Leslie Gets Rejected!
Leslie gets Rejected! By Lela
“Mail call, Leslie Anne,” called Leslie’s mom as she filtered through the mail that early April morning. Leslie hurried into the kitchen. The heroine of “Think About It”, she was anxiously wasting for a reply from NYU’s drama department. Her blonde bob had gotten longer and somewhat ragged looking as it grazed her shoulders. She brushed her now nose-length bangs out of her eyes as she waited for her mom to finish sorting through the mail. She knew, deep in her heart, that there was no way in hell that she had gotten in, but she eyed a large envelope at the bottom of the pile. “Bill for me, ad for Leslie Anne, letter for me, bill for me, card for Leslie Anne, letter from NYU for Leslie Anne.” Leslie was hastily opening it.
“Dear Leslie: We regret to inform you that you have not been reserved a place in the Tisch School for the Arts class of 2004….” Leslie put the letter down, numb. She ran her fingers through the hair, lost in hopes of gaining a scholarship there. Her mother looked at her face and smiled maternally.
“Oh, Leslie Anne… my baby.” And this, it must be confessed, Leslie was. Her mother’s fourth child, her beauty could scarcely conceal the fact that she looked much younger than her eighteen years. Leslie appraised the letter as if it was an item for her to buy. After several minutes she wrinkled her nose, and pensively muttered something to herself that to her mom sounded like, “look like a frikking five-year-old.” With that she picked up the phone and dialed her friend Sara’s number.
“Hello? Oh hello, Chris. It’s me, Leslie. Is Sara there? Hi, Sara? Holy Cross? Really? No way! That’s great! Yeah, I got rejected by NYU. Thanks. I was expecting though. Yeah. Can I ask you a favor? Do you remember that time you offered to give me a makeover, back in December, when I had long hair? Could I take you up on it? The Hair Place? Ten minutes? Great!” Leslie hung up the phone. “I’m going out with Sara, Mom, I’ll be back about nine.”
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Sara’s stylist and Sara were in deep discussion when Leslie walked in the door. The stylist looked up at Leslie as if to say, “I see what your friend was saying” as Sara placed a picture on her lap. The model’s hair was trimmed to about ear-lobe length, with a good deal of chunky layers, lending it a messy look. It appeared as if her neck had been shaved below ear length. It was fashionable, sophisticated, sexy, avant-garde, and a million other things that were light years away from Leslie’s current look. Sara tapped the picture with a manicured nail.
“This is what we were thinking of, Leslie. Yes or no?”
Leslie stared at her childlike reflection and gulped. “Yes,” she said in a confident tone that made her jump back.
The stylist began to gather the top part of Leslie’s fine bob in her fist, securing with an elastic. “How much do you want of the back shaved?” asked the stylist.
“How much do you think?” asked Sara. The stylist drew her finger to about the middle of Leslie’s ear.
Excited, Leslie bit her lip and nodded. The stylist put Leslie’s head down on her chest and – Bzzz! – the clippers leapt to life in her hand. Sara jumped back in instinctual female fear of the hair-eating monsters as they began their slow descent to nibble at the blonde strands they were meant for. Bzzz! Five inch stands were flying everywhere, leaving quarter-inch stubble in their wake. Bzzz! Another pass. A smile crept over Leslie’s face at the pleasurable sensation.
“Rub it, Sara. It feels so good.” Sara nervously petted it and smiled. The stylist released the top hair from its ponytail and it eclipsed her face for the last time. Snip! Sections of her hair fluttered down, revealing her delicate features that the hair, even in its bobbed state, had hidden. The cut progressed, leaving Leslie’s ears covered with a sleek cap of gold hair. Slowly the layering began, here a one-inch chunk hitting the top of her left ear, a two-inch chunk hanging to the middle of her right one. Her hair was haphazardly blended in with the overgrown bangs, which, Leslie noted with sudden surprise as the stylist began to scrunch mousse through it, fell over her eyes, giving her a look that was chic and numinous, instead of making her look like she simply was neglecting to cut them. The stylist began to tousle the bob as Sara reached over with a pair of tweezers and began to pluck the eyebrows to a perfect arch. She then applied a deep burgundy lip gloss to Leslie’s delicate lips, and put just a touch of mascara on her lashes. Leslie gazed at her refection with sudden pride. She looked confident and sexy, instead of young and shy.