Yu-Gi-Oh is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this fanfiction.

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Shampoo Boy, ch 1

by Animom

 

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Joey Wheeler was good at paying attention to his surroundings. He was also lucky. The first was a result of growing up in a tough neighborhood. The second was a gift.

He had just walked past downtown Domino's very upscale Western style hair salon when he heard the shouting behind him. He turned, and a moment later a young woman with blue and purple hair exploded onto the sidewalk. "Fine! I quit!" she screamed, then stormed off across the street.

He noticed a tall person in a long white shirt taping a "Help Wanted" sign to the window next to the door of the salon.

Joey was lucky and attentive. He was also chronically broke.

He hurried into the salon, pulling the newly taped sign from the window and slapping it on the counter. "I see you need help."

The owner, a tall West Indian with long braided hair, eyed him. "Well, aren't you exuberant? What’s your name, twinkle?"

"Er, Joey."

"Well, Er-Joey," she (or maybe he, Joey wasn't sure) said, hand on chin, "Have you ever worked in a salon before?"

"Uh, well …"

"I didn't think so."

"Sorry. Stupid idea." Joey took the sign to the door and re-taped it.

"Strapped for cash eh? Your girlfriend’s one of those who need a new sparkly pretty thing every week?"

Joey shrugged. "Not exactly."

"Hm, I see. You a fast learner?"

"Sometimes."

"You know how to clean a toilet?"

Joey laughed, "Doesn't everybody?"

"Honey Eyes, you would be surprised how many members of royalty are out there lacking that knowledge." The owner folded strong-looking arms tipped with dark purple fingernails. "Usually I have the stylists shampoo the customers and sweep up, but my girl who just left was a stylist. It'll take me a while to replace her, so til then you can be my Maker of Coffee, my Sweeper of Floors, my Cleaner of the Bathrooms, and a shampoo boy when needed. Got it? Minimum wage plus tips. Day people go home at 6, so be here by then. You can call me Willoughby." Willoughby twirled a finger in the air, and at Joey's blank look added, "Take off your jacket and turn around."

Somewhat embarrassed, Joey complied.

"Well, aren't you just a filet mignon! Wear black and white only tomorrow. Make it tight, and thank me later."

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Next night, Joey slipped into the salon at 5:45, wearing a new white t-shirt and black pants.

The receptionist, applying gloss with a lip brush, yelled, "Willoughby!" Joey shifted from one foot to the other nervously until the owner breezed into the reception room "Oh look, it's ErJoey! From now we just call you Joseph, okay?"

Joey laughed and rubbed his neck. "OK."

"And tomorrow, you exchange that baggy baggy shirt for the smaller size, certainement, and thank me later."

The job was perfect. Joey swept the floor after every customer, kept the coffeepot full, the wastebaskets empty, and the bathroom spotless. Between customers he sat at the tiny computer desk in the supply room at the back of the salon and did his homework. On slow nights Willoughby let him practice his shampooing on whichever stylist wanted to be the guinea pig. He offered to answer the phones as well, but Willoughby guffawed and said, "Oh my no! We don't want potential clients to think they reaching a barber shop, Joseph!"

As time went on he found himself idle less. Certain of the customers started asking for him, first as a coffee refiller, and then as a shampooer. The first shampoos Joey was asked to do were supervised, Willoughby prompting Joey with pantomime and bringing the stylist over after the rinse, but after a while Joey graduated to doing towel-and-escort as well.

The first time one of the old ladies tucked a 1,000 yen note into his hand he almost fell over.

The first time one of the middle-aged men patted his knee he thought it was his imagination.

The first time one of the not-at-all old ladies rubbed the back of her hand on his ass while he was lathering her, however, he jumped back. Willoughby gave him a meaningful look that said, "Just suck it up." He conditioned and rinsed, keeping calm as he toweled and wrapped her head, and then helped her sit up. She squeezed his thigh, flashed a 10,000 yen note, then tucked it deep into the front pocket of his tight black jeans before she stood up.

After she was ensconced at the stylist station, Willoughby crooked a finger and then pointed to the supply room. Joey followed.

"It's part of the job, Joseph." Willoughby's voice was low, pitched so the customers would not hear.

Joey shook his head. "Getting groped is part of the job? It makes me feel kinda like a …"

"Shush shush, don't say that nasty word. Give that dirty money to one of the girls then. Or me. Or some charity."

"I suppose." He sighed.

"Joseph, sweetness," Willoughby said, "Most of them are so lonely, you know? They just need a little touch, now and again. A little chance to be a little naughty." Willoughby patted Joey's shoulder. "And really, who can blame them? You're so delicious!"

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Joey's fears that he would be let go as soon as Willoughby hired a new stylist turned out to be premature. The stylists appreciated having someone to do the dirty work, and the evening hours were always solidly booked. Willoughby gave him keys so that he could lock up after cleaning the salon, and after a few weeks asked if he wanted to work at all on the weekend.

"Sure, I can always use the extra cash." The slowly-growing stash of bills from his tips meant that he'd soon be able to drop his newspaper delivery job, and the dream of owning his own motorbike was getting closer and closer.

Around noon on his second Saturday he was restocking the shampoo stations with clean towels when he heard a familiar voice up front. "Can you squeeze me in, pleeeeease?"

"For you, angel, anything," he heard Chantay say, then, "Let's go back and get our new shampoo boy Joseph to take care of you."

"A shampoo boy? No way? Is he gay?" he heard Mokuba say, just before he and Chantay came around the partition into the shampoo area.

"Hey Mo – "

"Joey?" Mokuba cut him off. "Wow, you look really HB in those tight clothes."

"So, what am I doing for this young man, Chantay?" he asked as he steered Mokuba to a chair. "The monkey brain shampoo, and the fish head conditioner?"

Chantay rolled her eyes and walked away.

"Don't break my cover," Mokuba whispered as Joey tucked the towel around his neck and eased his head back. "They don't know who I am in here."

"Gotcha." He grinned down at Mokuba while he waited for the water to warm. "C'mon, these clothes don't make me look that gay, do they?"

"Nah. You look like a busboy."

Joey chuckled and began to wet the thick black hair. "Geez, dude, you got enough hair for three people."

"Yeah, Chantay says she loves to comb my hair because it's luxurious." Mokuba blushed a little. "Make sure to use the shampoo with the Greek foot soldier – that's my special brand. But no conditioner."

"But conditioner helps detangle – ah, I got it. Tangles mean more combing time with Chantay." Joey winked. "OK your Highness, be right back." Joey dried his hands on a towel and went into the supply room. Willoughby was doing payroll. "Didn't I see a box with a naked soldier holding a shield in here somewhere?"

"Oh, so the prince is back?"

"Prince?"

"You're getting it for a black-haired wildboy, n'cest pas? His family's loaded, father's some sort of diplomat."

Joey almost laughed. It made a weird sort of sense that Mokuba would invent diplomats for his pretend parents, since his big brother was the most undiplomatic person in existence.

"We import Thessaloniki Sea shampoo and conditioner just for him," Willoughby was saying. "So so expensive, such crazy ingredients. Squid ink and black kelp extract and truffle oil and frankincense, oh my." Willoughby tapped a few keys, then fed check blanks into the printer. "When we asked him why he wanted that brand he said he liked the soldier on the label."

 

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After Mokuba left the rest of the day flew by. Willoughby was running the charge for the last customer when the phone rang. "Sure, we'd be happy to, I'll have someone stay. Just rung the bell." As soon as the customer had left, "Joseph, sweetheart – " Willoughby began.

"Yes, no problem, and I thank you later," Joey said with a grin, sweeping up tufts of black, brown, red, blond, gray, pink, and blue hair. "I have keys. When are they coming?"

"Within the hour, I'd guess. They said they out of conditioner, has a flight in the morning, generous tip, and so on so on."

"Shoo. Have fun with Randolph. I'll see you on Tuesday," Joey said as he began cleaning the mirrors.

"Au 'voir, pet."

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An hour had passed. Joey had cleaned every inch of the salon, washed the coffeemaker and dusted all the bottles. He was not yet desperate enough to begin reading the salon's various beauty and makeup magazines, but as he sat half dozing at the front desk he knew he was getting close.

From the corner of his eye he saw a car pull up to the curb in front of the salon. He yawned, shook out his keys, and went to unlock the door – and froze.

"No fricking way," he breathed.

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~ to be continued ~

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A/N: This story is the result of a chat I had with the_lost_ogg over a topic at the jou_loves_kaiba Live Journal community about the many professions Jounouchi has been given in fanfics. Both of us were bitten by plot bunnies to write a fic with a profession not on the list at the time we were chatting.

Idea: 21 July 2010

(05) 19 Feb 2011 ~ Adjusted comment about price of shampoo