I am a waitress at a members-only club. Most of the time, we waitress in short black dresses with an pocketed apron tied at the waist to carry our order-pads. Fridays and Saturdays we waitress topless, just a short skirt under the apron. By we I mean me (I'm Stella), Charity, Kendra and Sharon. On special occasions the boss (he's called Michael) provides us with costumes of varying degrees of practicality; I've waitressed in latex, sheer and bodypainted versions of our usual outfit as well as a flapper dress (with a handbag for the order-pad), a kimono (it took me half the evening to get used to the wooden sandals and not clatter as I walked), a cow-girl and a super-hero (I got stuck as spider-girl which limited my vision a bit). What makes an occasion 'special' is something we have never figured out, except that it is probably just Michael's whim.

Do I have any trouble with being a topless waitress? No. The members don't try groping us, because if they are caught being disrespectful to any of the staff (it seems everywhere is covered by CCTV), they have there membership suspended for two months and repeat offenders can't get their membership renewed.

This is all very well, you're thinking, but where is the magic the title promised?

Well, I shall be telling you about three occasions when with the help of a friend of Michael's, called Jeremy, I became a different kind of topless waitress, then a topless topless waitress and then a bottomless topless waitress.

It all started when I was told by Kendra and Sharon that they had received what they referred to as weird requests from Michael, but refused, because the extra money did not compensate, in their minds, for the weirdness involved. I think they were trying to warn me against whatever Michael had planned, but instead I was intrigued; what request might Michael have that he could see as reasonable, but my colleagues think was weird?

I was arriving for my shift, when I saw Charity gesturing an emphatic negative at Michael and he left, saying, “Ok, if you don't want to do it, I can't force you.”

A little later, before things got busy, I asked Charity what it had been about.

“Nothing much really, but he asked if I was willing to act as an assistant to a magician friend of his, who has been booked for next Tuesday; you know Tuesday is my day off. It seems that Kendra and Sharon refused for their own reasons and you hadn't arrived yet, so he chanced his arm, by trying to twist mine. Covering for one of you guys is ok, because I know you would cover for me, but just not taking my day off is another thing entirely.”

About an hour later, Michael found me at the bar and asked if I would be willing to act as a magicians' assistant to a friend of his, who had been booked to be part of the cabaret next Tuesday. Despite the negative comments from the other waitresses, I asked for more details; about things like the extra pay that might be involved, what his friend needed an assistant for and whether it would include a change of costume. I was assured that I would be in my regular outfit. The pay offer was I get an extra evening's money if I volunteered to help the magician and remained for an hour after magician had finished with me, and, on top of that, another extra evening's money if I carried on working afterwards and, Michael said, he would match my tips too (that last item was probably the desperation speaking). I asked again about what being a magician's assistant entailed, because triple pay and double tips sounded good (or double pay and half the evening off). Michael did not know what his friend had planned, but said that he would get in touch with him and call me into the office to talk to Jeremy.

Near the end of the evening, Michael called me up to the office. “I've had a word with Jeremy, I had hoped to catch him sooner, but he was performing at a private party. He thinks that if you aren't saying 'yes' straight away, he will probably need to talk to you directly and persuade you that being his assistant won't cause any problems.”

“Ok.”

“Just press 'last number redial' on the phone, he's waiting for your call. I'll go and check things are running well downstairs, because he did not want me listening in on what he has to say.”

Michael left and went to the desk, picked up the handset and press the button labelled 'LNR'.

The phone rang twice before being picked up. “Hello, Jeremy speaking, if you're not called Stella, please keep it brief, because I'm expecting a phone call.”

“You're in luck,” I said, “because I'm Stella.”

“You're a waitress at Michael's club, right?”

“Yes, and you're Jeremy, a magician looking to recruit me as your assistant for your gig at the club.”

“Yes, that's me. Michael said you had some questions. I hope I can persuade you that I offer a unique experience, with minimal downsides. So what do you want to know?”

“Ok, tell me what you're planning and why you need an assistant and what rehearsal I'll need.”

“Oh NO! You won't need to rehearse. This is something I usually do on the hostesses of the private parties I perform at. And no, I can't just use any random volunteer; I need someone who is not going to depart unexpectedly, so that I can fix the magic at the end of the show, or, in your case, before I go home.”

“Right, that makes some sort of sense, but what are you planning to actually do to me, because I doubt that the bonuses I've been offered are just so that you can have someone to be around to hand you things.”

“Well, I know this'll sound a bit crazy, but I plan to cut your head off.”

“You mean like with a guillotine?” I asked.

“Like that, but not with an actual guillotine, because I can't fit one of them in my van.”

“So, you intend to put my neck in a stock and run a blade of some sort through my neck; for the money I'm being promised, I'm guessing there is more to it than that.”

“And you'd be right. Because your head will really be cut off.”

“Isn't that dangerous? Or even fatal?”

“The only real danger is that the basket that your head will drop into is not placed correctly and you might get a bruise to the face. The actually beheading is safer than opening a tin of cat food.”

“How?”

“Magic! I'm a magician. I shan't go into the details, but the magic will keep you safe and alive and active, until I put your head back on and reconnect it; which will be at the end of the evening.”

“Will it hurt?”

“To be honest, I have been told that it hurts a little for the first few seconds, but then it goes pleasantly numb. One lady told me it was like sucking a throat lozenge with anaesthetic in a flavour you don't like, but faster and longer lasting.”

“And what am I supposed to do once my head is in the basket?”

“I usually help the person to stand and then hand them their head, so they can carry on while carrying their head.”

“So, I'd have to carry my head for the rest of the evening? That won't do, because I need the use of both hands if I am to continue to work my shift.”

“Ah, I see that could be a problem,” Jeremy breathed. “Give me a moment to think.” There was a pause. “How long is your hair?”

“I don't know what the relevance is, but I keep it quite short; about jaw-length.”

“That's a pity, because I was thinking that if it was long enough that I could tie it behind the neck stump you'll have, so you could wear your head as a kind of necklace.”

“My hair is definitely not long enough for that; besides I don't think I like the idea of someone putting knots in my hair. Any other ideas?”

He ummed and ahhed for a little and then said, “I suppose I could make a necklace thing to hold your head, or maybe a collar with a spacer to hold your head away from the rest of you.”

“So long as I have my hands free and can carry my head, I don't think I mind which. OK, and how long would I need to stay headless? Michael said something about an hour.”

“I would restore your head to your shoulders at any time you wanted me to, but I would hope that you would feel comfortable enough to try it out for at least an hour; that way most of the audience will get to see you walking about headless. After that I would hope that you would be ok to spend the rest of the evening carrying your head; I'll be about doing table magic, and can be asked to restore you at any time, but it is more impressive and might get you better tips if you can leave it 'til the end of the evening.”

He seemed like a decent bloke and willing to treat me like a person, rather than a human prop. I said, “Ok, I'll do it. See you next Tuesday.”

He was saying 'thank you' while I hung up. I went back to work. Later I passed on the news to Michael.

----------

Tuesday came and I was a bag of nerves; you'd be anxious if you had promised to allow someone you had never met to cut your head off, on the promise that they could do magic. Kendra and Sharon didn't help by making slicing movements with fingers across their necks accompanied by gruesome mouth noises.

A few minutes before the doors opened, I met Jeremy. He was dressed as a magician; dinner jacket, ruffled shirt, bow tie and shiny black shoes, but it did not cover that he was few pounds overweight.

“I'm Jeremy. You must be Stella. I came to give you some last minute advice to help your performance and to help you adapt to to being headless later.”

“Ok, what do I need to know?”

“For the bit on stage, just act naturally. We won't be making a secret of the fact that I pre-arranged for you to help out, so you don't have to lie about that, but we will be pretending that you weren't warned about what I plan to do to you.”

“I think I can do that, thanks for letting me know, or I might have said something out of turn. And the advice for walking about headless?” I asked.

In response he waved a hand in front of my eyes, while saying, “You'll do ok.” If I had not been facing a wall clock and seen the second hand jump to the other side of the face, I would not have known anything had happened.

“Did you just hypnotise me?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I noticed the second hand on the clock jump as you hand passed before my eyes.”

“In that case you'll know that you were out of it for less than thirty seconds. All I did was help you be less nervous, because you looked like you were shaky enough to be at risk of dropping things, and gave you some words to help you quickly adapt to being headless and back.”

I took a sceptical tone. “I'll take your word for it, for the moment, but if I find out that you implanted any other suggestions or any other tricks, I'll tell Michael; he might be a friend of yours, but I'm sure that he'd find such behaviour abhorrent, and spread the word that you were... I don't know... , but he would end your career.”

“You're right about Michael; despite running a club with topless waitresses, he's probably the most ethical person I know. I'll see you in about an hour.”

As usual on nights where there is some cabaret, the club filled up early, so I had little time to think about what was to come; I don't know if it was being busy or the hypnosis. I was also having to carry things further, because I was waiting the tables nearer the stage, which are conversely further from the kitchen.

After an uneventful hour, I had just finished serving a table of six, when I heard Jeremy say, “Excuse me, miss, would mind coming up here and helping me with something?”

I looked up, in case, he was talking to me. He was; I could tell, because he was looking straight at me. “Yes, you, miss,” he directed at me. Then, to the audience in general, “Please, give a round of applause for Stella, who volunteered to help me with a small illusion. I only met her for the first time about an hour ago and she has been busy most of the time since, as most of you can attest.”

I walked up to the stage and climbed the three steps. I was buoyed by the clapping from the audience members.

While I had been applauded to the stage, Jeremy had brought into view a covered prop and a covered table. The prop which was draped in a black cloth bearing a skull and cross-bones he positioned in the middle of the stage and the table, covered in a plain red cloth, he placed to the side opposite to the one from which I was approaching. The black-covered item was a little over waist-height and the red covered table a few inches lower.

“Welcome, Stella,” he said to me, then to the audience, while he handed me a microphone, “Welcome, Stella!” they applauded some more.

“How are you feeling?” the magician quizzed me.

“I'm a bit nervous.” I held up a hand, which while not totally still was steadier than I had anticipated. “At least, it doesn't look like you are going to saw me in half.” I plucked the biggest trick I could think of from my head, that did not require the use of a national monument.

“Would you like to be sawn in half?”

“I don't think so. It would make working a bit difficult.”

“Well, I'm not going to saw you in half, but I am going to cut you into two pieces.”

I remembered seeing a British magician do a miniature guillotine effect with a young girl, so I offered up a finger on my left hand (I am right-handed).

“Nothing quite so small; we want the audience to be able see what happens.”

“So, what are you planning to chop off?” I asked, curious how he would express his plan to behead me.

“Nothing very important; just your head.” I could not tell if Jeremy thought that anyone that was a topless waitress was automatically not very bright, or just playing to the stereotype for comedic effect.

I decided that I would play up to the stereotype. “But, isn't that a bit dangerous?”

“Of course it is; I could nick my finger, but I doubt you'd miss anything.”

I tapped him on the ankle, to give him the impression that he might be likely to lose his hard-won volunteer if he continued to mock my intelligence.

“Shall we get on with it?” he asked.

While the audience of diners, applauded that they were waiting for some magic to happen, I told Jeremy that he was one more sarcastic remark from me trying to remove his head, without benefit of magic.

“Ok, down to the business at hand.” He whipped the skull and cross-bones cloth from the central prop. It look like a thick metal piece with a neck sized hole in it, held up by four tubes rising from a padded base that extend a few feet back from the main part. “If you would kneel behind the stock, please,” he invited, while lifting the top section from the stock.

Without much idea what was going to happen next, except that my neck was likely to be trapped where the hole had been, I knelt; I was glad of the padding on the device's base and the shortness of my skirt.

I looked at what remained of the stock. The black painted metal was actually two plates with a narrow gap between and the inside curve, where I was going to be asked to lay my neck, had a thin strip of felt attached. I could not help noticing that while the paint on the outside of the stock was perfectly smooth, in what I could see of the gap it was scuffed and in some places scratches went through the paint to the metal.

“Great! Now place your neck into the gap. If you need some help balancing or keeping steady, hold onto the legs of the stock, at least a few inches down from the top.”

I leant forward, then shuffled forward a bit on my knees, until my neck made contact with the padding inside the neck hole. I grabbed a upright in each hand, which made me feel more steady.

The magician replaced the top part of the stock over my neck with barely a bump. I tried lifting my head, in the hope that if things started to go wrong, I might have the chance to escape, but the thin lines of felt inside the upper part resisted my attempt to move them. I was stuck; time to hope that Jeremy knew what he was doing.

He made a bit of a fuss about placing the basket in front of the stock, including licking finger to test the wind; as if the breeze from the air-conditioning could make a difference to the trajectory of my head as it fell into the thick, but soft looking, padding.

Most of the rest of this description of having my head cut off is based on hindsight and reviewing the CCTV footage of show, because I spend most of it confused, terrified and dizzy.

Jeremy went to the table and removed the red cloth. He picked up a jigsaw; the first I knew of this was when he pulled the trigger, producing the grumbling whirr.

“Hey!! Wait a minute! I thought that you'd be using one of those chopper things, or maybe a sword.”

“I suppose I could, but this will be quicker and much less effort. In fact in your honour, I'm using a freshly charged battery pack; I don't want to run out of juice half way through.”

“But won't that leave a messy cut and put people off their meals?”

“That's why I'm using the fine toothed blade; I save the coarse blade for Halloween and other such occasions.”

There was a clunk as the base of the jigsaw was rested on the guide on the upper stock. I made a quick praying motion then re-grabbed the uprights.

He pulled the trigger and started to push the jiggling blade towards my neck. I felt its touch as a scratch; I screamed, more from shock than actual pain. Then it felt almost pleasant for the few seconds it took to cut all the way through my neck. What the audience saw was the jigsaw resting on the guide with the blade hanging down on one side of the stock, then, as the magician pushed it across, they never lost sight of the up and down blur that was the blade's tip and the blade remained unbloodied when it emerged into full view on the other side of the stock.

I gave a brief yip as my head fell towards the foam lined basket below. Things only really began to make sense once my head was resting in the cushioning of the basket and I had the chance to reconcile my head being at an odd angle, while my body remained upright; mostly thanks to my 'death grip' on the frame of the apparatus.

I quickly came to the conclusion that I was not going to die of being beheaded, because I had heard somewhere that a severed head is only conscious for about three seconds and I was still thinking about it at least ten seconds later and hearing the applause. At the time, I wondered why they would be applauding my beheading, but I now realise, thanks to the CCTV footage, that they were applauding Jeremy's skill at removing my head without spilling a drop of blood as evidenced by the circle of clean pink flesh visible in the hole of the stock that was the top of my neck stump.

Soon Jeremy's hands appeared and turned my head upright, leading to more gripping of the device's frame to keep my body stable, then he lifted my head into the view of the diner's. I made a dutiful attempt at a smile, to assure them that I was neither dead nor particularly hurt; this gained us some more applause. With evident care Jeremy carried my head to the table and placed it on a metal disc with a low rim, next to the jigsaw that had removed my head.

“Stella, how are you feeling?”

At first I was surprised to be addressed and more so that I was expected to answer; what with my neck having been cut in two. I started with “Ummm,” to discover what effect the operation had had on my voice, and found that, apart from a buzzing feeling in the top of my neck stump, it sounded and felt normal. “Apart from not being totally sure what exactly happened and speaking feeling a bit buzzy, I feel ok.”

“Sorry about that. Maybe I should have asked you to lean forward against the stock a bit more, so that the cut would have been lower and not so close to your vocal cords. As to what has happened; allow me to show you.” He put his fingers to the rim of the disc my head had been placed on and rotated it until I could see my body kneeling on the padding of the stock stand, still gripping the uprights.

I removed a hand from the steel tube and made a 'yes, I'm sorry, but it's me' wave in the direction I hoped was towards my head. It turned out to be fairly accurate in direction and raised a few laughs from the audience.

He went over to my body and helped me stand up; most of which, once I understood that this was his intent, was me leaning back to remove my neck stump from the stock and the using the stock frame to stand up from my kneeling position, with him providing a steadying hand in places (none of which strayed beyond the bounds of decency).

“Thank you, for your help, Stella. You may return to work, now.”

“How? My body can't see where it's going and from here I can't either.”

“Good point. Maybe this will help.” He guided my body to beside the table, so that I could steady myself without his help. He then turned my head to face the audience again, this meant that I was facing the same way as my body. He then fussed with something behind my head which put a little pressure against my hair. He passed a narrow leather strap around my head and tightened it across my forehead. I was about to protest when I suddenly needed to stabilise again, because he had lifted my head. I soon felt a line of pressure against the sides and back of my neck stump and something warm and soft supporting the back of my head. From the CCTV and the many photos of the event I have been shown, I now know that I was wearing my head as a pendant resting in my cleavage. “That should do the trick. Try walking around for a few moments; I'll be here to catch you if you stumble.”

After the first few steps, I felt a lot more steady, but I was still cautious of how I moved, because my eyes and sense of balance were not in their usual place.

“This'll work, I guess, but when are you going to put my head back where it belongs?” I already knew the plan, but it felt necessary to let the audience know that I was not going to be stuck like this.

“That's the fly in the ointment,” he said. “The reattachment process is a bit long-winded and I have an act to finish. So, in the meantime, you might as well go back to work, until I'm finished and I'll catch up with you once I'm done.” He switched to addressing the audience. “So, put your hands together for Stella for being such a brave volunteer and remember to tip her generously, for continuing to serve you under such trying circumstances.”

He guided me to and down the steps to the main floor and then returned to his act.

For a moment, I just stood there wondering what to do next. Then someone, a customer, called to me and my waitressing reflexes kicked in. The next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind of waitressing and people asking me how it was done and how it felt; I had to admit that I had no clue how it was done, except it didn't feel too bad.

When Jeremy had finished his act on stage, he found me and asked if I wanted my head put back now or later. He reminded me if I said later and changed my mind he would he about doing table magic and he would do it then if asked. I checked my tips pouch and found it was half full, with larger than normal denomination notes; so his suggestion to tip me generously was working (whether it was due compensation for my soldiering on under odd circumstances or a literal (hypnotic) suggestion by Jeremy, I don't know).

“I'll try it for another hour at least, but I think I will carry on to the end of my shift; if that's ok.”

“That's fine by me. Just find me at the end of your shift or sooner if you need to. I'll see you then; have fun!”

The rest of a shift was a blur of waitressing and explaining that the fact I was wearing my head as a necklace was the result of a magician's handiwork. I had to empty my tip pouch twice (the only time I have ever emptied it before was at a private (topless) New Year's party).  Kendra and Sharon seemed glad that I had not bailed once I had been beheaded, but a little envious of the tips I was raking in.

Apart from the tips and everyone being solicitous of my well-being, the things I remember were the oddness I felt being nearer eye level with the diners and how good the food smelt, because my nose was closer to it as I carried it to the tables. To start with I did bump into some people, because I could only see in the direction my body was pointing; I soon got used to checking where I was going.

About an hour after the magician first checking in with me, he spoke to me again. “Do you want your head back now or shall I find you at closing time?”

“Find me at closing time,” I said. I did not see him to speak to until then; although I did occasionally spot him across the club, mostly because I was prompted to look up by joint exclamations from the table he was performing at.

At closing time I went to the locker-room.  Kendra and Sharon were there ready to ask what being beheaded was like. They also asked if I was going to be going home headless. I told them much the same as I had told my diners, and that I was going to meet with Jeremy, so that he could put my head back where it belonged. I let them know that I had been told that it was a longwinded process, so they might as well not wait for me, especially as after that I had to catch Michael, to get the bonus I had been promised for volunteering.

They had left for no more than a minute when Jeremy arrived. “Can we get this over with because I like to be home before dawn?” He looked puzzled. “You said that the restoration process took a while, didn't you?”

“Oh that! Putting your head back is easy as falling off a log, but that's my usual excuse to get the hostess, or whoever I've beheaded, to go and mingle; there's no point in chopping anyone's head off, if the audience don't get a good look, is there?”

“Ok, good. Then can we get on with it, because I need to catch Michael about my bonus for volunteering.”

“Just take hold of your head and lift it a bit, so that I can get the head-holder out of the way!”

It felt odd feeling for my head at chest height, instead of head height, but once I had a hold I lifted my head a few inches, which allowed him to release the strap across my forehead and the necklace fell away as the catch at the back of my neck stump was undone.

“Now that that's out of the way, all you have to do is put your head back where it used to be and it'll stay there.”

“Don't you have to do something, like make an incantation or rub it to make sure it stuck properly, or something?”

“Other than be here to make sure that you do it right, no. You have a lot better sense of where your head should be; it's been there most of your life. You probably need to put it down and pick it again, because they way you're holding it at the moment means that you won't be able to get it to the right spot, unless you're double-jointed.”

I stepped over to the make-up table put my head down and then squatted, before picking it up again and moving it to where I felt my head should be. Moments later I felt an intense sense of relief at being whole again, then I tried lifting my head again to be sure that it was properly attached; it did not move in any unexpected ways.

“How was the evening for you?” Jeremy asked.

“After a short time to get used to wearing my head in my cleavage, it was ok. Getting there was a bit unnerving, but the tipping was more than usually generous; which compensates for a lot.”

“I'm happy about that. Does that mean that you might be persuaded to do it again?”

“If you're asking if I would like to become your assistant, you're barking up the wrong tree. I've got a perfectly good regular job here.”

“No, I meant, when I come back would you like to do it again? Michael told me just now that he's booking me for the 17th of next month, which is a Saturday.”

“If the pay situation is similar and you can come up with a way I can see what I'm doing without my head being in the way of the punters seeing my boobs, I would certainly consider it.”

“Michael said something like that too, but I have an idea that should work if I can get it organised in time. I'll see you then.” He left.

I headed up to Michael's office, knocked and entered.

“You did very well this evening, Stella. I don't think I'd have been able to carry on if my head had been cut off. The extra pay will be added to next weeks money; sorry it can't be sooner, but accounts is accounts.”

“Thank you, it wasn't too bad, once I got used to it, and I was expecting that the extra pay might with the pay for this week, but you also offered to match my tips too.”

“Did I? Oh yes, so I did. So how much did the punters give you in gratuities?” I told him and he looked surprised. “That's a lot more than I was expecting. You didn't prompt Jeremy to suggest you get tipped more for your difficulty.” I shook my head. “I didn't think you were that mercenary. I don't actually have that much on me and most of the cash is in the safe already. Would you mind if I added it to next weeks wages?”

“That seems fair enough. I gather you've rebooked him and suggested that I might be up for doing something like that again. I said I'd consider it.”

“Good. I told him that he'd have to come up with some way that you can move round safely without your head being in the way of your tits. I'm willing to offer the same extra pay, but if today's tips are anything to go by, you'll bankrupt me if I do the same for a Saturday.”

“That seems fair. I'll see you tomorrow, Boss.” I turned to leave.

“By the way, I gave him your e-mail address, so that if he needed to ask you anything he could; if he starts bothering you, let me know, and I'll tell him to back off.”

“Thanks for the warning. Good night.”