Don't Give Up the Dye Job

Rating: PG-13


“Stewart, if you keep squirming, this peroxide is going to end up in your eyes,” Kelsi said and held Stewart’s face forward from behind. She had him in the kitchen chair, next to the sink, with an old sheet around his shoulders. He was joining his new band, The Police, and he needed to fix his dark brown hair. The rest of the boys in the band were blondes, and he needed to fit in with them.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to her, but she faced him back forward, “but it’s cold, and it tickles when people play with my hair.” Kelsi grabbed another clump of hair, put some foil under it, and applied the peroxide.
“Well, you’ll just have to get used to it, unless you like the pain of a stinging eye,” she said, folding the foil over. He made a noise in disagreement, and looked straight ahead. Ten minutes later, she had finished the whole back of his head, and moved onto the front. As she was leaning in to peroxide his bangs, stewart smiled at his view. She turned back around to get more foil, and Stewart reached up to surreptitiously slide off the last foil she did. It landed on the sheet, and Stewart let out an “oops”. Kelsi turned around to find the foil on the sheet and Stewart staring up at her innocently. She tisked and walked over to pick it up.
“Must have put too much peroxide in this one, and it slid out,” she said and put it back in his hair. She was leaning in right in front of his face, and he liked it. He was grinning like a fool, but forgot to stop smiling when she leaned back into a normal position.
“What are you grinning at?” she asked with her hands on her hips.
“…..Nothing…..” he said innocently, but she saw right through it.
“You bad boy,” she said, putting more peroxide in his hair. He could only continue smiling.
Twenty minutes later, Stewart was still in the chair, and Kelsi was sitting on the counter. She picked up the box and looked at the directions.
“Well, it says here that after twenty minutes it should be done,” she slid off the counter and walked over to him.
“It had better be done, we’re all out of peroxide,” he said and nudged to the bottle with his head. Kelsi nodded and started taking off the foil. She suddenly let out a gasp, and Stewart quickly turned around in his seat.
“What? What’s wrong?” Kelsi was holding her hand to her mouth, which was stuck in a mixture of surprise and amusement. She was laughing ever so quietly, buther body was jiggling with airy laughter.
“I don’t like knowing what’s going on,” Stewart said.
“See for yourself,” she said through giggles, and undid one of the foils in his bangs. The clump of hair dangled over his eyebrows, just within his view. He let out a gasp, and pulled it down further so he could fully see it. His hair had turned a bright shade of clownish orange.
“We must have needed more peroxide,” Kelsi said, undoing more foils, thus letting more of the carrot hued hair to make itself known. She couldn’t help but snicker a little; it looked rather funny.
“This is anything but funny,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen someone with…orange hair.” She finished undoing all the foiled folds, and stood back in amazement at the sheer orangeness of his hair.
“Do you want to look in a mirror?” she asked him as she took the sheet off his shoulders.
“I guess I’ll have to at some time….” He said, standing up. They walked over to the bathroom and Kelsi opened the door. She lficked on the light, and Stewart stood in horror at the reflection in the mirror.
“I…I...I look like a fucking….carrot,” he emphasized the word “carrot” with disgust.
“Look, it will be ok for tonight, and in the morning we can go out and get you another bottle and fix this up.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not,” she asked, brushing the hair out of his face and putting her arms around his neck.
“Because I have to meet the guys tomorrow morning. We have to do an interview, a television interview. There’s no way I’m going on television looking like a fucking clown,” he was staring at himself angrily in the mirror. Kelsi reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” she said, trying to comfort him.
“What time is it?”
“I think it’s around ten.”
“Fuck. Everything’s closed.” He folded his armd in front of his chest.
“I’m sure it will be fine….” She was running out of comforting things to say to him. She couldn’t think of anything that would fix his hair tonight.
“Hey, if it’s a television show, they must have a hair stylistm right?”
“I guess so…Hey, I get where you’re going with this!” he turned to her and actually smiled. “The stylist can fix my hair that morning! You’re brilliant!” he picked her up and spun her around a few times. When he put her down, they smiled at each other, and he took her hand. They giggled their way up to the bedroom and shut the door.

------

“Oy mate, what the fuck happened to your hair?!” Kim exclaimed as Stewart walked into the studio. Sting turned around in his chair and burst out laughing. Tears were rolling down his face he was laughing so hard. Andy walked in shortly after, and repeated Sting’s exact reaction.
“It’s not that funny, guys,” Stewart said meekly.
“It bloody well is,” Sting said doubled over the arm of his chair. Stewart could only look around for the nearest hairstylist. Sensing his distress, the director of the television show came over to his side.
“You want that taken care of, skinny?” he asked, eyeing him up and down.
“The hair?”
“No, your nose; it’s hideous. Of course I mean your hair. Now, come with me and I’ll have Diane take care of you.” He whisked Stewart away to a make-up room and sat him down in the chair. Stewart explained to her what had happened, and she nodded thoughtfully.
“Ok,” she said in a think Spanish accent, “I know what to do.” Stewart sat back, and let her do what she had to do. Thirty minutes later, he was staring at a bleached blonde version of himself in the mirror. No more orange.
“Oh wow,” he said, running his hands through his hair, “how could I ever thank you?” she smiled and shook her head.
“It my job, you no need to thank me.” She smiled at him, and he was quickly dragged away by the producer.
“We go live in fifteen Stewey baby. Let’s get you on the set.” Before he could say another word, he was pushed into a fluffy chair on the set of a morning talk show with Sting to his left and Andy to his right.
“Wow, I like what she did to your hair,” Andy said.
“Yeah, not so Bozo-ish anymore,” Sting said laughing.
“Oh can it, shmuck-o.”