40. HairLoomChallenge4

By the time he and she were back in their bedroom that evening, however, the euphoria had began to wane a little. There was no getting away from the fact that Carl von Zimner had trapped him into The Hairloom Challenge good and proper: him, Burke, the master trapper himself.
With Ireene waiting patiently on the tiger skin bed, he was again showering the tropical steam off himself. Still running wet, with his bamboo-loomed cotton waist wrap loosely draped around his middle, he padded his way back into the adjoining bedroom.
"g&t please sweetie," cajoled the Lady as he appeared from the bathroom. Burke strode over to the drinks table to pour, doing so the sarong fell from his nether regions.
"Oops! Sorry," he exclaimed while making no attempt to retrieve his cover.
"No need to be sorry from where I am," complemented Ireene with a wicked smile.
Still dripping and naked, Burke carried the gins and tonic to the couch, handing one to Ireene and placing his own on a bamboo side table, he plopped himself on the bed and leant over to kiss Lady Sanders on the bare shoulder as she sipped the chilled drink.
The action caused Burke's new much shorter saturated fringe to fall onto his forehead. Involuntarily, he made to brush it back as he would have when it was nearly a foot longer, momentarily surprised to find almost no hair, comparatively, over his eyes. Instantly he was reminded of The Hairloom Challenge.
"But what if I loose? I couldn't show my face at the club if von Zimner shaved me bald," realised Gill.
"Nonsense dear. You'll look quite stunning. You always do. But in any case, you simply will not lose," encouraged
Ireene. "Now that you've made the decision to have a Tropical Trim you can change it any time you like."
"I don't like to change that much. I've had my brushback for ten years. Now I've got this new haircut, I quite like it in a way. What do you really think Reeney?"
Burke picked up a hand mirror from the side table to examine his new image, sliding his spreadeagle fingers backthrough the still sopping hair on each side, letting the centre parting find its own way. "No sooner do I have it done short, than I have to let it grow for six months. I'll get Carl for this it if takes years. A joke's a joke!"
"There's my little boy," teased Ireene as she was wont to do. "Let Reeney kiss it better." She grasped Gill's glistening wet hair in both fists and pulled his head to her,kissing him all over the new Tropical Trim haircut. Just as Burke was aroused she stopped and reached for her gin and tonic. "Steady lover", she cautioned. "Take it easy."
"That's all very well for you Reeney, but you haven't been isolated on an animal hunt for the last two months. Don't be a tease," pouted Burke, who, in reality, played the game to it's fullest, knowing the rewards were all the greater for the foreplay. He reached for, and sipped his own g&t.
"While we're at it Gill, let's fix up your Tropical Trim thing. Do be a dear and get that."
"What? Now?" complained Burke, though walking willing, naked and enlarged, to retrieve the cloth and bring it back to Reeney. Tossing it on the bed, he followed, rubbing his wet hair into his lady's bare bosoms. Ireene leaned over to the opposite bed-side table for her own heavy silver and tortoise shell backed hair brush and gently cracked Gill on the dome.
"That's what I want the towel for. Talk about trapping animals. You're the animal."
"I know!" Gill rubbed the imaginary lump on his head and once again caressed her breasts with his damp locks.
"Whoo back there. Make yourself comfortable. This could be a long job."
Doing as he was bid, Burke settled his bare legs as close as he could to hers, facing Reeney on the tiger skin. To make him wait, Lady Ireene Sanders deposited a Black Sobrane cigarette into her ivory holder and waited for Burke to light it for her. Taking the hint, with still damp and slightly trembling hands he managed to strike a match for her. Tilting back her head, displaying her gracefully curved neck in her favourite pose, she took a long puff of the exotic cigarette and blew the smoke over Burke's head.
Satisfied, she placed the cigarette and holder in a jade ash tray and grabbed the towel with a pounce to attacked Burke's hair, rubbing it damp dry in a frenzy of surrogate love making.
"Can you imagine what I'll look like with six month's growth, and not even allowed to use any Spruso? How could I fall for that? It'll be like having the brushback and not be able to keep it in place."
"And I was so looking forward to massaging your bristles after your weekly haircut. How long will it grow in six months?" she queried, tossing aside the sarong and running her fingers around the freshly shorn sides of Burke's head.
"I think I remember someone saying something like a quarter of an inch every two weeks in the hot countries. Let me see, that means my hair will grow, my God, six inches. My fringe will be down in my face again, and the back - ! I'll look like Tarzan."
"Just imagine what it would have been like if you still had your brushback. Aren't you glad I talked you into your very own Tropical Trim? Not sure about the part in the centre though."
"Me either," confirmed Burke. He took up the hand mirror once again to view his shapeless towelled hair. "But, six inches longer. And no Spruso either. I must have had jungle fever to agree to this damned Hairloom Challenge."
He threw aside the mirror in exasperation and again brushed his head on Ireene's chest.
"What about having it marcelled, you know permanent waved," advised the Lady, keeping her composure.
"You must be joking. Me in curls. That would cause more comment than being shaved. Wonder what it would look like though?" mused the trapper reaching for the mirror again.
"Or perhaps a ribbon like they did in the olden days. Dick Turpin of the tropics."
"Seriously Reeney, I'll have to wear my topee all the time, and you know how I hate that. I can't wear a pith helmet when I up to my waist in the river for weeks building that cofferdam," bemoaned Burke, who softened, and hardened, when Ireene held up the mirror for him and stroked his shortened fringe back into place.
"That's right, isn't it? For the baby crocodile breading season. Right near the end of The Hairloom Challenge it must be. My goodness, just at the time your hair will be the longest before Carl shaves it all off," commiserated Lady Sanders with a faint touch of light hearted malevolence.
"Reeney! How could you even joke about it? Suppose I'll have to wear a penasar head sarong like the coolies."
"Come on my precious. Let me see what I can do". To cool down they both had a large swig of their gins and tonic with a fresh spoonful of cracked ice. Sitting on the tiger skin they straddled each other face to face. Ireene took a comb, the companion of her brush, and plied it into Gill's hair, moving the part an inch off centre on the right side and softly brushing the fringe and slightly longer sides back in a sweep. Burke approved and tried to fondle Ireene's breasts once more, only to receive another crack on the skull from the heavy brush.
"Aren't you finished yet? This is not what we're here in the boudoir for. I've had Lucky working on it all day as it is. Yes that's a lot better though, the part on the right. Damn. Just when I get it right after my old standby brushback, I've got to let it go to pot again. Six inches. That means nearly a foot long on the fringe. Damn. Come on Reeney. Drown my sorrows with a little love," begged Burke.
"One more thing. And you'll have to get used to it my pet." She reached into a drawer and extracted a handful of nothing, or so it seemed. Then Burke could see it was a hairnet.
"Now that's adding insult to injury. There is no way you are going to get me into a hairnet," protested Burke, shrinking back from the web like object.
"Seriously. Come here," Lady Sanders ordered. Burke relented. She fitted the net to his damp new hairstyle. "Now, every night after you wash it, just put on the net and keep your hair in shape no matter what length it gets. And that's not Spruso. Carl won't even know. As it gets longer, brush it into shape, or I will, while it's still wet, put on the net, then, bingo, in the morning, all ship-shape and Bristol fashion. That's how we women do it."
"Oh! well. Beggars can't be choosers I suppose. It's hard to believe. Brave Trapper Burke in a hairnet! Alright! Now can we get down to business?" It was Ireene's turn to relent! Tiffin, the next day in Carl von Zimner's garden, could have been a tense affair, since Burke was not really amused, not so much at the prospect of losing all his hair even though that was serious, but because he had been bested by his friend.
"Ah! You have changed you Tropical Trim already," commented von Zimner as Burke removed his Panama hat to display his new, short, stylish, side parted coiffure.
"And, unless I'm very much mistaken, I can see the beginnings of some growth on your erstwhile bald dome." It was true. von Zimner's head was showing a shadow of rust. The ladies laughed somewhat in disgust and moved to the tea trolly to be served by Margarette's white coated houseboy.
"Look Gill, let me give you some good advise," confided Carl. "Be careful of the sun. I know from sad experience. When I first shaved off my hair, I had the most dreadful case of sunburn, don't you remember?"
"Now that you come to mention it - ". Only that morning had Burke realised how white the shorn sides and neck of his head were, particularly in contrast to his deep tan.
"Not only now, but when I have the pleasure of taking all your hair off," jibed von Zimner. "Coconut oil is the answer. And gross Gott knows there is plenty of that here."
"I thought you said no hair preparations," prompted Margarette from her cane chair under the banyon tree.
"I think we can regard a little coconut oil on Gillbert's white sides as medicinal. No?" All nodded agreement.
"I say it's a damn shame CvZ. Just when I've got a haircut I really like in lieu of my brushback, you're making me forego it. Are you really fair dinkum about this Hairloom Challenge thing?" questioned Burke with some disquiet in Australian slang.
"We can't get out of it now. You accepted in front of the whole Empire Hotel, now didn't you? And besides I have a surprise for you tomorrow. The same time, the Noonday Gun. In the Long Bar.
von Zimner's houseboy brought Burke a flask of coconut oil spiced with The Enclosure Lime and Ginger Cologne, which Lady Ireene Sanders took great pleasure in massaging onto her man's partially shorn head as protection against the savage sun. Burke, however, did not keep in the shade, being anxious to tan up the white areas of his scalp as soon as possible, though the pale malaise was well known and accepted in the Colony due to the rash of Tropical Trims.
Again he examined the effect in Reeney's compact mirror and was well satisfied that he had abandoned his redoubtable brushback for this new short Tropical Trim style. Tiffin continued thereafter in a pleasant fashion as it always had between the companions, and The Hairloom Challenge was not mentioned further.
Until the Noonday Gun the following day!
Carl, with even a little more stubble apparent on his head, walked into the Long Bar, with a cloth draped object about the size of a brief case.
"Gentlemen", he announced. "It was Saturday when The Hairloom Challenge was issued and accepted," there was a round of applause from the assembled drinkers, "but today I think you will agree it becomes official with the presentation of The Trophy, to be awarded to the winner, bald or hirsute as the case may be;" further applause and laughter.
With a flourish he unveiled a glass fronted case bearing the engraved legend Hairloom Challenge, and including his personal cut-throat razor which had been used twice daily for ten years to shave his own head, a square of silk which by habit he affected to caress his hairless dome, a half empty bottle of Spruso, and all the very long hair that had been cut from Burke's head two days before, now neatly groomed and bound with a silver clasp.
The applause and laughter were long and continuous.
Even Burke shared the joke, especially the long tresses scissored from his brushback.
It was true. Carl von Zimner did have deep red curly locks, still full bodied and colored. As his hair steadily grew he took on a different appearance altogether. First the stubble became apparent, little more than a rusty shadow on his heretofor shaven dome, as Burke had commented upon at tiffin the first day after The Challenge. Then a close mat of crinkly deep red bristles covered his baldness; real growth began to appear, giving him quite a handsome appearance. His striking tight bronze curls grew to six inches long eventually, which he left au naturel to form a rounded shape, making no attempt at a part, or at brushing and flattening the ringlets.
"I must admit I had forgotten how much I was proud of my hair when I was younger, before I took it off," confessed von Zimner to Margarette some weeks after it had started to grow back. Enjoying a frosted beer under their favourite banyon tree he raked his fingers through the developing curls.
"Well why don't you keep it. There's nothing surer than that Gillbert would call off The Hairloom Challenge, in case you win."
"That could be so. Knowing Gill Burke he certainly won't want the ignominy of a public shaving. Perhaps - . Then again I'm morally obliged to keep my hair on if he wins. What if I should lose, purposely?" mused von Zimner.
"Nonsense. You know you could never willingly be beaten by Gillbert Burke, for any reason. And there's nothing in the rules to say you have to shave bald again, only Gill has to do that if he loses," advised Margarette.
"I cannot renege. Can't do that. It would seem to all the as though I were cheating. Do you really like mewith hair Maggie?"
"With or without. Why don't we set the wedding date before you take it off again?" Margarette slipped in the question. von Zimner remained silent, ignoring the marriage hint for the moment while pondering the keeping of his striking bronze curls.
"Trouble is, I still very much like the shaving, but now I want not to be shaved, both! Gott, I'm getting as bad as Burke about my hair," he remonstrated with himself.
No immediate changes affected Burke as his hair would remain on his head, getting longer, until the very end of the wager, but von Zimner began to change almost at once.
Not content with the new growth he passed the mirror often peering at his new image, while telling many of the men in the bar that he could nor wait to be shaved again.
Constantly he had to explain to the Long Bar regulars that he actually liked the appearance of being completely bald, and the physical act of shaving his head, more to convince himself now, than to persuade his contemporaries. Still, he received endless compliments on his new enhaired appearance.
Over the years he had councelled several men to follow his lead when their hair had started to thin - 'Better to be close-cropped or be shaved than to try covering up the inevitable.' von Zimner's assurances on his preferences for cutting off his hair did little to comfort other waiting victims in the Long Bar. The contest had sparked a good deal of interest among the habituees of The Empire Hotel, to such an extent that The Hairloom Challenge was taken up by a number of regulars ... win or be shaved. Now many regretted their foolishness in falling prey to the excitement, but like Burke, could now not escape the consequences. Within six months all the losers would have to submit their hair to Lucky Lackshman's barber's razor and be shaved bald. Yet all eyes were on Gillbert Burke and Carl von Zimner.
Burke's hair grew longer. Of course he could not wear hair oil, and would seldom wear his topee, so that it was apparent to one and all that he too was refraining from any king of grooming other than washing and brushing.
Savage tropical sunlight tanned up the shorn neck and sides, themselves, within a couple of weeks to be covered once more with new growth of hair. Without the protection of hat or Spruso, the same equatorial solar power soon bleached Burke's stakes in The Hairloom Challenge to a golden blond, much to his delight, though some hinted that the sun was assisted in its lightening work with something from a bottle. A lesser man with weaker manliness would have become depressed at the prospect of losing the bet.
On his return from the river-cofferdam crocodile breading program the group gathered in Burke's just-completed extended teak dining room a week before the end of The Hairloom Challenge.
Naturally the conversation was dominated by the contest, and especially the appearances of the two principal protagonists, von Zimner now with a strata of striking bronze curls covering his head, Burke with long blond hair, swept loosly over his forehead from his right-side highish parting, back over and behind his ears and gathered with a crocodile hide woggle at the back, the only solution he had been able to find to control the overlength without cutting it or applying Spruso.
"Well, the auditors are in, mein fruend," commented von Zimner over the pre-dinner cocktails, another fashion recently imported from the social scenes of Manhattan and Belgravia. "On Saturday, at the Noonday Gun we will know who has won The Hairloom Challenge. Are you ready to be shead all that bleached fur?"
"It won't be me cobber," retorted Burke in his native venecular. "You won't get to shave me afterall."
"Don't mean to tell me Gilly that you will keep all that mop in this heat. It's bad enough for us women. But then we are brought up to suffer," teased Margarette.
"All joking aside," interspersed Ireene elegantly sipping from her highball glass, "I think our men look superb with their new hair. There's nothing like it anywhere in this part of the world. Totally original and masculine. I go for them both in a big way," confessed the Lady using a phrase from the a new Hollywood film currently showing at the Straits Gaumont Cimema. "It's a shame to think they both may have to be deliberately bald by the end of the week."
"What about it chaps?" prompted Margarette. "Why not call off The Challenge with good grace. I know it would cause a great deal of relief to all the others involved. No one really wants to be shaved. The joke's gone far enough, wouldn't you say?"
"Why don't you both just go half way if you want? Each have a Tropical Trim. Gill, you liked that. No3. Rig if you must. Now that's pretty near bald. Come on shake hands and call a truce," advised Ireene. Burke toyed with his claret. von Zimner stubbed out his cigar. Neither would respond to the exhortation though it was patently obvious to one and all that the two stubborn rivals wanted very much to keep their hair on, albiet barbered. They sat down to an amicable dinner as though the matter of The Hairloom Challenge had never been raised.
Pillow-talk that evening in the Burke house again featured the subject of hairness or baldness. In her usual fashion, Ireene lay on her tiger skin covered bed on her stomach smoking a Black Sobrane cigarette in its exagerated ivory holder and watched Burke dry himself after his shower. Still toweling his long hair her handed the brush to his lover to groom him for nearly the last time. Content, they reclined back in each other's arms. Ireene reached over and smoothed back a wayward tress over Burke's forehead.
"I can't believe you are both so stubborn. You certainly don't want to be shaved bald on Saturday, that is if you lose. And Margarette tells me that Carl is now quite fond of his hair. He's gotten over that shaving quirk since he has been with her, Did you know they are close to setting the date? She wants him to keep his hair at least until the wedding.
"I know. He's asked me to be best man. But this is my chance to get back at Carl for trapping me into this damn fool Hairloom Challenge," confided Burke.
"How? What if you lose? Do you want to be bald?"
"Oh! I'll lose alright. But the boot's on the other foot. Now Carl desperately wants to keep his hair. But I won't let him."
"How do you know you'll lose until the auditors announce the results on Saturday? You sound as if you want to have your head shaved."
"Well you always said how much you liked patting CvZ on his bare bonce. To tell you the truth Reeney, I'm quite looking forward to the adventure."
"You're mad. Jungle fever has got you at last," teased Lady Sanders.
"You won't mind too much will you lover? Your old man with no hair. Look, I've been living with this threat for the last six months until it's become part of me. Being shaved bald on Saturday by Carl von Zimner will be completely natural - I keep telling myself."
"You're serious aren't you? No I won't mind at all, if you don't mind losing out to Carl and losing your crowning glory." She stubbed out her Black Sobrane and reached for the coconut oil to massage Burke from head to toe.
"You said yourself, once I changed from the brushback, I could face change anytime I liked. That terrific Tropical Trim was a change. Letting it grow was a change. Sun bleaching was a change. Using the woggle was a change. Now being bald will be a change. Ohoow! don't stop!
"What do you mean you'll lose? Are you up to something devious?" She did stop.
"If you insist. I'll lose because I donated the baby crocodiles to Sydney's Taronga Park Zoo. No payment. So Carl will earn a great deal more than me on paper. Now will you carry on with that massage. Yes, just there; yeah!; if you know what's good for you."
"How can we afford that? You can't give away the animals. It's how you make your living. How will we live in the style to which I wish to become accustomed?" She slapped Burke with a coconut oil covered hand on a highly sensative area.
"Ouch! Again!" Burke yelled. "I'll tell you how. Because of my generous gift I have been awarded the exclusive Asian contract to supply Taronga Park and its sister zoos in Chicargo and London's Regent's Park. Have you and idea how much that's worth? At least it has got to be worth a head of hair - hasn't it?" he queried more than a little uncertainly in spite of his protestations.
Burke lost The Hairloom Challenge!
There was no way out. He would have to take on the former appearance of the challenger; Burke would have to have his head shaved absolutely bald, in full view of the men in the Long Bar. And what was more, he would have to subject himself to the hands of von Zimner.
Indeed, toward the end of The Challenge period Burke had a series of photographs taken with the sensational new Kodachrome color film on his verandah with sunlight squeezing through the split bamboo curtains, ironically by von Zimner with his trusty Leica, featuring his Lady Ireene with himself and his now loose flowing long bleached hair - just in case.
He reciprocated, taking some wonderful shots of CvZ and Margarette under their banyan tree. No matter the result, there would be proof that von Zimner did have striking bronze curls and that Burke was able to let his hair grow long under trying tropical conditions, and look immensely smart in the process.
As he and Lady Sanders arrived at the Long Bar in The Empire Hotel to pay his debt, von Zimner was preparing to return to his former self, the red curls to be removed once more. The Noonday Gun boomed as von Zimner climbed into the barber's chair first, ostensibly much more anxious than The Challenge loser to be worked on.
Lackshman Lucky and the maitre d' had arranged tiers of seating around The Barber's Enclosure for the spectators, and there were many. Burke was seated on a kind of imitation wide throne between Ireene and Margarette. When it became his turn in the barber's chair, it was explained to him, the then shaven von Zimner would take his place on the throne. In clear view, on Lucky's bench, was The Hairloom Challenge Trophy, containing among other items, von Zimner's original razor and the remnants of Burke's brushback.