, another message appeared from a different person I had been casually seeing. Like it was a clone of the first, it said “Hey.”

  I bit my lip, and for the first time, it was like I was seeing how boring it all was. I could predict what would happen here: I’d say “Hey,” back, they’d start asking what I was into, pretending, and then I’d get a dick pic. Then they’d ask if we could meet up. It had happened over and over again.

  If I responded to these guys — any of them, I’d be signing up for something average, welcoming it into my life.

  I was done with average.

  Leaving my phone on the table, I walked over to my bookshelf and plucked out a small notebook. Turning the pages until I found a blank one, I put the point of my pen to the lined paper.

  “What do you want him to be like?” Echoed Hazel’s voice in my memory.

  First I thought about all the things I liked about my ex — minus the boring parts.

  Stable, Calm, Understanding, I wrote, then I paused.

  Did I dare to be a little bit vain? It’s not like anyone except me would ever see this…

  So I started scrawling the words hot, handsome, sexy, muscular, healthy.

  I felt a little bad as I wrote that. Was that all I really wanted? Some hot guy who was stable?

  My phone buzzed again, and my eyes darted over to it to see yet another “Hey,” message from another one of my Grindr hookups.

  Any one of those guys could be what I was writing down. I needed to get more specific. What was it that I was missing from my love life?

  Accepting, I wrote. Then I thought for a bit. That third guy that texted me was dating multiple guys at the same time. I pretended it didn’t bother me, but it did on some level. I just never voiced it, and I never really expected his loyalty.

  Loyal. I wrote and underlined that word several times. Then I tried to picture what he would look like, and my boring ex came to mind.

  “There was stability there, but no fire! You were with an earth sign…” Hazel’s voice echoed in my memory again.

  Interesting, intense, adventurous, curious. I wrote.

  It was only a matter of time before I went on a spree; it was like I was playing the Sims again and creating my perfect man. All thoughts of doubt were pushed to the back of my mind — it’s not like I could be asking too much, right? I was just writing words down on a piece of paper.

  Before long, I had a few pages filled up with qualities that I’d love to find in my dream guy. I found myself picturing us together, exactly how he’d look, all the fun dates we’d go on, and how he’d transform my life completely.

  After I wrote the phrase Makes me famous, I stopped, realizing how ridiculous I was being. Flipping back through the pages, I scanned through all of the stuff I’d written and with a stark shame, realized that I was being greedy.

  There was no way a person like that could actually exist, let alone be into me.

  I was boring, I was average. I was just a guy new to L.A., trying to make it here as a hairstylist because he couldn’t make it as an
actor. I was fifteen pounds overweight and didn’t have any sort of skill set besides making people beautiful.

  Frowning, I closed the notebook and tucked it back into its spot on the shelf.

  Returning to my mundane life, I made myself a quick little dinner and then zoned out in front of the television.

  Even though I was tempted to text those Grindr guys back, I knew that was just going to lead down the same road I’d been down dozens of times. Did I really want to subject myself to that again, that same old song and dance? It took so much energy…

  I turned my phone face-down on the couch and fixed my eyes on the T.V. A new series on Netflix was dropping tomorrow night — looked like an interesting fantasy drama trying to ride the coattails of Game of Thrones.

  With a sparkling realization, I recognized the man’s face in the preview image from the picture that average client had shown me earlier when he said, “Make my hair look like his.”

  Everything about this guy was gold-colored: Gold hair, gold eyes, golden-tan skin…

  I pursed my lips as I watched the dramatic preview, thinking to myself, His hair isn’t so great— I could do way more amazing things with that mane.

  The next day, I showed up to the salon looking fresher than ever. I slept well, put on my foundation expertly, carefully put in my light brown contact lenses, and dressed in my favorite slimming black button-down. I was ready for the day.

  Refraining from toiling away in conversations with those Grindr guys was… it was refreshing. So much energy that I had poured into those nothing-relationships was finally all coming back to me.

  Though, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to text them back, if only to get attention.

  Just like always, I prepped my station and made sure all of my products were ready for my clients. Everything was shaping up to be a normal day at the salon.

  After my first two clients, my coworker Scott showed up.

  He greeted me as usual, but did a double-take.

  “You look… there’s something different about you,” he said, holding his finger and thumb to his chin.

  “Well thanks, but I don’t know what,” I said. But I knew what he meant. I felt different; I felt better.

  “Are you using a new pair of those contacts I told you about?” Scott asked, examining me closely.

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  “That must be it!” he said, clapping his hands together. “Honey you finally look like an L.A. boy. Gettin’ all that midwest off of you took a little bit, but now you’re all set!”

  I laughed uncomfortably at Scott’s backhanded compliment.

  True, I did want to fit in here in L.A., but I didn’t know that meant forsaking my identity as a guy from a small town in Ohio.

  Coming here had been a huge culture shock, and I’d had a hard time fitting in. In this city, things were all about appearances. It wasn’t about having a good time or making genuine connections — it was about looking like you were having a good time and making genuine connections. Most of the gay community here was super vain, vapid, and their number one concern was how many Instagram followers they had.

  Even now as I snuck a look at Scott, I could see him scrolling through a feed of his own posts, checking to see how many likes he had on his photos.

  He’d tried to get me to use social media and all that, but I just couldn’t get the hang of it. It was just more of the same inauthenticity in this land of fame and appearances.

  Hazel was the only person I’d met so far that had brought an ounce of realness to my chair. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see her bright pink hair and her shimmering silver eyes.

  That reminded me — I had to call her about her exorbitant tip.

  I glanced at the clock and discovered that I only had five minutes before my next client came in, and that next client had hair like a Kardashian that wanted to go platinum. Lightening that would take all day. I could guarantee that I wouldn’t have another break.

  Dashing into the supply closet where all of the bottles of dyes and colors were glittering on the shelves like potions, I closed the door. Opening my client notes from yesterday, I found her number and called it.

  My heart was in my throat as I brought the phone to my ear and I held my breath as it rang.

  For a moment I thought that she wouldn’t answer, that she’d given the salon a fake phone number.

  Phones seemed like they were beneath her for some reason.

  As the phone continued to ring, I pictured Hazel opening up a portal or something to talk to her friends. The thought gave me a flash of delight.

  “Hello?” came her crackly voice from the other end.

  “Hazel!” I exclaimed, relief flooding through me, “It’s Charlie from the salon yesterday, how are you doing?”

  I could hear the smile in her voice. “I was wondering when you were going to call.”

  Of course she was. “So you know you made a mistake with my tip, then,” I said.

  “Oh no, not about that. There was no mistake there.”

  My eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “You gave me two-hundred dollars.”

  “I gave you exactly how much you needed,” she said, laughter lurking on the edges of her voice.

  I raised my eyebrow in confusion. “But, you gave me—”

  “That’s less important than what we need to discuss,” she said bluntly. “What I really want to know is if you wrote down what you want him to be like.”

  I paused, sweat prickling at my temples. How was she… how was she this way?

  “I did,” I admitted. “But I felt like I was asking for too much.”

  The admission came pouring out of me like water.

  “You didn’t ask for too much, child! You asked for exactly what you needed, I hope.”

  “But I can’t imagine how someone like that could exist,” I said with doubt. “All the things I want… that can’t be in one person.”

  She laughed, the sound filling the phone with the sound of tinkling bells. “Sweet child… you have no idea what’s in store for you.”

  I swallowed, hard. Here she was again, messing with me. But there was a part of me — a larger part than yesterday — that believed her. So all I could say was, “When?”

  “Sooner than you think. I can feel it from here, Charlie. You’ve shifted. You changed your path so that it makes a beeline straight towards him! I’m proud of you.”

  I smiled, radiating happiness. That reassurance was all I really wanted to hear. But I still wanted more. “Thanks, Hazel. But… could you tell me exactly when?”

  I knew I was being greedy, just like when I’d written down all of the things I wanted my heartmate to be. But if I didn’t ask for it, there was no chance she’d tell me.

  “Again, when is liquid,” she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “We don’t get the luxury of when. However, we do get the luxury of the much more solid if. And for you, that if is a sure thing.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to comfort myself. “Thank you, Hazel.”

  “Your life is about to change, big time,” she promised.

  I felt a sureness in my gut and knew that the words she was saying to me were true. It was as if there was some kind of vibration within me, like a tuning fork, that had reached the perfect pitch.

  “That’s more like it,” she said, as if she was following my thoughts.

  “More like what?” I asked her, filled with doubt. Though I knew that somehow, someway, she’d felt whatever shift was happening inside of me.

  “You’re more aligned with your path now. You were going a little off of it for a while, but now you’re back on track. Now you simply must be patient,” she said.

  Warmth flooded through me at her reassurances. “T-thank you,” I said, trying to find a way to express my gratitude.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said with a smile. “Now, I’ll let you get back to doing your magic on people’s hair. I’ve gotta say — what you did
to mine has gotten me quite a few looks from some lookers, haha!”

  I smiled and said, “I’m happy to hear it.”

  It always brought me so much joy when my clients loved their new hairdos. This was the one area of my life that I knew I was solid in; I’d found my passion.

  “One of them is coming over right now to take me on a hot date!” She said. “And I owe it all to you. Keep on shinin’, Charlie!”

  And with that, she hung up. I couldn’t help but feel a little less happy, a little less warm in the absence of her voice.

  But when I left the supply closet with all of the bottles to treat the brunette’s hair, I couldn’t help but feel like a brand new person. It was like I was surrounded by a warm cocoon of happiness and confidence.

  When I returned to the chair, Scott gave me another double-take.

  “I swear, you’re getting more L.A. every time I see you! I’m so proud of you, my little sesame seed!”

  I smiled at his compliment, then went to the waiting area to look for my client.

  A woman with the darkest hair I’d ever seen was sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine.

  I greeted her and she smiled brightly. When I led her over to my chair and began to fuss with her hair, I explained that going platinum might not be possible.

  “You’re the best colorist in this city, I hear,” she said with determination. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure to live up to,” I said, parting her hair with my comb. “But I’ll see what I can do. This will take a few sessions, and the result might not be what you want.”

  I ran my fingers through a silky, dark brown lock. It was such a shame she wanted to bleach it — her hair was perfect as it was.

  “So, any particular reason you want it to be white?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, I’m an actress,” she said with the flick of her hair.

  Scott rolled his eyes beside me.

  The woman in my chair didn’t catch it. “And I’m auditioning for season two of The Black Castle,” she said simply.

  “The Black Castle?” I asked, combing my memory as I combed her hair. That was the show I saw the preview for last night on Netflix — the new fantasy drama.