Chapter Seven - Tyler
“Don’t be silly. I was glad you called. Come on in. Tea?” That’s Rodney. Maddie just thanked him for seeing us on short notice. His salon is fucking beautiful. Wood, and steel, and fine artwork hanging everywhere. As I understand it, he’s THE guy all the hot-shit Vegas celebrities go to. I have a feeling this whole thing is gonna run me close to four figures, which is fine, just weird since I think the last time I got a haircut I spent like three hundred rupees (about five bucks) and traded a bowl of rice that had been handed to me for some reason. (Lady just shoved it at me and said, “Please. You. You.” I figured that if I was looking so rough that she was forcing food on me, it must have been time for a trim.)
“Oh, no, I’m all tea’d up for today, thanks,” says Maddie.
“Tyler?” asks Rodney.
“Um, sure. You got any rooibos?”
“What kind of hair salon do you think I’m running? Of course I do!” He nods to a young guy in a sweatshirt and jeans that are so tight they look like they came from Maddie’s dresser, and Skinny Jeans heads over to where there’s this elaborate, Japanese-looking tea station set up.
I suppose the tea service is gonna be an extra hundo, at least. Jesus.
But it’s not the money. Not really. It’s that with everything that’s on my mind right now, blowing fat stacks on something as vanity-driven as a fuckin’ shave and haircut feels insanely wasteful. But then I remind myself that I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it because it will make Maddie happy. And that’s a good enough reason for me to do pretty much anything.
“So! What are we doing with all this?” Rodney starts running his hands through my hair and stroking my beard. Which I don’t mind necessarily. I’m not a huge fan of people poking and prodding at me uninvited, but it’s his job and whatnot. Like when I get a physical, it’s the doctor’s job to grab my balls and shit, so I let ’em. It’s just not the way I normally like to have my balls squeezed. Now, if Rodney grabs my balls, then that will be something that he and I will have to talk about.
I’ll at least make him buy me dinner.
“Um... Mads? What’re we doing?” I ask. Because I don’t fuckin’ know.
She walks me over and plops me down in the haircutting chair (I guess that’s what it’s called) facing a mirror and stands behind me with Rodney. “So, all this?” She rubs both hands down the sides of my cheeks, tracing my beard with her palms. And I’m getting hard. Oh, fuck. (Well, hell. The heart wants what it wants. So do my big, swollen nuts.) “Gone,” she continues.
“All of it? Off?” he confirms.
She nods. “And then this?” She has her hands in my head hair now. “Let’s just bring it up about this much...” She pulls my hair down in the front so that it’s covering my face and then puts her index and middle finger, like scissors, around a chunk of it.
“Oh, really?” he says. “Because I was thinking we could go this much.” He does the same thing, only a little higher up. They continue this conversation, both of them with their hands in my hair now.
“You think?” she asks.
“Definitely,” he says. “You know, less Chris Hemsworth in Thor and more Chris Hemsworth on the cover of Vanity Fair. See?”
I assume he’s holding up a copy of Vanity Fair, because Maddie goes, “Oh, my God. Yes. Yes. That is hot.” I can’t see what they’re seeing because my hair is now all rumpled, having been man- and lady-handled, and is hanging in front of my face completely. I kind of feel like Cousin Itt from The Addams Family.
My tea is now ready.
Skinny Jeans hands it to me in a heavy, ceramic mug with no handle. I part my hair enough to bring the cup to my lips. Holy shit, that’s the best fucking cup of goddamn rooibos tea I’ve ever had. Nice work, Skinny Jeans.
“OK! Let’s get started!” exclaims Rodney, pulling my hair back from my face, snatching up a pair of scissors, grabbing my beard, and unceremoniously cutting off a huge chunk of it.
“AHHH!” I scream.
Both Maddie and Rodney jump back. “What? What happened?” Maddie yells.
“Nothing. Sorry. I was just fucking around. Continue.”
Maddie rolls her eyes, and Rodney lets out a huge breath and slaps me on the shoulder. “You are bad!”
“You have no idea,” says Maddie.
“OK. You”—Rodney addresses Mads—“out. Go. No distractions. I know how to deal with this. I’ve worked with children before.” Good old Rodney’s got my number, all right.
“Yeah? I should leave?” she asks, hesitantly.
I get it. I don’t want her to go either. Not because of the fucking haircut. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not actually five. It’s just that being apart seems... hard. I don’t like not being near her and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way. And even though it’s just some hair being taken off my face and head, it’s more than that.
This is the only way she’s seen me since I left twelve years ago. This version of me is who she has fallen in love with. If she goes away and comes back, a whole new person will be sitting here to greet her. Someone who looks like she probably remembers. And that may be a good thing. It may be an awful thing. No way to know. And only one way to find out.
“Hey,” I say, extending my hand out to her. She takes it. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
She doesn’t seem sure. She rocks back and forth like she doesn’t want to let go of my grip. And then Rodney says, “Oh! Shit. I left my good shaving brush in the back. I’ll go get it.” He turns and heads to the back, shooing Skinny Jeans out along with him. Good dude.
Once they’re gone, I fan my hair back away from my face and turn the chair to face Mads. “Hey, kitten, I’m just getting a haircut and a shave. But it’s me. I’ll still be here.”
“I know,” she says. “I know. It’s stupid, but...”
“No, it ain’t stupid,” I say. “Shit, kid, after everything we’ve been through in the last couple months, it’s not unreasonable for you to think you could come back to find Lady Gaga sitting here waiting for you.”
She squints at me. Peers hard into my eyes. “Are you Lady Gaga?”
I consider. “Not sure. Don’t think so.”
“Because that wouldn’t be the worst. Gaga’s fucking hot.” She smiles. I smile back and squeeze her hand tighter.
“I’ll be here. I ain’t going nowhere. Bank on that shit.”
She nods and squeezes my hand back. Then she grabs up her bag, heads to the door, and throws me one last look over her shoulder. I wink and then make an over-exaggerated series of flamboyant, Vegas magician gestures all around my beard and head, and she smirks, laughs only through her nose, and then walks out, letting the door fall shut behind her.
I swivel the chair back around to look at myself in the mirror again. She’s not the only one who’s a little worried. Shit, I don’t know if I’ll even recognize my own damn self anymore. It’s been probably seven or eight years since I saw my face unobscured by this jungle of protective overgrowth. Because for all the shit I’ve talked about being lazy or not caring – which is not completely untrue – an even truer reason that I’ve allowed myself to look this way is that it keeps people at a distance. It creates a barrier. It hides me.
So. Time to come out of the darkness and into the light.
Rodney pokes his head around the corner to see if Maddie’s gone. “Found it!” he says, holding up a swanky-looking shaving brush with a silver handle. “OK! Let’s do this,” he exclaims, walking over to me.
He grabs a hot towel from a towel steamer and goes to wrap it around my beard and eyes. Just before he puts it on me, I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him. “Rodney... Be gentle,” I implore, with an over-exaggerated need in my voice.
“Oh, honey,” he says, “Rodney’s got you, baby.”
And as he leans the chair back and wraps the warm, damp towel around my eyes, I choose not to think about how goddamn vulnerable this whole thing could make a person feel.