TITLE - PAYBACK (part 2)

Dinner was an unusual affair.  Ellen's new uniform, not to mention her new
hair style, made her very uncomfortably self-conscious.  She didn't have much
to say at the table.  The other maid and my cousin tried to carry on a
conversation, but they kept loosing their train of thought and staring at
Ellen during the meal.  After dessert, which Ellen barely touched, I
announced that it was time for my cousin, Miranda's, haircut.

She gulped, hard, and looked like she was going to lose the supper she had
just eaten.  I smiled my cruel smile at her and said, "Remember four years
ago and all the 'fun' we had when I was visiting your house?"  She slowly
nodded, while turning pale.  "Well now it's my turn to be the host and plan
the games.  We're going to start with a new hair style for you."

I instructed her to take her hair down (she had twisted it up in an elegant
chignon).  I watched (the others seemed glued to the scene also) as she
unfastened the gorgeous strawberry blond hair.  It had a natural wave that
caused the hair to twine around showing off the natural highlights in
fascinating patterns.  It had been years (at least four) since I had seen her
hair unfastened and hanging down.  She must not have cut it in all that time,
because when it was unbound it hung down to her elbows, just inches from her
waist.  It was trimmed in a neat, straight line across her back and looked
soft, shiny and delicious.  I put a brush in her hand and ordered her to
brush it out.  She did, slowly and sadly, wondering what I had in mind.  

She said, "Cousin Peter, please don't cut very much.  I love my hair like
this and it has taken such a long time to get it to this length."  I didn't
say a word, just watched carefully as she worked with her glorious locks.

I pulled the scissors out of my pocket and stood behind her, running my
fingers through the soft tresses when her personal maid, Susan, blurted out,
"Please, sir, I beg you.  Her hair is much too pretty to cut.  Please, sir,
cut mine."

I looked her over carefully.  She had not been Miranda's maid when I visited
four years ago.  She might have been around the place then, but I didn't
remember her.  I had no grudge against her, but she was cute enough and when
a cute girl begs me to cut their hair who am I to refuse?  I didn't promise
not to cut Miranda's, just moved around to stand behind Susan's chair.  She
nervously patted the chestnut brown, naturally wavy hair that was pulled back
into a bun at the base of her head.  She took a deep breath to steady herself
and said again, "It's O.K.  Go ahead and cut my hair, sir."  I pulled roughly
at the bun, but only succeeded in eliciting an "OUCH" from Susan.  "Take it
down," I ordered.  She began pulling out pins and laying them on the table in
front of her.  Soon the chestnut waves were free and hanging down to a point
about six inches below her shoulders.  I lifted a small section of hair that
was attached to the top of her head, laid the scissors right next to her
scalp and closed the blades on the hair.  She couldn't see what I was doing,
but she could feel the scissors against her head and the other two gasped.  I
laid the pretty lock of hair on the table in front of Susan and then
proceeded to cut off section by section building up the pile of hair on the
table.  It was a ragged job, portions of scalp showed and tufts of longer
hair were still attached to her head.  She looked like a dog with mange.  I
went over her head again and again clipping off the longer strands as long as
I could get a hold of them and lift them up.  When I was done with her she
looked awful.

I put the scissors back in my pocket and walked back around by Miranda.  I
ran my fingers through her lovely hair and asked her what she thought of
Susan's new hair style.  She burst out crying, "You didn't need to do that to
her.  She never did anything to you.  That was spiteful and mean.  You're a
hideous and awful man!"

"Those are brave words from a girl who still has her hair, spoken to a man
with scissors in his pocket."

"You promised that if you cut Susan's you wouldn't cut mine."

"I did no such thing.  Did anyone hear me make a promise like that?  I heard
Susan beg me, 'Please sir, cut mine.'  So I did.  I hate to disappoint a cute
girl who wants her hair cut."

I could see Miranda's face in the mirror on the wall facing us.  She looked
absolutely stricken.  Susan's face fell as it dawned on her that she had
sacrificed her hair for nothing.

Ellen tried to regain some control of the situation by saying, "All right,
Master Peter.  You have had your revenge on us, now please leave us alone."

I walked over to her and stroked her hair.  "Ellen, do you like your new hair
style?  Maybe it's still too long.  Perhaps I should cut some more off?"
 With that I grasped the hair that grew right above her right temple, whipped
out the scissors and snipped it off close to her scalp.  Now she had a nearly
bald patch on the side of her head.

"I'm sorry Master Peter.  I shouldn't have spoken out like that.  You are the
one in charge here.  You may do as you wish."  She tried to soothe and calm
me with her words.  They were a completely different tune than what I heard
out of her mouth four years earlier.  I patted her head (like she was a dog)
and said, "Thank you, Ellen, for giving me permission to do what I want in my
house."

I went back behind Miranda and once again toyed with her hair.  "Maybe I'll
let you keep your hair if you are nice to me, Miranda."

She immediately brightened, "Oh, yes, thank you, Peter.  I'll do whatever you
say.  I'll be very nice to you."

I grabbed a hunk of her hair and tugged sharply.

"Owww," she yelled, "what was that for?"

"You can start by calling me 'Sir' instead of Peter.  I am, after all, the
master of the house."

"Yes sir," she said, suitably chastened and subdued.

I sent her to bed with the false hope that she might keep her hair.  For the
next few days I had both her and Ellen jumping through hoops like trained
circus dogs (not literally) for me, and anytime their enthusiasm waned I
pulled out my scissors and went, "Snip, snip, snip."

They got so tired of seeing me coming that I think Miranda came to the
conclusion she'd rather I just cut her hair and get it over with.  The games
I proposed got more and more humiliating to her until finally she decided
that she'd rather get it over with.  At supper the night she decided that she
said, "Sir, I think I'd rather you just cut my hair instead of holding this
sword over my head and threatening me unless I go along with your fantasies."

I looked at her and raised my eyebrows in pretend surprise (I had seen in
coming).  Then I turned to Ellen, "Do you feel the same way, Ellen?"

"What," she asked in a confused way.  "What does that have to do with me?"

"Well you still have some hair left," I replied.  Her hand reached up and
stroked her hair, I'm not even sure she knew she was doing it.  She looked
thoughtful and finally decided that yes, she would rather get it done and
over with.  She nodded her agreement.

Well, I suppose if you ladies get on your knees and beg me to cut your hair,
if I am convinced you are sincere about it, then I would do it for you.  What
a comical sight to see these haughty, proud women fall onto their knees and
beg and plead for me to cut their hair.  If I had told them when they first
came that they would be begging for a haircut they would have thought I was
insane.

Finally I said, "O.K., I'm convinced.  I'll cut your hair for you.  Now
remember, when you get home you tell your parents that you asked for this
haircut and that I was reluctant but you begged and pleaded and finally I
gave in."  They promised that that was the story they would tell them.

I started with Ellen's blond helmet and using the scissors like I had with
Susan's I soon reduced it to a clumpy, stubbly collection of wispy hairs.
 She rubbed her hands over her head and cried great big sobs.  To go from
super long hair to stubble in the space of a week was a big shock to her.  I
let her cry a bit and then took from a nearby cupboard a shaving mug and
brush and a straight razor.  I took the pitcher of water and poured some on
her head, then a little in the shaving mug before working up a lather with
the brush.  As soon as I had enough I brushed it all over her head.  The
razor was stropped to a keen edge and I began scraping off the remaining
stubble.  Soon her head was absolutely bald, shining white as the cue ball in
our pool room.  I towelled off the remaining shaving cream and announced I
was finished.  She touched her head and fainted dead away.  She revived a few
minutes later and was fine, but what a shock to touch her bald head like
that.

"Miranda, what shall I do with your hair?" I asked her (as if she'd have any
input in my decision).

"How about a nice short bob, about chin length," she ventured.  

I laughed.  "Nice try, cousin."  I buried my hands in her abundant hair and
whispered in my best cruel voice, "Say goodbye to this lovely head of hair.
 It will be a LOOOONG time before it looks like this again."  With that I
grabbed large sections and hacked them off, close to her scalp -
intentionally hurting her as much as I could.  Tears were streaming down her
face, from the emotional trauma as well as the pain of the haircut.  I piled
the severed hair up on the table in front of her so she could see her
mutilated hair, now detached from her body.

"I hope all those anatomy and biography lessons you had using me, four years
ago, were worth it.  Every time you look in the mirror for the next four
years you will regret all those games and experiments.  It will be a
difficult lesson, but I doubt you'll do it again."

I kept at it until she was scissored as close as possible and then I shaved
her head also.  I was a little better at it than with Ellen - I only nicked
her a couple of times and she hardly bled at all.  When I finished with her I
looked at the maid, Susan, and said, "Do you want to look like these two?"
 With eyes widened in terror, she tentatively shook her head, "No."  I rubbed
my hand on her funny looking stubble and then said, "I'll leave it alone,
then.  But if you want your head shaved, I'll be glad to do it for you."

"Thank you, sir," she murmured in a meek and quiet voice.

I watched Ellen and Miranda leave the room, supporting each other in their
arms, rubbing their hands on their heads and each others and crying buckets
of tears.  I didn't see much of them after that.  They left a few days later
(before my parents got home) and we never did hear anything about the trip,
except a letter from my aunt mentioning that the girls had gotten some crazy
notion in their heads and cut their hair off.  My mother mentioned it to me
and asked if I knew anything about what she was talking about.  I just
shrugged my shoulders and said, "That cousin Miranda, always was a strange
one."

THE END