"I just want it all cut off," I said into the phone to Carol, my stylist and friend.
I heard the huff on the other side. "You're crazy, girl! You've been growing that hair since we were in grade school together." She paused. Somehow I knew what was coming. "It's Jim, isn't it?"
It seemed to be everyone's answer to any decision I was making these days--"It's Jim." That was probably it, I had to admit, but who wouldn't want to make some changes after a husband of ten years just ups and leaves you for another woman, a younger woman. I sighed. "I just need a change. I'm tired of taking care of this hair."
"Well, all right." Carol sounded resigned. "But don't expect me to cut it. That hair of yours is like a childhood friend. Why, it's one of the reasons I got into this business in the first place."
"Well, who else can do it?" I asked, picturing the other women at the shop.
"We've got somebody new starting on Saturday."
"Come on, Carol. I don't want somebody I don't even know cutting my hair short for the first time."
"Okay, I'll do it. Saturday at two o'clock, but I'm still going to try to talk you out of it."
"Thanks, Carol. You're a pal."
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Just don't blame me if you hate it."
I walked into the shop on Saturday with an odd sense of excitement and a little anxiety. To others a hair cut was a regular occurrence. To me, with my hair dangling down past my waist, it was a major lifestyle change. I glanced around and saw Carol waving both arms at me. "Janey, get yourself over here now," she said through a huge grin.
I looked around wondering what was causing Carol's excitement. "What's going on? You haven't been like this since Paul Baranchi wanted to take you to the prom."
She hushed me and said in a whisper, "I can't believe you said that."
"Said what?"
"Said that about Paul." Her eyes got even bigger. "Never mind. I decided I'm not going to do your hair after all."
"Oh, Carol, why not? What's the big deal? It's just hair, for goodness sake!"
Carol shook her head. "You don't understand. I definitely want you to get your hair cut, but I want the new guy to do it."
"But I thought I told you...Did you say 'guy'?"
"Yep."
Carol was grinning again. "What's going on? I know that look."
She shook her head and said, "I still can't believe you said that about Paul Baranchi."
"What's the big deal? We talk about him all the time."
Carol's eyes bugged out again and she tried to interrupt me, but I was determined she wouldn't. "Paul was the most popular guy in drama class. Everybody just knew he was going to wind up in Hollywood."
Carol tapped my arm. "Uh, Janey," she said.
Again I ignored her. "I mean he wasn't much to look at, but he had a certain presence, you know?"
I heard someone behind me, clearing his voice. "Hello, Jayne. It's like a high school reunion around here today"
I swirled around and was looking into the green eyes of Paul Baranchi, a bit heavier and a little balding but definitely Paul. "Surprised?" he said with a mocking frown.
I held my hands to my red cheeks, flushed with embarrassment. "Surprised, isn't the word. How? When? What are you doing here?"
Carol pushed me into a chair and began clipping on a bright pink apron. "Paul's here to cut your hair." She leaned closer to me. "He's the new guy."
I looked up at Paul. "You're the new guy?"
He laughed. "Uh-huh. Cosmetology school at the city community college was as close as I got to the glamour of Hollywood."
"Oh no, you heard all that?"
"I hung on every word."
"I am so sorry."
"Oh, I liked hearing most of it, except that part about nothing to look at.
I cringed. "Maybe I don't want you to cut my hair."
"Relax. Remember, I'm the guy that never held a grudge. Not even after you turned me down a dozen times to go out with Ji..." Paul must have noticed Carol's warning look and nudges. He reddened.
I was furious with Carol. She must have told Paul about the divorce as soon as she had a chance. I glared over at her and she shrugged.
Paul came to her rescue. "I'm sorry, Jayne. I had heard about your...your..."
"My divorce," I said, relaxing. It wasn't like a big secret or anything, just a painful truth.
"It's been six months ago, now." I just wanted to change the subject. "Carol, why don't you bring me one of those style books I never look at. I've got to figure out what to do with this hair."
Carol touched my arm and smiled, "Sure. You don't move now. Paul can work on you and I'll supervise." She hurried off.
"Was that a threat or what?" I asked under my breath. Paul heard and laughed. As Paul began brushing my hair, I glanced up on his stand and saw a picture of two beautiful children, a girl with blond curls tied up with pink ribbons and a boy with dark hair.
"Yours?" I asked, pointing at the pictures.
"Mine. All mine."
"What do you mean?”
"I mean when my ex split, I got the better end of the deal. She got a dead end waitressing job in Los Angeles, waiting for the big break, and I got these two gorgeous people." He smiled, touching the wooden frame and then the faces of his children. "Do you have any kids?"
I struggled to smile and keep away the old familiar pain. "No. Jim and I couldn't have kids." I hesitated, shifting beneath the pink apron. "I guess I'm glad, seeing how things turned out." The brushing stopped. In the mirror I saw Paul looking at my reflection. I could tell he wanted to say something, but Carol came back, carrying at least five big style books, scraps of paper sticking out haphazardly.
I laughed. "You couldn't possibly have looked through all those books today."
"No. Since you told me you wanted to have your hair cut."
"But you didn't want me to have it cut!"
"You sounded so determined." She giggled. "And I did warm up to the idea." She opened up the first book and plopped it on my lap. I glanced into the mirror and grimaced at Paul who smiled, holding back the laughter.
I looked down at the short, sleek hair cut on a model half my age who was pouting impetuously for the camera. "I can't possibly get it cut that short. Besides that looks too...too...."
"Something," Paul supplied. I nodded.
Carol turned to the next marked page. "How about this one?" she asked, looking at the book and then me.
I looked up and Paul who barely shook his head, still holding his hand to his mouth. "No, too fluffy."
Carol turned to another page and another, on and on, pointing out all the merits of the various coifs. I shook my head again and again. Some of the styles looked terrific on the models, but they didn't fit me. Paul agreed. His chin in his hand, he analyzed each design. Then, he looked at my face in the mirror, touched my hair or held it in his hands. Sometimes he would make a comment -- too short, too fussy, too plain -- but he always ended up shaking his head.
Carol closed the last book with a smack and sighed, "Well, I don't know what else to do."
I tried to look guilty for Carol's sake. "Sorry. None of those hairdos looked like me."
Paul swung me around in the chair. "I know. Let's wash your hair and you can think about it."
"That sounds like a good idea to me," said Carol, piling up her books. "I'll do it."
Immediately Paul replied, "No, I want to. Look at all this luscious hair. I haven't washed a head of hair this full since my glory days." He rubbed a hand over his balding head.
I laughed. He smiled and led me to the shampooing area.
Paul wet my hair and lathered it up with a rich shampoo that smelled like a tropical island, like coconuts and the sea. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes as Paul began to work the shampoo into my hair firmly yet gently. It was nice to have somebody wash my hair, especially someone like Paul.
Paul was washing the soap out of my hair when he asked, "Did Jim ever wash your hair?"
I opened my eyes with a start. What is it about hairdressers? Are they mind readers? I fumbled for an answer. "Of course not....I mean...Why should he?"
"Because it's romantic and sensual and, well, because you deserve it."
As Paul squeezed my hair and wrapped it in towels, I was wrapped in memories. Paul bringing me flowers, getting down on one knee and asking me out. Paul asking me what I thought about life. Paul and I huddled in the library, dreaming. Paul standing by me when Jim and I broke up. Paul going to the prom with Carol when Jim and I got back together. Paul leaving town when Jim and I got married. Paul coming back..... No, I thought. Paul being back in town now was just a coincidence. He hadn't even known about the divorce until today, right?
When Paul led me back to the chair, I was suddenly aware of his hand, warm on my shoulder, then pressing on my back. I sat in the chair. Paul didn't say a word as he combed through my hair.
Jim had loved this long, beautiful hair. He had loved the way it looked when it fell over my shoulders, or when I wore it in an elegant twist to parties. He had loved the way I looked in jeans and a bathing suit, the way I kept the house, the way I worked so we could buy nice things. But suddenly, I knew, he had never loved me.
I looked at Paul's reflection in the mirror. He stopped combing and waited. "So," I said, swallowing hard. "How should I get it cut?"
"Depends."
I reached up and touched my hair, shiny and sleek and wet. "Jim loved this hair, you know."
"Yeah, I know." Paul pumped the chair to raise me up. "Is that why you're getting it cut?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation.
He turned the chair and bent down to me. I'd forgotten how tall he was and how long his eyelashes. "Then don't do it," he said.
His eyes were a deep green, flecked with gold. "All right," I whispered. "On one condition."
He straightened up. "And that is?"
"That you wash my hair again."
"It would be my pleasure. Anytime."
Then I surprised my self. I reached over, grabbed his hand. Then I asked, with joy, with hope, "How about tonight?"
He ran the comb slowly, deliberately through my hair and nodded.
