A Little Off the Top (1/?)
Chapter one of my first fanfiction. A big thank you to cschoolgirl for the beta--I will forever be grateful for your encouragement and kindness to this newbie.
Mama used to say that givin' someone a haircut is a very intimate thing. She'd know; before she married Daddy, she went to school to be a beautician, straight outta high school. She had this dream of someday ownin' her own business; a cute little shop right on Main Street. "Prissy's Curl Up and Dye" she was gonna call her shop, which I thought was rather clever.
A few months before graduating from beauty school, the students got to practice haircuts on real people. It's surprising how many people are ok with bein' pretty much a guinea pig. It's kind of a gamble, really; you're gettin' a free haircut, sure, but God help ya if you get a student who doesn't know what she's doin'. You're gonna be messed up lookin' for a least a month.
Still, people are willin' to take that chance, especially if they think they can size up the students and guess which ones have some talent. That's how Mama and Daddy met, actually. She used to tell me this story all the time, and I always thought it was so romantic. One fine Tuesday, Daddy strolled into the school salon, lookin' for someone to take a little off the top. As he spoke to the teacher, all the girls were standin' there by their chairs, hands folded nice as you please, smilin' and hopin' that they'd be the one who got to practice on this handsome newcomer. Well, he scanned the room, took one look at my mama, and said, "That one."
A collective sigh of disappointment could be heard around the room as Daddy sidled up to Mama's chair with a smile.
Turns out my daddy picked himself a good one. Not only was mama good at doin' hair, but she was smart, pretty, and easy to talk to. It wasn't long before Daddy was comin' by the salon for a haircut way more often than he needed to, asking for Mama to take "just a little off the top".
Mama used to say that she knew Daddy was the one for her by the 3rd haircut.
"People don't realize it, but you can tell a lot about a person when you cut their hair, Marie," Mama said as she rinsed the last of the dishes and placed them in the dish rack.
"Really?" I looked at her with wide eyes, even though her back was turned to me. "Like what?"
Mama shut off the water and turned around, drying her hands on a tea towel. "Well, think about it, hun. First of all, there's a certain amount of trust involved." She crossed the kitchen and pulled out a chair from the table, setting a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies in front of me before sitting down.
"They come to you, and sit in that chair," she continued, "an' then ask you to alter the way that they look, the way that they present themselves to the world. An' they're trustin' you to do it with sharp instruments in your hands," she quipped with a little smile and a twinkle in her eye.
I chewed on my cookie thoughtfully. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, Mama."
"Somethin' about sittin' in that chair and havin' someone touch your hair makes people relax and wanna tell you things that they wouldn't normally tell a stranger." She reached over and took a cookie from my plate. "Ah swear, sometimes that chair was like a confessional, and I was the priest," she giggled and took a bite. "They just couldn't stop themselves. I was privy to all kinds of things you wouldn't believe."
My eyebrows shot up and another bite of cookie went into my mouth as I stared at her, entranced.
"Of course, I would never tell another soul the things that I heard," she assured me, raising her chin. "I would never betray their trust that way."
I nodded, proud that Mama was trustworthy like that.
"You're standin' so close, washin' their hair, massagin' their scalp. Seein' every pore in their skin, that's how close you are to them. In a sense, it's one of the most intimate ways that people allow themselves to be touched by someone, other than a lover."
"Mama!" Like most 13-year olds, I blushed at her mention of the word 'lover'.
"What? It's true," Mama smiled.
"So every time you gave someone a hair cut, it was like you were--you know--like a..." I stopped and lowered my voice to a whisper, "...a lover?"
Mama threw her head back and laughed. "No, hun, it wasn't like that at all." Her smile softened and she put her hand on my arm. "There are different kinds of intimate, Marie. Mostly it was just a feelin' of trust and familiarity between me and them." She paused to hold my gaze for a moment before she stood up gracefully and went to put on the coffee. "The only one who was different was your daddy. That...that was somethin' else..." She trailed off, pot still in hand and eyes dreamily staring out the window. I curiously studied her face, wondering what she meant by that.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of the door unlatching. "What was somethin' else?" Daddy boomed as the door swung open.
"Owen!" Mama pranced over to Daddy, throwing her arms around his neck and kicking her heels up.
I couldn't help but smile as Daddy twirled her around the kitchen, planting a big kiss on her lips. All was right in the world once Daddy was home. Mama and Daddy were madly in love, and I was the apple of their eye.
Things were so simple back then. God I miss that.
"I was just tellin' Marie about how we met and fell in love," Mama beamed.
"Is that so?" Daddy grinned knowingly at Mama. "Yeah, I was at that beauty school just about every other day," he chuckled. "What was it I used to say every time?"
Daddy turned to look at me. "I used to say--"
"...Just a little off the top, Rogue."
"Huh?"
"I said, just a little off the top." Scott looks at me expectantly.
"Oh! Right. Of course, Scott." I've apparently been taking a trip down memory lane. Oops.
"Are you ok?" he asks. "Where did you go just now?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Really." He continues to analyze me. For someone whose eyes are always hidden, his face is surprisingly expressive. There's a tiny hint of concern, but I think mostly he just thinks I'm daydreaming. Which I totally am, of course.
"I was, um, just thinkin' about what I learned in my cosmetology classes at vo-tech," I scramble to cover up. "It's been a while since high-school. But don't worry, I won't screw up your hair, I promise."
Scott leans back in the chair and flips open his newspaper. "I have complete faith in you, Rogue."
I feel a smile creeping up as I fluff the cape and secure it around his neck. "Thanks, Scott. That means a lot to me."
"Thank you, for agreeing to get the team all gussied up for the charity ball tomorrow. We've all been so busy that we haven't had time get out for routine maintenance, if you know what I mean."
I think it's funny that Scott uses the term "gussied up". As team leader, he has a somewhat formal, authoritative air about him; he's a serious, principled man who commands respect, not someone who says "gussied up". But now that I'm old enough to call him Scott instead of "Mr. Summers", I'm starting to see another side of him, one with a humorous streak that you can detect if you're paying attention.
So somehow I've been designated as the "team stylist" for the charity ball, and I'm not quite sure how that happened. Well, I guess I do have some idea of how that happened. It all started yesterday after team meeting, when Professor Xavier reminded everyone to look their best for the ball Friday night.
"Ooo, chica, can you put my hair in an updo?" Jubes had turned to me with her eyes lit up.
Returning her smile, I tugged on a lock of her hair. "Of course. Anything for my Ju-Ju-Be."
Jubilee beamed. "Bet you didn't know that Roguey here is actually a wizard with hair," she informed the room. All eyes turned to me, and I could feel my face get warm. "And not just with up-dos. She cuts like a pro. Oh, yeah, Girlfriend's got skills," she affirmed. "I wouldn't trust this 'do to just anyone."
"Da, it's true," chimed in Peter in his deep Russian accent. "Rogue cut hair for me the day I proposed to my Kitty." Peter and Kitty smiled at each other. "I think she liked it, eh, my kotonok," he teased affectionately.
Kitty nodded without taking her eyes off of Peter. "It was perfect," she murmured.
"Oh, excellent. I could use a little trim myself to neaten things up," said Scott, gathering his things. "Rogue, would you mind? It would save me a lot of time just getting that done right here."
"Um, not at all, Scott," I replied, surprised that he would even think about letting me near his hair, which is always immaculate.
The soft whir of the Professor's chair passed behind us and paused. "I believe you will be in good hands, Scott." Xavier's eyes met mine, a touch of mirth lighting their depths. "I would ask you to cut my hair as well, Rogue, but as you can see," he said, smoothing his hands over his bald head, "I had all three of them trimmed just the other day."
My jaw dropped for a moment as I stared at the Professor, at a loss for words. He chuckled warmly and I gasped, realizing that he was pulling my leg. "Professor!" I giggled as he and Scott exchanged knowing smiles.
I got up from my seat, when out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jubilee talking in hushed tones to Bobby, Remy, Jean and 'Ro, then glancing in my direction. What was she up to? Everybody dispersed and headed for the door, but not before surrounding me to say thanks for being the team stylist for Friday. Jubilee!
My eyes traveled across the room to Logan, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed. Arching his eyebrow, he gave me an amused smirk.
I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him, instead shooting him a half-hearted glare. The corner of my mouth twitched and broke into a small grin. Damn him, lookin' so good like that. I wish he'd let me do his hair, and then some.
Right on cue, Jubilee piped up, "Hey, Wolvie! What about you? Looking a little wilder than usual these days. How about Rogue hooking you up with something rugged-yet-refined for the ball?"
Logan's smirk changed to a scowl. "No."
"Oh, come on! Just a teeny, tiny buzz to tame those crazy points of yours."
"No."
"Rogue will take good care of you, I promise."
"No, thanks. I'm fine," Logan grumbled.
"Of course you are." Jubilee rolled her eyes before turning to Remy. "I bet Remy would love a little buzz, wouldn't you, Remy?"
Remy sauntered over to me. "Remy would love to have cher's hands in his hair," he purred. His eyes slid up and down my body appreciatively, not even bothering to be discreet about it. A little tingle went up my spine and I blushed. "Miss Rogue can do anything she like to Remy."
You'd think I would be indignant or something, watching him look me over so boldly, like he was undressing me with his eyes. But that's Remy; he's a scoundrel, and for some reason we all let him get away with it. Truth be told, I kinda liked it. Lord knows Logan wasn't looking at me like that. He put me firmly in the friend zone when I was 17, and I've been stuck there for years. Sure, we're best buds, and sometimes we even flirt a little. But it's just playful banter. None of it's real; the last time I tried to take the flirting to something a little more serious, Logan high-tailed it out of here like a scalded cat and I didn't see him for days. Point taken, Logan.
"Why Mr. LeBeau, I do declare!" I said in my sweetest Southern accent, pretending to fan myself. I'd play this game with him, why not. He's sweet, and charming, and certainly easy on the eyes.
I stole a glance at Logan, whose face was still wearing a dark scowl. I'd like to think it was because he was secretly in love with me and therefore furious with jealousy, but I'm not that lucky. Yeah, that's what his face looks like ninety percent of the time, so not likely.
Remy, on the other hand, looked pleased as punch at my response. "Come by tomorrow at 5, petite; you do your thing, and 'den Remy will find a way to repay you for your kindness. Maybe dinner and une lagniappe?"
Lagniappe is a French Creole word, meaning "a little something extra"; this could be an extra few slices of meat at the deli, a free dessert at the restaurant, or a treat on the pillow at your hotel. Just a little something extra to sweeten the deal, so to speak. Knowing Remy, I had a pretty good idea what he meant by lagniappe. Even if I didn't know what it meant, just the word itself, and the way it sounded leaving Remy's mouth was naughty enough to send a little zing through me.
"We shall see, Mr. LeBeau. We shall see." Giving him a saucy wink, I turned to follow Jubes and Kitty out the door. I stole another glance in Logan's direction, hoping he noticed, but he was already gone. Damn.
Mama used to say that givin' someone a haircut is a very intimate thing. She'd know; before she married Daddy, she went to school to be a beautician, straight outta high school. She had this dream of someday ownin' her own business; a cute little shop right on Main Street. "Prissy's Curl Up and Dye" she was gonna call her shop, which I thought was rather clever.
A few months before graduating from beauty school, the students got to practice haircuts on real people. It's surprising how many people are ok with bein' pretty much a guinea pig. It's kind of a gamble, really; you're gettin' a free haircut, sure, but God help ya if you get a student who doesn't know what she's doin'. You're gonna be messed up lookin' for a least a month.
Still, people are willin' to take that chance, especially if they think they can size up the students and guess which ones have some talent. That's how Mama and Daddy met, actually. She used to tell me this story all the time, and I always thought it was so romantic. One fine Tuesday, Daddy strolled into the school salon, lookin' for someone to take a little off the top. As he spoke to the teacher, all the girls were standin' there by their chairs, hands folded nice as you please, smilin' and hopin' that they'd be the one who got to practice on this handsome newcomer. Well, he scanned the room, took one look at my mama, and said, "That one."
A collective sigh of disappointment could be heard around the room as Daddy sidled up to Mama's chair with a smile.
Turns out my daddy picked himself a good one. Not only was mama good at doin' hair, but she was smart, pretty, and easy to talk to. It wasn't long before Daddy was comin' by the salon for a haircut way more often than he needed to, asking for Mama to take "just a little off the top".
Mama used to say that she knew Daddy was the one for her by the 3rd haircut.
"People don't realize it, but you can tell a lot about a person when you cut their hair, Marie," Mama said as she rinsed the last of the dishes and placed them in the dish rack.
"Really?" I looked at her with wide eyes, even though her back was turned to me. "Like what?"
Mama shut off the water and turned around, drying her hands on a tea towel. "Well, think about it, hun. First of all, there's a certain amount of trust involved." She crossed the kitchen and pulled out a chair from the table, setting a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies in front of me before sitting down.
"They come to you, and sit in that chair," she continued, "an' then ask you to alter the way that they look, the way that they present themselves to the world. An' they're trustin' you to do it with sharp instruments in your hands," she quipped with a little smile and a twinkle in her eye.
I chewed on my cookie thoughtfully. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, Mama."
"Somethin' about sittin' in that chair and havin' someone touch your hair makes people relax and wanna tell you things that they wouldn't normally tell a stranger." She reached over and took a cookie from my plate. "Ah swear, sometimes that chair was like a confessional, and I was the priest," she giggled and took a bite. "They just couldn't stop themselves. I was privy to all kinds of things you wouldn't believe."
My eyebrows shot up and another bite of cookie went into my mouth as I stared at her, entranced.
"Of course, I would never tell another soul the things that I heard," she assured me, raising her chin. "I would never betray their trust that way."
I nodded, proud that Mama was trustworthy like that.
"You're standin' so close, washin' their hair, massagin' their scalp. Seein' every pore in their skin, that's how close you are to them. In a sense, it's one of the most intimate ways that people allow themselves to be touched by someone, other than a lover."
"Mama!" Like most 13-year olds, I blushed at her mention of the word 'lover'.
"What? It's true," Mama smiled.
"So every time you gave someone a hair cut, it was like you were--you know--like a..." I stopped and lowered my voice to a whisper, "...a lover?"
Mama threw her head back and laughed. "No, hun, it wasn't like that at all." Her smile softened and she put her hand on my arm. "There are different kinds of intimate, Marie. Mostly it was just a feelin' of trust and familiarity between me and them." She paused to hold my gaze for a moment before she stood up gracefully and went to put on the coffee. "The only one who was different was your daddy. That...that was somethin' else..." She trailed off, pot still in hand and eyes dreamily staring out the window. I curiously studied her face, wondering what she meant by that.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of the door unlatching. "What was somethin' else?" Daddy boomed as the door swung open.
"Owen!" Mama pranced over to Daddy, throwing her arms around his neck and kicking her heels up.
I couldn't help but smile as Daddy twirled her around the kitchen, planting a big kiss on her lips. All was right in the world once Daddy was home. Mama and Daddy were madly in love, and I was the apple of their eye.
Things were so simple back then. God I miss that.
"I was just tellin' Marie about how we met and fell in love," Mama beamed.
"Is that so?" Daddy grinned knowingly at Mama. "Yeah, I was at that beauty school just about every other day," he chuckled. "What was it I used to say every time?"
Daddy turned to look at me. "I used to say--"
"...Just a little off the top, Rogue."
"Huh?"
"I said, just a little off the top." Scott looks at me expectantly.
"Oh! Right. Of course, Scott." I've apparently been taking a trip down memory lane. Oops.
"Are you ok?" he asks. "Where did you go just now?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Really." He continues to analyze me. For someone whose eyes are always hidden, his face is surprisingly expressive. There's a tiny hint of concern, but I think mostly he just thinks I'm daydreaming. Which I totally am, of course.
"I was, um, just thinkin' about what I learned in my cosmetology classes at vo-tech," I scramble to cover up. "It's been a while since high-school. But don't worry, I won't screw up your hair, I promise."
Scott leans back in the chair and flips open his newspaper. "I have complete faith in you, Rogue."
I feel a smile creeping up as I fluff the cape and secure it around his neck. "Thanks, Scott. That means a lot to me."
"Thank you, for agreeing to get the team all gussied up for the charity ball tomorrow. We've all been so busy that we haven't had time get out for routine maintenance, if you know what I mean."
I think it's funny that Scott uses the term "gussied up". As team leader, he has a somewhat formal, authoritative air about him; he's a serious, principled man who commands respect, not someone who says "gussied up". But now that I'm old enough to call him Scott instead of "Mr. Summers", I'm starting to see another side of him, one with a humorous streak that you can detect if you're paying attention.
So somehow I've been designated as the "team stylist" for the charity ball, and I'm not quite sure how that happened. Well, I guess I do have some idea of how that happened. It all started yesterday after team meeting, when Professor Xavier reminded everyone to look their best for the ball Friday night.
"Ooo, chica, can you put my hair in an updo?" Jubes had turned to me with her eyes lit up.
Returning her smile, I tugged on a lock of her hair. "Of course. Anything for my Ju-Ju-Be."
Jubilee beamed. "Bet you didn't know that Roguey here is actually a wizard with hair," she informed the room. All eyes turned to me, and I could feel my face get warm. "And not just with up-dos. She cuts like a pro. Oh, yeah, Girlfriend's got skills," she affirmed. "I wouldn't trust this 'do to just anyone."
"Da, it's true," chimed in Peter in his deep Russian accent. "Rogue cut hair for me the day I proposed to my Kitty." Peter and Kitty smiled at each other. "I think she liked it, eh, my kotonok," he teased affectionately.
Kitty nodded without taking her eyes off of Peter. "It was perfect," she murmured.
"Oh, excellent. I could use a little trim myself to neaten things up," said Scott, gathering his things. "Rogue, would you mind? It would save me a lot of time just getting that done right here."
"Um, not at all, Scott," I replied, surprised that he would even think about letting me near his hair, which is always immaculate.
The soft whir of the Professor's chair passed behind us and paused. "I believe you will be in good hands, Scott." Xavier's eyes met mine, a touch of mirth lighting their depths. "I would ask you to cut my hair as well, Rogue, but as you can see," he said, smoothing his hands over his bald head, "I had all three of them trimmed just the other day."
My jaw dropped for a moment as I stared at the Professor, at a loss for words. He chuckled warmly and I gasped, realizing that he was pulling my leg. "Professor!" I giggled as he and Scott exchanged knowing smiles.
I got up from my seat, when out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jubilee talking in hushed tones to Bobby, Remy, Jean and 'Ro, then glancing in my direction. What was she up to? Everybody dispersed and headed for the door, but not before surrounding me to say thanks for being the team stylist for Friday. Jubilee!
My eyes traveled across the room to Logan, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed. Arching his eyebrow, he gave me an amused smirk.
I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him, instead shooting him a half-hearted glare. The corner of my mouth twitched and broke into a small grin. Damn him, lookin' so good like that. I wish he'd let me do his hair, and then some.
Right on cue, Jubilee piped up, "Hey, Wolvie! What about you? Looking a little wilder than usual these days. How about Rogue hooking you up with something rugged-yet-refined for the ball?"
Logan's smirk changed to a scowl. "No."
"Oh, come on! Just a teeny, tiny buzz to tame those crazy points of yours."
"No."
"Rogue will take good care of you, I promise."
"No, thanks. I'm fine," Logan grumbled.
"Of course you are." Jubilee rolled her eyes before turning to Remy. "I bet Remy would love a little buzz, wouldn't you, Remy?"
Remy sauntered over to me. "Remy would love to have cher's hands in his hair," he purred. His eyes slid up and down my body appreciatively, not even bothering to be discreet about it. A little tingle went up my spine and I blushed. "Miss Rogue can do anything she like to Remy."
You'd think I would be indignant or something, watching him look me over so boldly, like he was undressing me with his eyes. But that's Remy; he's a scoundrel, and for some reason we all let him get away with it. Truth be told, I kinda liked it. Lord knows Logan wasn't looking at me like that. He put me firmly in the friend zone when I was 17, and I've been stuck there for years. Sure, we're best buds, and sometimes we even flirt a little. But it's just playful banter. None of it's real; the last time I tried to take the flirting to something a little more serious, Logan high-tailed it out of here like a scalded cat and I didn't see him for days. Point taken, Logan.
"Why Mr. LeBeau, I do declare!" I said in my sweetest Southern accent, pretending to fan myself. I'd play this game with him, why not. He's sweet, and charming, and certainly easy on the eyes.
I stole a glance at Logan, whose face was still wearing a dark scowl. I'd like to think it was because he was secretly in love with me and therefore furious with jealousy, but I'm not that lucky. Yeah, that's what his face looks like ninety percent of the time, so not likely.
Remy, on the other hand, looked pleased as punch at my response. "Come by tomorrow at 5, petite; you do your thing, and 'den Remy will find a way to repay you for your kindness. Maybe dinner and une lagniappe?"
Lagniappe is a French Creole word, meaning "a little something extra"; this could be an extra few slices of meat at the deli, a free dessert at the restaurant, or a treat on the pillow at your hotel. Just a little something extra to sweeten the deal, so to speak. Knowing Remy, I had a pretty good idea what he meant by lagniappe. Even if I didn't know what it meant, just the word itself, and the way it sounded leaving Remy's mouth was naughty enough to send a little zing through me.
"We shall see, Mr. LeBeau. We shall see." Giving him a saucy wink, I turned to follow Jubes and Kitty out the door. I stole another glance in Logan's direction, hoping he noticed, but he was already gone. Damn.