Veronica

Veronica

Man wearing a Space-X tee shirt covers his brow to see better through the backlit window. He lowers his hand satisfied and enters the foyer just off the Centre Street sidewalk.

May I ask a question? 

He settled on the redhead with a natural wave sculpted to her face. Name tag Rosie.

Rosie, who cuts your hair? One of these ladies?

Melanie. She’s in the back.   

Latina holding court by the basins piped… 

Mel! When’s your first appointment?

Half hour. Who’s asking?

Gentleman is asking.

He taking a survey or something? I’m booked ‘til forever.

Man, steps forward between the rows of Prado chairs.

I sought you. Through the window. Your fingers have a calling.

Calling ahead separates you from our drop-in purgatory.

Man smiled, holding beyond a polite smile, an adorning smile.

Died an eternity there. No WIFI.

Who cuts your hair? Have you been in orbit?

Huh? 

We don’t do buzz cuts here. 

I’m thinking scissors cut across the top, down to maybe an inch. Let it stand up if it wants to. 

What about your ears? 

Keeping them. After.

Melanie took his elbow and ushered him to an empty chair where a vase of floribunda roses beautified her station. Man puts the small-of-his-back where lumbar feels it. Puts his Doc Martens on the footrest, watching Disneyesque.

I’ll figure it out. Where’d you get all this hair?

Melanie plunged her fingers from the base of Man’s skull to his crown and then drew them up to form a mushroom cloud. 

I take donations.

I don’t know. We have some, really, long patches back here.

Man is watching the mirror, can’t take his eyes off.

Please, lose the mullet. How’d you get here? 

I got a Miata.

Man pictures his 16-year-old daughter behind the wheel, jump seat crammed with teenage bravado, then hits a rivet of caution. Remember Silverado backwoods country, that single mom drove a Miata. Which one? The one with the Miata. Buzz said you could just push over. Yeah, Tommy’s going to take Daddy’s car to go push her over.

Ragtop? Today? The sacrifices we make. In case you were wondering, my ears never caused trouble before.

Trust me. You won’t miss or recognize them.

Melanie executes a veronica with the barber cloth, sinching around his neck. She ran the comb forward and then down to his collar.

Don’t know whether to be frightened or terrified.

Kind of matters your threshold for pain.

Lops of hairballs tumbled down the barber cloth.

There’s a grape arbor scaling your neck. Eh, what do you do about pollination? 

Let nature take its course. I have a purple orchid on my back. 

The flora bouquet had legs. Kelly scarf over thinly veiled muslin blouse with two fuchsia buttons. Rawhide skirt with memorialized wear. BB L’aperitif pumps touted praise. 

I’m in no hurry, although you have business in twenty-five minutes. No need to rush.

I have an image. That’s where I’m going. What work do you do?

What pays the most. 

Tell me about it. 

Blond hair, up. Donnish glasses. Lips have savored success and show baby-white teeth.

Wouldn’t want to stand between you and your scissors.

It would be a tight fit. Tell me about your work.

I write mortgages so people can live better.

You a marketing genius? A mortgage is a lifetime of debt.

It’s housing, investment, ownership.

I’ve got you where I want you. Keep still.

She had a slight bend to her waist, eyes and fingers interconnected, beveled knees. Philadelphia Art Museum has a block of marble chipped away to reveal a woman’s face with ivory eyes. In everything is beauty. Man affects privilege. 

You’re going to thank me.

Spritzer bottle gave medium to the mission. Burgundy manicure played the blades. 

To the Man, a woman fingers his hair for two outcomes. Sitting in the public domain allows fingertip pressure, satisfactory response to satisfactory position. 

Mel turned the chair to face the Man. Scissors and comb conducting, Mel withdrew from the mirror. 

You read my mind. It’s uncanny. 

You’re dating yourself. 

Does it show? Fear of rejection. 

We’ll bill you. 

You don’t even know my name.

Facial recognition when you walked in. From the DMV. 

Was I smirking?

We give you a jingle when it grows out. Four weeks. Lunar cycle. Email, or both?

Which has better karma?

I’m a Nietzsche victimology nerd. I can’t help it. Little ole me. 

Do you have a podcast?

Have to be in the chair.

Hostage theory, I see. Use the Stockholm Syndrome for repeat business.

Survival isn’t a crime. But I can’t help what happens next.

You can blame me.

Touché. What do you think, so far?

Could you, please, back-up to square one? I have loads-more material.

Are you on the salon circuit?

I don’t want you to feel rushed.

Let me get the clippers for some fine-tuning. 

I’m fine with your tuning.

Next morning, there was mail in the box from two days. Utilities, junk, and a postcard to Melanie from Australia, postmarked 5 days ago. You’ll both like the neighborhood. Sorry to hear things are on the outs with Clyde.   It’s a merry brownstone. Super will have the key. Signed Katie with love.

Man asks a woman at work how he could figure out how to find a babysitter for a two-year-old-girl. Potty ready. Very chatty. Droll. Darling.

Calls for meeting. Late afternoon, off early, arrive right on time, coffee holder occupied. Sit on the couch. What should I know about you? If you were going to sit your child, where would you want her to go? And do you have your own kids at home. Can add even or odd for teams. All under the same roof. My little girl has been in daycare since newborn. She’s used to people holding her. Gives her a little entitlement. You can see the chip, just an acorn now. You’ll look after her as your own child, next in line for snack, juice, potty, clean-up, lay down your grayed-brown locks and rest your heart til content. I would do it, but that’s impossible. I guess I’m asking you to do the impossible because I can’t. NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY.  

A precision, multi-blade, African spear skewered Man on an upward thrust, plowing flesh wounds through his thorax, a single blade, piercing the orbit of his psyche. Elevated blood to his frontal lobe created luminescence.  

“I guess, I want a divorce.”

“Get me the house. Now, get me a divorce. Fetch.”