The Wisdom of Hair

by Kim Boykin

  I smiled and pushed past her to sign in at the appointment desk. It galled her so that she followed me around while I got a permanent out of the storage closet for my first appointment and restocked my station with perm rods and clean hairbrushes.

  “You know they’re all shit. Every single one of them.”

  I gave her a look and waved to Ellie Jeffords, who was checking in for her appointment with me. Ellie used to be the poster child for happiness, but in the past few weeks she seemed to be renting it rather than owning it. She came in four times last month and always wanted to do something different to her hair, not in the way that she just wanted a change of style; it was more like she was trying to change something else, something that even an ordained cosmetologist couldn’t fix.

  She was married to Ned Jeffords, a good-looking young attorney who worked for his daddy’s law office in town. She came into the school with the longest, silkiest chestnut hair that you ever did see, clear down to her waist, and said she wanted it cut, short like a pixie. Now I never cut anybody’s hair from real long to short, so I talked her into cutting it right about to her shoulder blades. Two days later, she was back, wanting to go even shorter and talking about a perm. I told her I didn’t think a perm was such a good idea because her hair was great just the way it was, but that I would cut it to her shoulders if she wanted.

  When I was done, I handed her the mirror and watched her look at herself. The haircut framed her gorgeous face. She was beyond beautiful, but I don’t think she saw that. She said I did a good job and that it didn’t have anything to do with me before she made an appointment for the very next week for another haircut and a perm.

  “If you don’t want to do the perm, I’ll go somewhere else, Zora.” She didn’t say it mean like, just sort of matter-of-factly.

  Ellie’s wanting to mess with her hair like that didn’t make any sense to me. But I promised I’d do the perm and told her I thought she looked perfect the way she was. She just smiled at me. It was then that I saw between the lines and knew for sure that this woman was miserable.

  “I know you don’t want to do this, Zora,” she said as she sat down in my chair that morning.

  “What does your husband say?”

  “Ned? He’s so busy studying for the bar exam and chasing after his daddy’s coattails, he doesn’t say much. But his mama…”

  I noticed her hands begin to shake, and she had the same look on her face that someone does when they really need a drink.

  “Do you spend a lot of time with Mrs. Jeffords?”

  She nodded as I began to section off her hair to wrap it for the perm.

  “She’s horrified I come here. Says a woman in my position in the community should never go to a beauty school, but my mama always came here. She brought all seven of us. Sometimes we got good haircuts and sometimes Mrs. Cathcart gave us an extra cookie because the girl messed up our hair. If this place was good enough for Mama…” Her voice trailed off.

  I got her hair rolled up and put the solution on. I sat down on a little stool in my station and set the timer. She hadn’t said much for a few minutes. I thought maybe she didn’t want to talk, which was fine by me and one of the ten important telltales Mrs. Cathcart taught us about meeting our patrons’ needs. But she looked too fragile to be left alone, even for twenty minutes.

  “We met in high school,” she began. “I don’t know why Ned was attracted to me. It didn’t make any sense. Mama said I was his Indian chief.”

  “His what?”

  “You know, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, doctor, lawyer, Indian chief.” I nodded. “Ned was voted Most Everything that was good—popular, humorous, most likely to succeed. Somewhere in all that he chose me.”

  “Ellie, you’re beautiful, inside and out. Why wouldn’t he choose you?”

  “I don’t know. For a long time I thought he did it to make his folks mad, but that wasn’t it. Ned says he fell in love with me the first time he saw me at high school. I had gone to the same school with him since we were in the sixth grade, but I guess he didn’t notice me then. He doesn’t see me much now, either, but when he does, he’s so…sweet.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, he keeps telling me that once he feels comfortable, like he’s got a handle on things and as soon as he passes the bar, he’ll spend more time with me, but how can that be? His daddy says that once he passes the bar, I’ll never see him. He said that to me like he was proud of it. I think they hope that I’ll just get fed up and leave Ned, but that would break his heart, and I could never do that.”

  The timer went off. I rinsed her hair out, put the neutralizer on, and let it sit for a while. Mr. Cathcart asked me to answer the phone for a few minutes because the receptionist was out, and his hearing aid battery was out. He asked us all to take turns that day, and I wished that he had asked me later, because I sure hated to leave Ellie just then.

  When I heard the timer go off, I asked somebody to take my place at the desk while I rinsed Ellie’s hair and blew it dry. No matter what she did with herself, she was still gorgeous. She ran her hands through the soft curls and asked me to pencil her in for the same time next week to go blond.

  I wanted to tell that her hair was perfect just the way it was, that the color was so true I could never have gotten it out of a bottle, but I knew it was no use. I wrote her name down in the appointment book and gave her a little reminder card, even though she said there was no need.

  “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” I thought I might ask her out to lunch. She sure looked like she needed a friend.

  “Yes,” she said plainly. “I’m going to get pregnant.”

  “Oh, well,” I said. “I was just going to see if you wanted to go to lunch this afternoon, but it sounds like you’re pretty busy.”

  She thanked me for the invite and for doing such a good job with her hair and left. Sissy Carson had been waiting all day to get another dig in on me, and I saw her watching Ellie the whole time she was sitting in my booth, whispering to the old biddy she was working on. She strolled over to me with that same smug look she’d had since that morning.

  “She doesn’t belong here,” she said matter-of-factly. “And what in the hell is she doing to herself? Her pretty hair’s gonna be all burned up with perms and color.”

  I still didn’t say anything, just went about my business. But I thought about Ellie all day and how the Jeffords had done her. I’d heard all kinds of talk about what they’d said, about her being white trash, how they’d threatened to disown Ned if he married her. Even worse, after they accepted the wedding, they’d paid for the whole affair and didn’t invite a soul that Ellie knew or loved. Life was terrible for her, and I guess Ellie thought that since Ned was their only child, her life might be better if she had a baby.

  At first, it puzzled me as to why Ellie Jeffords was forever trying to change the way she looked. But after a while, I realized she believed that if she looked different, her world might just be different, that somehow in all of that she would find happiness. I know that sounds crazy, but since I realized this about Ellie, I’ve seen it in other women who come to my station and look in that big mirror the same way. They want something different, a change. They want to be happy.

  24

  “Hey, girl. Look what I have. Got your color.” Sara Jane opened the screen door and dangled a bag from the beauty-supply house my way. “We can get right on it, soon as you’re done cooking.”

  Winston had sort of moved in. The last thing I wanted were the kind of highlights that came out of a bottle. I wiped the flour off of my hands with an old dishrag and gave her a big hug while I tried to think of a way to tell her I’d rather die than color my hair.

  “Oh I’m just making cubed steak, fixing a little gravy. What are you up to?”

  “Well,” she tossed the bag on the couch, “aside from making you even more beautiful, I’ll tell you if you pour me a drink.”

  She raised her eyebrows when
I uncorked a bottle of the good stuff Winston and I hadn’t finished the night before. She didn’t say anything about the fancy crystal glasses, either.

  “Mama said Connie Harmon hadn’t heard whether or not you were coming to the party Saturday night.”

  “Oh gosh, Sara Jane. I thought I sent that RSVP card to her.” I shuffled through some papers that were on my counter and found the envelope with the fancy little reply card inside. “I am so sorry. Of course I was planning to go. I just don’t know what has gotten into me lately,” I said, which wasn’t true at all.

  “It’s no big deal.” She was looking around the place like something was different but she wasn’t sure what it was. “Connie…does all kinds of stuff…silly stuff for the wedding party…especially the maid of honor and her date.”

  “Oh.”

  I could feel my face turning red because I didn’t know what to say. It turned out that I didn’t have to say anything. Somehow, during our conversation, Winston happened to start up the stairs. I guess as he neared the top, he must have heard Sara Jane talking, and he went right back down the steps and into his own house.

  She stood there with her hands on her hips, smiling at me. It wasn’t the kind of smile that comes when someone lets the cat out of the bag. It was more sheer disbelief that I had kept such a thing from her. I wanted to crawl under the floor and stay there until she got over whatever it was she was feeling. Instead, I just shrugged my shoulders and kept my eyes on the floor like the guilty soul that I was.

  “I parked on the street around front. I guess he didn’t see my car.”

  There was a long silence between us. Some grease popped out of the frying pan and landed on my arm. I didn’t even flinch, I let it sear my skin. I deserved it. She waited for me to say something, to tell her what was going on, but I didn’t. Then she surprised me by turning around to leave.

  “Don’t go.”

  She stopped in the doorway, holding the screen door wide open. Her back was to me, but I could tell she was crying, not boo-hooing, as Nana would call it, just silent tears of disappointment in her best friend.

  “I’m sorry, Sara Jane. I know you’ve told me everything about you and Jimmy, but I don’t know any other way than to keep things to myself. Please come back. Sit down and talk to me. Please.”

  She took another step out the door.

  “Sara Jane, I don’t know what to do. It’s not at all like I thought it would be.” I was crying now. “I need you.”

  I didn’t have to say another word. It was like calling in the U.S. Cavalry or Superman, but instead of wearing a big S across her chest, she wore a smile that told me she’d help sort everything out.

  “You know I love you.” She sat down on the couch.

  I took the cubed steak up, pushed the frying pan off of the hot eye, and wiped away my own tears as I sat down beside her.

  “I don’t know what we are,” I began. “Sometimes it almost seems like we’re married. Sometimes it seems like he’s a complete stranger.”

  She nodded her head and listened, coaxing the words out of me by just being there. I had always thought that if things ever progressed with Winston the way I hoped they would, the two of us would be squealing and jumping up and down like we did for her and Jimmy, but it wasn’t that way.

  “Well, honey, is this what you wanted?” she asked softly. “Are you happy?”

  “Sometimes.” I raised my eyes and looked at her like I had done something wrong. “I told him I loved him.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. Well, he hugged me and didn’t say anything…had a couple more drinks, and we ended up in bed.”

  I saw her wince. She held me close.

  “You deserve better than this,” she said. “You’re sweet and beautiful. You’re a prize, that’s what you are. I see it in you. So does Jimmy and Mama and Daddy, and if Winston can’t see that, well, damn his soul.”

  Sometimes I believe Winston really was damned from the beginning, but I know I didn’t come into the world that way. I never needed a man just to be. I was strong and proud, nothing at all like I was the first time I saw Winston.

  “What else do you do,” she said, “besides eat and sleep together?”

  I shook my head.

  “He hasn’t taken you anyplace?”

  “No,” I whispered. For a moment, it was like somebody had washed the windowpanes, and I could see Winston and me for what we were.

  “Ask him to Connie’s party.”

  “What?”

  “Ask him to the party. If he has any feelings for you at all, he’ll go, or at least try to go. If he doesn’t, well, we’ll worry about that if it happens.”

  I hugged her again and told her how much I loved her. She asked me which of the new dresses I was going to wear. She suggested I wear my hair up if I wore the crepe strapless one but didn’t mention coloring my hair. She knew enough about the way that works to know that the change was up to me. We went into my bedroom, and I stuffed the teddy under some clothes on the floor in my closet and tried things on while she fiddled with my hair, laughing and carrying on like we always had.

  Sara Jane left about an hour later. I was trying to resurrect dinner from the mess I’d made when I heard him coming up the stairs. I wanted to look him squarely in the eyes as he walked through that door in such a way that he knew I meant business, that if he wasn’t going to play house the right way, he could just take his wine rack and crystal glasses and go home.

  “I didn’t know you had company,” he said, as he opened the door.

  Then he smiled at me and my knees buckled. He came over to where I was making gravy, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed the nape of my neck. He took my hand in his and dabbed my finger in the mashed potatoes, then put it in his mouth, licking, and sucking every bit of it off. We went straight to bed with no supper.

  He was exhausted and fell asleep easily. I tossed and turned until I finally just gave up. I tried to clean the kitchen without waking him. The fan on the little space heater in my bedroom made a good bit of noise, and I was sure I could get the kitchen straight in a minute or two without waking him up. I put the potatoes and gravy in the refrigerator and threw the corn in the trash. The meat was like rubber, so I threw it away, too. I was wiping down the counter when I turned around and saw him standing there.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  I shook my head. The whole time I was cleaning, I’d been thinking that he’d only said my name once and never took me places. He never asked me what I liked and didn’t, unless it pertained to sex. He didn’t know my middle name or what my favorite color was, and he couldn’t tell you my birthday if you held a gun to his head.

  “What’s wrong?” He tried to nuzzle me.

  I scooted away from him and just stood there with my back to him.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  I shook my head.

  “Come here.” He reached for me and pulled me close.

  I looked into his beautiful face and wanted to die right there. After he kissed me, he shuffled his feet about slowly like he was dancing to the music we first heard together. I stayed still.

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered in my ear, sending chills down the nape of my neck.

  I didn’t say anything at first. It took me a while before I realized that I was dancing to his music without even knowing it. He closed his eyes and kissed me, but I didn’t kiss him back.

  “There’s a party,” I said, and stopped shuffling my feet. I looked up at him. “Saturday.”

  “I’m not much on parties.” I swear he blushed, which melted me completely. “You want to go?”

  I nodded but didn’t look at him. Then he lifted my chin up and looked me in the eyes. “We’ll go then. Together.”

  *

  Connie Harmon’s house sprawled over the lot that overlooked the fourteenth tee at the Davenport Country Club in an intimidating sort of way. She said it was because number fourteen was just the teeniest litt
le par three, that the house wasn’t really that big. But it was eleven thousand square feet according to some glossy blond country-club woman I overheard gossiping in the kitchen, who acted like it was hers and was far more interested in showing it off than Connie was.

  I don’t know why Connie had that big house, with her husband dead and her children grown, but after I met Connie, I discovered that whatever she did, she did in a big way. Lots of the women from her country-club life sniped over such an extravagant engagement party, but I believe Connie made that party the event that it was because she loved Sara Jane.

  Now Connie was the only one of Mrs. Farquhar’s friends who was a drinker. None of her parties were dry because she argued that even Jesus liked to have a little drink when he partied. And even though Nettie Farquhar was a dyed-in-the-wool Baptist, she never once fussed over Connie’s ways because they were more like sisters than friends.

  Connie was the maid of honor in Mrs. Farquhar’s wedding and a couple of years later moved in and took care of her day and night when Sara Jane’s mama had trouble carrying the twins she eventually lost. When Sara Jane was four, Mrs. Farquhar’s only sister shot and killed herself. The whole tragedy left Nettie Farquhar so devastated, she couldn’t get out of bed for months. During all that, Connie took Sara Jane to her house, spoiled her rotten, and loved Sara Jane every bit as much as she loved her own children.

  “Zora Adams,” Connie bellowed as we walked through the door. “Who’s this marvelous-looking man you’ve got on your arm? Are you single, darling?” She extended her hand to Winston, who kissed it obediently and smiled. “Because I sure am.”

  “Mrs. Harmon, this is Winston Sawyer.”

  I watched her as she sifted through her mind for that name. Then her face lit up, and she took Winston’s arm and linked it through mine.

  “Well, now, it’s a pleasure, a real pleasure,” she said. “But I’m here to tell you, Mr. Sawyer—Do you mind if I call you Winston?—you’ve got yourself the sweetest, most gorgeous single young thing in the whole county. But a beauty like Zora won’t stay that way for long, I assure you.”