The sun was in San Gabriel was incredibly hot, as it had been every day for weeks. But oddly, it felt good beating down on Annie's red locks. The sun sparkled on the shiny sheet of auburn, glinting with flashes of copper and sunny gold. In Mexico she was an unusual sight. The only redheads in the little town where she temporarily worked had the purplish hues of red dye on near pitch-black hair, or orange-red from bleaching and then adding color to the straw yellow locks.
Aside from its color, Annie's hair was loose and flowing, bouncing and swinging with her every step. For the women in San Gabriel, the style of the day and the night was a ponytail, greased slickly to the head and bound tight by a rubber band. The only display of creativity was an occasional unique parting. There was little to imagine as to the shape of any woman's head, for the tightly executed ponytails showed off every curve and bump. And the shape of the head was something Annie would notice---just before imagining loosening the band that held the tail tight, but only enough for her scissors to slide in and sever the offending tail. In a town where long hair reigned supreme, she had plenty of fuel for her fantasies.
The maid that cleaned her apartment had a waist-length braid. Annie thought frequently of the loose masses of hair, permanently waved by the daily braid. She imagined sliding a brush through the amazing mane from crown to tip. She'd pull up a freshly brushed section, holding it out to see the full length before sliding the scissors into the base of the lock, barely a whisper from the scalp. In her fantasies she repeated the process over and over, carefully combing out a lock before snipping it off. She imagined a growing mountain of hair, through which her bare feet moved as she circled the maid, removing lock after lock.
Other things about San Gabriel fueled her fantasies as well. The town was old. Businesses were close to the streets and what went on in them was easily viewed on the slow drive through town. This included the barbershops and salons. Estetica D'Diaz opened only a few weeks after her arrival in San Gabriel. Located right on a corner, the doors to the shop opened onto the street, giving a full view of a single chair placed before a large square mirror. A second door gave view to a shampoo bowl and a single poster, showing multiple short styles-something rarely seen on anyone under 35 in this town. The sign advertised that D'Diaz was a unisex shop.
Senor Diaz himself was a heavyset man, badly in need of a good grooming session. Despite his personal appearance, the shop was always busy. As Annie would make the slow drive past, she'd frequently see a shearing in progress-but it was nearly always a man in the chair. If the chair were empty on the drive by, she'd see only the remains of the days work littering the floor. Sometimes the mounds of hair were small, indicating a day of trims and not much else. Occasionally though, the clumps of hair would resemble small black mountains. On those days, Annie found herself imagining the contrast if her own shiny red locks were mixed with the ebony strands on the floor. In the slow crawl of San Gabriel traffic, such that it was, Annie imagined that she could hear the soft crunch of scissors slicing through hair and the near-silent whistle of dry hair sliding down the cape. Or was that the buzz of clippers that she heard, changing their tune from an idle hum to a hungry growl as the blades met with the resistance of a thick Mexican crop of shiny black hair. Shiny black hair? Or her own glistening red tresses?
The shop undoubtedly held an attraction for her. The simplicity of it and of the tools that she could see inside-scissors, clippers in two sizes, a jar of combs-made it hugely different from shops back in the US. There weren't any slick ads for over priced products or shelves filled with the latest in gels, pastes and conditioners. Even Diaz himself held her thoughts because he was so far removed from the dapper image she had of a barber or the GQ-slick males stylists north of the border. More than once she envisioned him unceremoniously plowing the clippers through her hair, starting at her part and pushing back to the crown, raining down a river of red. It amazed her that even in her minds eye, the moment the hair was severed it lost its glistening attraction.
Eduardo-Lalo as he was called-was Annie's coworker, frequently riding shotgun on trips into town for lunch or out for drinks after work. A rather quiet man, he was an observer of human nature and could not help but notice that even in the already slow San Gabriel traffic, Annie would go slower than necessary past the open doors of Estetica D'Diaz. He'd seen a slow blush crawl up her neck to her cheeks if there was someone in the chair as they passed. Once, on an occasion when Senor Diaz himself was on the narrow sidewalk waiting for his next customer, he saw Annie make eye contact with Diaz. While Annie looked quickly back to the traffic ahead of her, Diaz curled his lips in a knowing smile. He then looked to Lalo and nodded, but was it a greeting, or an understanding?
The next
time Lalo was with Annie as they passed Estetica D'Diaz, she moved her hand from the wheel, pushing it back through her hair. He asked if she was too hot. When she realized he was speaking, she fumbled to answer that no, she was not too hot. Perhaps contemplating a change, he questioned? She turned to look at him, her face flushed-but she said nothing. Only moments later she pulled up in front of his house, to drop him off-only blocks from the site of her interest. When he invited her in for a cerveza, she accepted. By the time she'd had three, Lalo was next to her, fondling her hair-pulling it up off her neck and suggesting in Spanish that her neck was beautiful. After her fourth cerveza, he held out his hand to her and pulled her on her feet. In moments they were walking out the door and down the street.
Their conversation was light as they walked. His hand cupped her elbow, gently directing her travel. It was barely five minutes when she saw the open doors of Estetica D'Diaz. Lalo must have felt her stiffen, as his grip on her elbow tightened. Directing her through the door, he whispered in Spanish-change is good. The shop and the chair were empty, so Lalo led her right to it-helping her sit.
The shop was even more Spartan inside than it appeared from the safe view of her truck. From the mounds of hair on the floor, a woman somewhere in San Gabriel was now sporting a much lighter head of hair than she had when she woke up. When her gaze finally drifted to the mirror, Senor Diaz was behind her, as was Lalo. Diaz combed her hair gently, arranging it around her shoulders. It glowed like hot coals just waiting to toast a perfect marshmallow. She heard `cabello corte' and knew that she was getting a haircut. She hear `muy'..then `mas'..and realized it would be very short.
Diaz took two more strokes of the comb through a single lock at the top of her head. He held it out full length and watched for Annie to see the length in the mirror. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror, he positioned the scissors barely two inches from her scalp. The sound as the scissors closed was deafening to Annie, but she never blinked. Diaz held the severed lock aloft for a few seconds, before releasing it on her caped shoulder to slide uselessly into her lap. Her thoughts flashed to the maid in her fantasy and she wondered how he could possibly know. Annie watched every lock meet the fated scissors until Diaz pushed her head forward so that he could cut off the remaining length at the back of her head.
Annie looked in the mirror and saw a cropped stranger looking back at her-one with high cheekbones and flashing brown eyes. Had she always had that light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, or had those been brought out by the Mexican sunshine? Lalo's reflection appeared in the mirror, gently smiling at her. In hushed Spanish he said to Diaz, cut it shorter. He never asked Annie-but instead reached for the clippers. The hum seemed at once threatening and soothing as the comb pulled up the already short tufts of hair, releasing another inch to the cape. Around the ears, Diaz put the comb away, using the bare bladed clipper to edge the hairline. Annie closed her eyes at the sensation of the clippers, the vibrations causing a physical reaction deep in her core. When she opened her eyes, she again saw Lalo. He ruffled her crop and smiled. Still shorter, he told Diaz. Perhaps next time was Diaz's response.
Diaz removed the cape, sending Annie's locks to join the little black mountains on the floor. Lalo paid and, gently grasping Annie's elbow, he asked if she'd like another cerveza. She looked back at the floor of Estetica D'Diaz. The contrast was indeed amazing.red locks against black. Yes, she said, a cerveza sounds wonderful-and so does breakfast in bed.
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