Return to Podash

Carrie exited the paid taxi.

The end of the line.

Nowhere else to run.

Out of work.

Couldn't afford her apartment.

Can't get a decent job.

And some bozo on the television said the recession was over.

"Blow it out his ear!"

"Excuse me, Miss. Did you say something?"

The taxi's driver had just set the second of her suitcases on the sidewalk beside her.

"No, sorry. Just thinking out loud. Nothing important, I'm sure."

He didn't crack a smile. "As you say, Miss. Good day."

With growing trepidation Carrie watched the car drive down the street until it was just a tiny dot. Reluctantly she turned to look around once more.

"Miss Carpenter?"

Carrie spun around and found a medium height woman. Before she could observe much more, the woman held her hand out in greeting.

"I am Miss Cavendish. I am in charge of personnel coordination. Please pick your bags up and follow me."

Before she could say a word, the middle aged woman had turned and started walking down the street.

Quickly Carrie slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up the other bags per hand. Walking as fast as her high heels allowed, she raced after the older woman.

Now she had time to observe the woman's hair was cut short and curled tight all over. She was about twenty pounds overweight, and the below knee skirt and shirt she wore were just that little bit tight with the buttons straining just a millimeter or two. Most of the buttons were covered up by the simple sweater she wore, buttoned a few places in the mid-front placard. Her gaze lowered for a second and took in the woman's hose had a seam up the back and her shoes were no-nonsense one-inch pumps.

Walking behind the woman, Carrie decided the only thing remarkable about the woman's appearance was that every article of clothing was brown, with her shirt being tan. Even her hair was brown.

"Here we are, Miss Carpenter," the other woman announced as she opened the door, holding it for Carrie to walk through.

Carrie took a moment to realize here was a hair salon. Looking around she saw that this nothing like the sleek, stylish places she was used to getting her hair done. Instead there were frilly curtains on the windows, stainless dome styled hair drying stands and the chairs shiny chrome. They were accented by pink and polka dot cushions, under plastic.

The bags slipped from her fingers.

Time warp!

She'd just stepped back into the Fifties.

Mary Cavendish turned, glancing down at the bags. "Please set those in the corner. They will be fine there until we are finished."

Carrie whispered, "Finished?"

Mary Cavendish turned to the small counter that held an old-fashioned cash register. Looking at the young woman there, she spoke, "Hello Lillian. We have a full appointment scheduled. We'll be seated until it's time."

The raven-haired teenager scanned the appointment ledger and then marked off something using a pencil. "Of course, Miss Cavendish, it shouldn't be too long. Everything seems to be running on time."

"Not a problem. We'll wait until called." Mary Cavendish pointed to the chairs.

Since there were not two together, Carrie took the seat nearest where she'd placed her bags. As she watched, Mary took a seat close to the nearest station. Almost immediately the stylist started talking to her. It was too far away for her to hear anything.

Watching all the people, it wasn't too long she saw there was not a single man or boy. In nearly every salon she went to in the city catered to both male and female clientele. Not seeing any men seemed strange. A second later, redirecting her gaze she jumped in her chair.

Staring directly at her through one of the windows was a tall, dark haired man with aviator style sunglasses. She couldn't tell a thing about what he looked like except that he was good looking if you went by bone structure, great hair—thick and just long enough to entice a woman's fingers—were enough to go by. He was lightly tanned

For the first time she considered that this might not be as horrible as she'd been anticipating. If this was a sample of the men around here, she would not have anything to complain about after all.

"Miss Carpenter."

Carrie looked toward the sound of her name being called. A short, stout woman with ink black hair had called her name. What struck her immediately was the woman's eyebrows were just as dark as her hair and painted on like the actresses of the forties often did. Her hair style was strictly poodle cut and curl all over.

Mary Cavendish was standing beside the woman. "Hello, Betty Lou, I hope we didn't keep you waiting."

The dark haired woman shook her head and not a single curl wiggled. She smiled and Carrie noticed the bright pink lipstick showing off very lush, plump pink lips.

"Not a problem, dearie. It's always a pleasure doing work for Mr. Winston."

"He's aware of your service, Betty Lou, and Albert too."

"So what are we doing today?" Betty Lou asked.

"Miss Carpenter is entering Mr. Winston's special service. I have a list of his requirements. A refusal of any level will cancel the contract and you are to stop work immediately. Call me and I will arrange her transfer out." Mary turned sharply and looked at Carrie. "Come now, Miss Carpenter. I suggest we start in room A, as usual."

Carrie followed the two women, unsure of just what she'd gotten herself into. Some of the language was beginning to sound unpleasant.

In the next room, which was at the back of the beauty parlor, Betty Lou pulled a paper gown from a drawer and handed it to Carrie.

"Alright dearie, everything off. Here are some wipes to remove any makeup. We'll be back in five minutes."

Carrie knew her mouth was open. Frantically she searched her memory for what her contract had stated. She remembered sort of reading it. At the time she'd been so grateful to have a place so she wouldn't be spending next month on the street, living out of a grocery cart—if she could afford one that is!

...agree to modifications to appearance as desired by employer, including physical and superficial and permanent, all at no cost to employee.

Free haircuts!

That's what she remembered. But at no point had getting her hair trimmed ever involved removing her clothes, let alone her underwear! Still she quickly removed her clothes because she was still one step from homeless.

The door reopened just as Carrie was wrapping the paper gown closed.

"Good, you may lie down on the table and we'll get started." Betty Lou said pleasantly. "Now I'll have each technician come in and complete her task."

"Tasks? How many tasks are we talking here? And just what are we talking about?"

"If you refuse, you will be immediately fired." Mary spoke instantly.

"I'm not refusing, just asking questions."

Betty Lou answered. "Of course it is alright, dear. Ask my girls anything you want. Now, are you allergic to anything?"

"Allergic! Uh, no, no known allergies."

"Good," Betty Lou said and poured out a small glass of purplish colored liquid. Passing it to Carrie, she instructed her. "Drink this down in one or two swallows, please. Aah, good. Now drink this glass of water please."

Carrie accepted the big glass of water and began drinking it. Soon she felt a little drowsy. "Am I getting sleepy?"

Betty Lou nodded.

Mary spoke though. "Yes, it's in the contract. You will be treated to ensure your protection. We need you to hold still.

"Is she strapped in to prevent all movement?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Pain reaction?"

"Nil Mistress Mary."

"Excellent. Let's begin with waxing. I see her legs are freshly waxed so we'll only need the full Brazilian."

Carrie heard the voices like they were coming down a long hallway. No mistaking when her legs were moved one way and then another. There was a brief moment though she would have sworn her whole bush was covered, or cupped by a warm hand. Then just as suddenly, the feeling was gone.

It still hurt a little, but the mild sedative took the edge off. While that was happening, someone opened her top and applied some kind of cloth to each nipple. It felt cold, but beyond that she knew nothing.

She was surprised because one thing she was pretty perfect about her were her breasts. They were firm, full and thrust out proudly. As one admirer told her, "they enter the room first and all the guys snap to attention."

After that she tried to change her ways, her appearance and how she dealt with the world, but she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense that downplay wasn't the objective.

"Are the nipples prepared?" a stern voice spoke out.

"Yes, Mistress Madeleine."

Carrie was aware that each breast was touched on the nipple, why was answered seconds later when a sharp implement pierced each fleshy...

"Ow! Damn!"

"She still feels pain, Mistress."

"Apply two compresses of the local pain subsidizer. I think that should be enough to get her through this part."

Carrie let the medicine finally sweep through her.

"Wake up, Miss Carpenter."

Carrie resisted the voice calling her name. Moving her head, she tried to tune the sound out by pressing her head to the pillow. Lifting one hand she pressed the palm over her exposed ear, trying to close out the sound.

"There you, Miss. Have a few sips of water. It will help you feel better."

Carrie accepted the water, sipping eagerly. Slowly she regained her memories and realized that she felt discomfort in her earlobes, her breasts and her groin. Her brain was too fuzzy to comment effusively on what had happened thus far. She wasn't going to protest because many times she'd wanted to get a few more piercings in her ear lobes, but the one thing she'd never considered had been putting one in a nipple.

"It's time to get dressed, Miss."

Carrie cooperated with the young woman helping her put her dress, mid-thigh in length and the short leather jacket as well. With her heels in place, she reentered the front of the salon. She was surprised to see the small salon, six stations, was busy with ladies waiting.

Mary Cavendish walked up to her. "Good timing. We have just enough time to go to Myra Anne's, grab a light lunch and return for your next appointment. Follow me, Miss Carpenter. Bye bye Betty Lou."

Carrie walled as quickly as she could, but still trailed one to two steps behind the other woman, who made no effort at all to slow her pace. This continued for almost two blocks, when abruptly Cavendish stopped and walked into a dress store, as evidenced by the clothing in the large glass-front windows. Barely catching the door before it closed in her face, Carrie hurried in.

Rushing across the room, she heard Miss Cavendish greeting the woman in the store.

"Hello Myra Anne. We're here to purchase some garments for Mr. Winston's newest assistant. I have a list of his requirements. We'll only two outfits to begin, and the rest can be sent to the house."

"It's good to see you, Mary, and it's always a pleasure to assist Mr. Winston. Now," the busty woman paused to lift the reading glasses from where they rested on the shelf formed by her quite full and very-well lifted bosom to sit atop the bridge of her nose.

A few seconds passed and Carrie took the time to look around. It didn't strike her at first, but then she noticed that all the clothes appeared to be hopelessly out-dated. From the mannequins in the store, it appeared it wasn't only the top clothes were caught in the time warp. All the lingerie was a throw-back. She saw long line bras, girdles of every length, shape and color and bras able to contain Mount Rushmore!

"Come along," Myra Anne said, turning to walk toward the dressing rooms. Inside the first one, she glanced at Carrie. "Strip down to your underwear."

Taking an instant dislike to the other woman, Carrie stepped into the small enclosure. "Please close the curtains."

"Sweetie, you've gotten nothing I ain't seen hundreds of times before. I need to measure you to get the correct sizes so stop acting like such a priss."

Her feelings against the woman increasing by the second, Carrie began to remove her dress.

Myra Anne moved close, pulling out a standard tape measure. Each movement she spoke out loud, as if it didn't matter about personal space and violation issues.

"Alright, I'll have my assistant bring in some things for you to put on. She will instruct you in their proper uses, and how to wear each one. Come along, Mary, we have time for a cup of tea."

Carrie stared in disbelief at being left alone so abruptly. Sitting down on the tiny wood stool, she waited for someone to return.

At least five minutes passed before a young woman with dirty blonde hair came in. her hair was the most distinctive thing about her. It was cut in what appeared to be a man's haircut, right down to being held in place with hair gel.

"My name is Tracy." She said, handing a garment to Carrie. "We should fit this bra first. It's the cornerstone." She held up a built-up bra, with heavy synthetic lace overlaying the thick material and wide padded straps.

"I can't wear that!" Carrie stared in horror at the monstrosity. Compared to the small, sexy bra she had it was going from a sleek race car to a full armada tank.

"You must. Everyone in Podash wears these types of under garments."

"Everyone?" Carrie felt the wind seep out of her.

"Stand up!" Tracy commanded.

Carrie conceded. Quickly she was dressed in a full-figured white bra. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she grimaced in repugnance. Surely not this...?

Next she was handed full size panties high waist and long leg. Then she had to put on a girdle, which covered her from mid thigh to her waist. After this, she had to side down to put on the seamed stockings, which attached to the girdle.

After several minutes the seams were straight so Tracy walked out to get Myra Anne for the next part of the ensemble.

One dress was brought in for her to put on. It was pale pink, polka dots in white, round collar, short sleeves and same fabric belt at the waist before the skirt felt into neat, knife-edged two inch pleats to several inches below her knees.

Looking at her reflection, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, Carrie decided the dress could have been worse. She just wasn't sure how.

"Alright, we need a pair of flats and then we're done!" Mary announced almost sounding relieved.

Tracy assisted in finding her a pair of black leather flat tie on.

Feeling quite innocuous in her appearance, she followed Mary Cavendish back to the Podash Hair Salon.

Chapter Two

Entering the small beauty parlor...

She decided there was no use fooling herself by calling it a salon anymore.

It simply was a flash from the past—a beauty parlor.

Coming into the air conditioned building behind Miss Cavendish she was greeted by a smattering of the politest ever applause.

Betty Lou rushed forward, clapping her hands in front of her. "You look lovely, dear. Absolutely precious! Once we get you all cleaned up you'll be perfect. Now follow me back here."

Within seconds, Carrie found herself seated in one of the classic chrome and pink chair stations, and a bright pink cape being snapped about her neck. Once seated, she prepared to go into her usual spiel about how she needed her hair cut.

It was a very precise directive in order to get her hair to lay a certain way. While her hair was incredibly thick and heavy, it also had a mind of its own. For quite a few years she'd experienced bad haircuts because of people not understanding what was going on.

Watching her reflection, she sat as Betty Lou spread her very long locks out over the cape, combing it into a smooth silken cape all of its own. The color, a pale auburn, or dark strawberry blonde, appeared to almost be highlighted by the myriad of shades, but it was all natural.

Betty Lou picked up a spray bottle and lightly sprayed Carrie's head. With a wide tooth comb, she began running it through slowly, making sure to lightly stroke her scalp with each pass of the teeth.

Smiling, Carrie thought it odd that Betty Lou knew just how she liked things done. It was as if she'd styled her hair many times before. With each pass of the comb, she became more convinced this was the right thing to do—she sat quietly, without objection.

Betty Lou picked up her biggest shears. Placing the blades in the hair over hanging Carrie's temple, the first cut was made directly above her ear. The long lock slid down the cape and onto the floor. Without pause, the silver blades sliced through another hank of silky hair. This cut fully revealed her ear, which suddenly seemed to be sticking out a little from her head.

Carrie stared in disbelief.

What the hell was happening?

How did that occur and she didn't say anything?

This was crazy!

The silver shears was now half way around her head, still relentlessly cutting off more hair than she'd ever lost before.

Scream!

Nothing came out.

Suddenly the blades completed their mission and cut off the final long lock of beautiful hair. It fell without a fight to the cape, and then it slid lifelessly to the floor.

Carrie couldn't turn away from the horror in front of her.

Her ears stuck out just as they had growing up. She'd almost forgotten the primary reason for wearing her hair long!

She looked even more ridiculous because her bangs, that had looked so long and chic by covering her brows, were longer than the rest of her hair.

So why didn't scream?

Betty Lou picked up her comb and began once more running it through her hair. Pressing the hair flat to her skin, she cut the bangs off quickly, making them just as short as the rest in just a few seconds.

Carrie saw a tear trail down her cheek, but that seemed to be the most reaction she could muster. She had always loved having her hair cut, combed, and dried— anything just to have it messed with. It was almost like a sexual release she had realized in stunned surprise once. After that, she'd been almost too embarrassed to indulge in too long a time at a salon. Having a cut, wash and blow-dry was way too much!

She blushed in memory.

"Look how sweet she appears now, Mary!" Betty Lou called out to the other woman.

Carrie thought Mary didn't look too happy. Turning back to her reflection again, she took in her overall appearance. While she didn't care for the look herself, she had to admit that her good bone structure had held up well under the pressure. Her body did not look bulky and cumbersome like so many of the other women dressed similarly. And the short hairdo had not made her look childish or her face round. If anything, her cheekbones were highlighted, her eyes looked much bigger and her neck seemed longer. As she turned her head, she thought she actually looked more elegant.

But, she reminded herself, you hate short hair!

Betty Lou smiled. "That's the first step. I bet you feel like a new woman already. Now let's get started. We'll have you washed before we finish your haircut." She turned and lifted her hand, as if signaling someone.

Tracy ran up from the front desk.

Smiling, Betty Lou lowered her chair. "Tracy will shampoo and condition your hair before I go on. She is in training as part of her high school education."

Carrie walked following the younger woman to the small area where shampoo basins were set up. She went to sit when Tracy spoke.

"Oops! I need to change your cape first. We aren't supposed to get the pink ones wet."

Carrie swapped out the pink for a black and white polka dot. "Everything matches here."

Tracy barely covered a laugh. "Yeah, you noticed. Everyone else just takes it for granted, like this isn't some kind of time warp bubble or something."

Carrie smiled, although it felt like an effort, which didn't make any sense. "Are you not from here originally?" she asked, feeling like it was hard to do so.