Kojackie by Sabrina S
Martin Fargo, Head of Drama at Megadeal Television, occasionally had good ideas. Sometimes he had great ones, but not often. And most regularly, he tried to save on his precious (and little) creativity by rehashing an old TV show and giving it a new millennium twist.
And this time, he was sure he was on a winner.
The Board had approved the idea, and Martin, rubbing his be-ringed hands greedily, was supervising the casting.
The list to play the lead had been whittled down from hundreds of desperate actresses to a handful of lovelies, all long-legged and chisel-cheeked. Bloke magnets. Sex on legs. Martin sighed at the very sight of them.
This was the chance to fulfil his fantasy. Martin squirmed in his chair as he watched each of the girls parade before him, dressed in tightly belted trenchcoats, closely fitting trousers and each sporting a Chupa Chup in the side of her mouth.
“First,” he announced, and a slim blonde walked towards him, a scowl on her face. “Oooo ughs umm aaaby,” she said.
“Who loves ya, baby?” Martin corrected. “You’ll have to learn to speak with a sweet in your mouth if you want the role.” He assessed her carefully. Physically, she was quite attractive, even if she didn’t have that extra spark that spelled “star”. Her hair cascaded down her back, but Martin tried to ignore it. If she got the role, it would have to go… Martin tried not to think about that. He was so tempted to give her the job as her hair was so pretty, and it would be such a pleasure watching it hit the floor, but he was, after all, a professional. Even if he did have the most hidden of hair fetishes.
Three more girls paraded before him. Dark and curly, mousy and lank in a Calista Flockhart style, wavy and shoulder length blonde. Pretty faces all of them, but none truly grasping the newly recreated role of Kojackie, the female Kojak.
The last girl stood up, and Martin gasped. Her face was exquisite, warm amber eyes framed with shapely brown brows, a generous smile, and the most wonderful tumble of chestnut waves cascading over her back. She sparkled as she walked, her presence outshining all of them.
“Who loves ya, baby?” she cooed, and sucked suggestively on her Chupa Chup before pulling it gracefully from her mouth and licking her lips in a way that was not only sexy, but businesslike. Martin could picture her kicking a gun from the bad guy’s hand, wrenching an enemy in an arm lock, running along a deserted dock…. She was IT.
“You’ve got the job,” he told her. He checked his casting sheet. Kirstin Denton. The last of the great unknowns. How had she not managed to be a star before now?
Kirstin beamed. “Wonderful!” she cried, her smile lighting up her face. Martin studied her bone structure. Yes, she’d look fine shaved. Now all he had to do was convince her.
Kirstin’s agent was a hatchet-faced old crank called Edna Smith, whose own crowning glory was a frizzy halo of hennaed hair that stood out as if she’d plunged her finger into an electric socket. Dressed in dowdy brown, she clumped over to Martin and read the contract with him.
“This clause,” she stabbed at the paper, ” I don’t know that she’ll agree to it.”
“Does she have to know?” Martin said smoothly, “We’re paying awfully well and she’ll be famous in no time. I’m sure she’ll agree when the time comes.”
Edna’s eyes met Martin’s. She smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile. Did Edna too long to see Kirstin’s locks get lopped, he wondered. “That’s true,” she said quietly. She was probably thinking of her agent’s fees, Martin decided. Unless she thought her own hair was so awful that she liked watching beautiful hair get shaved to the bone.
Martin brought his mind back to the business. Thinking about haircuts gave him the erection from hell.
Edna advised her client to sign the contract. Martin held his breath as Kirstin, no fool, quickly read through it. However, she made no comment about Clause 32.b. Either it was fine by her or she was just skimming until she got to the bottom line, a sum designed to entice. She scrawled her flourish on the bottom.
“Practice that signature,” Martin joked. “People will be clamouring for your autograph once Kojackie gets to air.”
Kirstin smiled again, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She was only wearing a bra under the trenchcoat, Martin realised as she bent over to sign.
“We’ll start shooting in two weeks,” Martin advised her. “Here’s the first script. You know the premise anyway, I take it.”
“I’m a private eye,” Kirstin agreed. “I get to chase the bad guys and suck lollipops.”
“That’s about it.” Martin whisked the signed contract away. “I’ll get a copy of this to your agent asap.”
Martin counted the days until shooting was due to begin. Kirstin, as instructed, rolled up at the crack of dawn for hair and makeup. If she was surprised to see an executive like Martin on the set, she didn’t show it.
He greeted her, patting her arm warmly. In her chunky cream sweater and beige trousers, she looked warm and wonderful.
“First thing we’ll get done,” he said conversationally, “Is get your head shaved before you go to makeup.”
“Eh?” Kirstin stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean, get my head shaved?”
“Darling girl, I don’t know if you were old enough to remember Kojak, but he was bald. Totally bald, billiard ball bald, bald as a coot, probably balder than a coot. We can’t have Kojackie with hair. It was in your contract, and you signed it.”
Kirstin turned a funny pale colour that was almost as cream as her sweater. She stroked her lovely hair protectively. “Where in the contract? I didn’t see it.”
“Clause 32.b. ‘The role of Kojackie calls for a totally bald head’.”
“I read that,” Kirstin said impatiently, “But I assumed I’d be wearing a bald wig. Surely you wouldn’t expect a woman to shave her head.”
“Bald wigs are always noticeable and detectable,” Martin said with fake sadness, “No, I’m sorry, but the hair has to go.”
“NO!” howled Kirstin, bursting into tears and turning away.
Sensing she was about to bolt, Martin grabbed her arm. In the semi-darkness of the pre-breakfast set, there was nobody else around to help her, and Kirstin tried to kick Martin’s shins.
“Ow!” he yelped, but didn’t let her go. “Listen to me, Kirstin! Don’t be silly! You agreed to the contract and you’re being paid a lot of money to be bald. Didn’t you wonder why the leading role was so well paid? You’ll be famous if you take it, but if you walk out on me now, you’ll never work again. I know everyone in the industry. The best you can hope for is a voice-over on poorly paid political campaigns.”
Kirstin glared at him in disgust. “Whose idea was this stupid show?”
“Mine,” Martin stated. “You’ve read the script, haven’t you? It’s good, you must admit. Our writers have done a great job. Your character will be the kind of woman admired by other girls and women of all ages. Tough, practical, independent, loving, funny.”
“And bald,” Kirstin growled.
“And bald,” Martin agreed. “Bald and beautiful. Nobody could pull off this role like you, Kirstin. You’ve got star quality. So what if you’re bald for a bit? Think of Sigourney Weaver, of Demi Moore. Big stars, and they went bald for their career.”
It was the clincher. One last trickle rolled out of Kirstin’s left eye, and greed got the better of her.
She had only ever had short hair once in her life, and that was when she was nine and her brother had poured glue on her head. Washing her hair didn’t help. The only solution had been to take her, sobbing and matted-haired, to the barber, and have her long locks cropped to an unsightly, unfeminine inch long. Her brother had been grounded for two months and had had his own hair buzzed as a punishment. Kirstin had never forgotten it, sitting in the chair, feeling the cape around her neck and hearing the terrible sound of the clippers coming closer, then growling as they bit into her lovely locks.
But she wasn’t nine years old any more. She was twenty-four, and being paid to sit in a chair and be clipped, lathered and shaved. Kirstin touched her hair, gathering it into a ponytail. She supposed she could wear wigs and hats off set while the show was in production.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh, and felt a tremble run all the way from her feet to her fingertips. Her stomach turned a barrel roll and she almost threw up.
Martin took her arm gently. “You’ll be stunning, Kirstin. Trust me.” He led her to the studio salon.
Martin had keys to all kinds of uncanny places around the studio, keys that the Operations Manager was unaware he had. He’d been in late the night before and rigged up a small, hidden camcorder in the salon, trained on the nearest chair.
He ushered Kirstin into the chair and patted her shoulder in what he hoped was a fatherly way. “Your head will turn heads,” he joked. Kirstin gave him a wan, pallid smile in return and wondered if there was a bucket handy. She was feeling dreadfully nervous; in her acting career nerves hadn’t come into it so far.
The stylist, Julia, sipped her tea hastily. “Morning,” she said, brushing her own wild red tumble of short curls out of her eyes. “So you’re to be Kojackie? Ready to join the league of chrome domes?”
Kirstin decided Julia had spent her childhood bashing other girls at hockey and pulling wings off butterflies. She was far too cheerful and jolly at the thought of shaving another woman’s lovely hair off.
As the cape was fastened around her neck, Kirstin didn’t see Martin use the remote control to activate his camcorder. Her eyes were fixed rigidly on the mirror, as Julia drew out her hair from under the cape, and laid it over her shoulders for the last time.
“Don’t look so frightened,” laughed Julia, “It won’t hurt! I’ve shaved lots of heads, I did all the aliens for Revenge of the Martians last year. Didn’t nick a single one!”
“I just don’t particularly want to be bald,” growled Kirstin through gritted teeth. She was very tempted at that particular second to walk away and forget her career, and get a job at the local dog’s home. And grow her hair down to her bum.
But the second passed. Julia was too quick for her, and before Kirstin could move, the stylist had the clippers plugged in and switched on, and was standing behind her with one hand firmly on her head, pushing it forward so Kirstin was facing her knees.
Kirstin trembled as the noise came closer, and something cold and metallic sliced through her hair and touched her neck. It hummed and vibrated against her skin, and moved up into her hair, taking with it the lush chestnut Pantene growth that curled at her nape.
Kirstin bit her lip as she felt the clippers run slowly up the back of her head. Where they had been immediately felt cold as the early morning air touched her newly bared skin.
Again and again the clippers shaved her neck, her nape, her occipital area and the home straight up to her crown. More and more hair dropped heavily down the silky cape, hissing its way to the floor. Bare traces of chestnut stubble dotted her white scalp where the hair had been swiftly shorn away.
Martin watched from the shadows, his erection threatening to burst through his trousers. Kirstin’s bowed head, her final acquiescence to her fate, like a nun taking her vows, thrilled him. The clippers taking her hair and revealing her alabaster scalp excited him like nothing else on earth. He zoomed the camera in on Julia’s capable hands pushing the clippers into her victim’s locks.
Carefully Julia clipped behind each of Kirstin’s delicate pink ears, pushing the cut hair forward so it fell thickly onto Kirstin’s lap. Julia was humming, Kirstin realised, that old Cyndi Lauper song, ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’.
Kirstin looked numbly at the useless hair lying on her legs. So much of it… so long! She closed her eyes and bit back tears again, trying not to imagine what the back of her head, the shorn back of her head, looked like.
Julia clipped and clipped and clipped the back. Kirstin, once she was over the shock of knowing she had no hair left there any more, found the sensation not unpleasant. Slowly the clippers got warmer, the blades less chilling against her bare skin.
She felt Julia pull her head up gently, and dared to straighten her neck and look in the mirror. So far she looked the same, her thick hair waving around her face and shoulders at the top and sides.
But then Julia, with a totally impassive face, nuzzled the shears in front of Kirstin’s ears, and drew them up the side of her head.
Kirstin’s eyes widened to saucers as she saw the side of her head rendered hairless in merciless seconds. Her skin had a grey, pre-execution look where the tiny nubs of hair remained, and her lap was suddenly warm with soft, thick chestnut tresses. Kirstin gulped. It was all so – quick!
Still humming, Julia walked to the other side and began pushing the clippers around Kirstin’s left ear; the crackling sound they made as they bit through the thick hair was loud and alien. Kirstin felt them tickle their way up around her temple. Julia carefully bent the top of her ear down and clipped around it in a wide swathe before buzzing the rest of the side. Kirstin’s head felt very cold and naked.
There was only the top left now. Kirstin gazed in the mirror at what was left of her once gorgeous hair – a mop, a ragged mop barely a couple of inches long. Below that, her ears sat neatly close to her head. She’d never noticed how neatly shaped they were before this. The little diamond studs in them twinkled.
Then her view was obscured as Julia stood in front of her, clippers poised.
In the shadows Martin bit back a gasp. Oh, this was wonderful! Kirstin’s fear, her obvious distress at her de-tressing, and now the look of wonder on her face as she assessed herself with her head partially shaved. And now the pièce de resistance. The coupe de foudre. Martin grinned at his own pun. The coupe of coupes, really, that lovely moment when the clippers would plough into the hair at her forehead. His fingers on the remote control trembled and sweated.
Julia ran her fingers through the thick hair on top of Kirstin’s head, and held it up so the clippers could bite it off at the skin. “Ready for this?” she said cheerfully, and Kirstin didn’t bother to dignify it with a reply. She was a butterfly, getting its wings removed.
Kirstin watched the blades come closer and closer, then she felt the warmth of them on her skin as they began to push into her hair. With one long, practiced stroke, Julia shaved a path down the middle of her scalp, and three more strokes saw the last of Kirstin’s hair hit the floor.
Julia moved away and Kirstin gulped at the sight of herself. Bald. Her huge eyes took in her newly hairless scalp, a mere shadow left, a Sinead O’Connor hint of hair. Without hair her facial features were accentuated; her straight nose, her high, Nordic cheekbones. It wasn’t so bad, she realised. She didn’t look hideous at all.
She was so busy examining her shorn head she didn’t notice Julia shaking the can of shaving cream until the cold foam landed on her crown.
“Ouch! What on earth…?”
“You’ve too much stubble,” Julia told her. “We’ll have to razor shave you. Probably every day while shooting’s on so we don’t get a five o’clock shadow on your head.”
Kirstin had thought her ordeal over. Now she had to sit and submit to having even the tiny bits of growth still left removed completely. It felt odd, having her naked skin covered in shaving cream. Not the same feeling as hair with shampoo, not at all.
Julia had a straight razor in her hand, sharp and glittering. “Hold very still,” she advised, steadying Kirstin’s head. Kirstin could barely breathe as she felt the razor rasp over her skin. Julia started at the forehead, shaving her scalp as smooth as a baby’s skin. Not a hint of hair remained in the wake of the punishing razor. Slowly and carefully, Julie moved the razor back over Kirstin’s head, wiping it clean with every precise stroke until the top of her head was shiny bald.
Then Julia pushed Kirstin’s head to the side. Kirstin watched the razor in the mirror, scraping the hair from the side of her head, so careful around her ears. The shaved skin felt tight and itchy. The razor itself she could almost hear inside her head, rasping away at her hair.
Martin longed to stroke Kirstin’s bald scalp, to feel the freshly shaved skin under his fingertips. The top of her head shone in the bright lights of the salon, clean and clear and alabaster. It was such a pleasure to watch Julia working around her ears, shaving the hair away from first one side of her head then the other, taking away the shaving cream to reveal perfection.
There was only the back left. Kirstin, anticipating it, bent her head forwards and bared her sensitive neck and nape to the razor.
She almost gasped at the first touch of it, low on her neck, scraping up into her hairline. She bowed her head even lower, to make the skin as taut as she could and make Julia’s job safer and easier. Kirstin was confused now; she was almost… almost… enjoying it, now the worst was over and her hair was well and truly gone. There was something unusual and sensual about having her head shaved, about the feeling of steel on her skin. She was aware of every stroke as Julia shaved the back clean.
And when the warm, wet towel was placed on her head, and the final vestiges of shaving cream whisked away, it was such an incredible sensation she closed her eyes in bliss, an action not unnoticed by Martin.
Julia applied lotion to her scalp, soothing away any razor burn, and declared the new star shorn, “Shaved to the bone, sweetie!” removing the cape to reveal Kirstin’s ultra-sexy head above her ultra-sexy clothes.
“There!” exclaimed Martin heartily, hoping his erection wasn’t showing TOO much. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You look marvellous, Kirstin!” With a trembling hand he stroked her shaved scalp, marvelling at the feel of it, so warm and smooth.
Kirstin smiled. “Well, it’s done now, isn’t it? It’ll take months to grow back so I may as well get used to it.”
For the first time she brought her hands up and touched her head. How odd, not to feel her customary soft tresses! And how… sexy, in a way. Her fingertips and scalp had sensations from each other they hadn’t had before. She drew her fingers back over her scalp and down the back of her neck disbelievingly, shuddering involuntarily at the tickly sensitivity of her scalp.
She was whisked off to makeup, where, an hour later, she saw a stranger in the mirror, a very beautiful bald woman with careful brown eyeliner accentuating her marvellous eyes, and blush carving her cheekbones.
When she walked on set for the first time dressed in the grey trenchcoat, her head shining under the hot lights, every male member of the camera crew whistled.
Kristin turned to camera 1, her trademark Kojackie Chupa Chup in her mouth. “Who loves ya, baby?” she said softly.
It came as no surprise to anyone that Kojackie became an instant hit. The new star Kirstin Denton was interviewed by every womens’ magazine on the market about how it felt to be bald (“Quite sexy, actually, I have to shave my head every day and I’m used to it now”), and before and after pictures showed a contrast that left most readers actually thinking Kirstin looked better without her lush hair.
When the first season of production finished, Martin (who’d looked at the headshaving tape so often it had almost worn out) tentatively asked Kirstin whether she’d be keen to do a second season and remain bald for several more months.
She couldn’t sign the contract quick enough.
(c) Copyright 2001, Sabrina S. Comments welcome to [email protected]