His first customer wanted a haircut and a shave; the second a facial massage. He was going “on a hot date,” he told Ramon impressively, from under a hot towel, his muffled voice inordinately loud. Two elderly pensioners walked in soon after, each bearing the coffee he would nurse while waiting. Ramon did not know much of these men, who always came together, and sat dour and mute by the door. Perhaps they even lived together; it was not in Ramon’s nature to speculate, but when they muttered to one another, it was possible to detect a note of domestic discord at the heart of a cranky relationship.
“No, you go ahead,” said one of them to a new customer, “We’re still workin’ on our coffees.”
The young man who had been thus addressed smiled shyly and climbed into the chair. He was Tim, a keen but misplaced student of languages who worked in a nearby discount carpet store . He sold remaindered rolls of floor covering by day, but read Cervantes in Spanish at night. Ramon enjoyed his company and his talk, and called him ‘El Profesor.’ “You always make my day,” Tim told him happily.
The day unfolded to a familiar rhythm: a trickle of early customers became a spate by noon. Most were known to Ramon, among them the bluff policeman Gib Fawcett, descendant of the town’s founding father Ephraim Fawcett, the retired realtor Roy Cordell, Jimmy Shapiro the antique dealer, and Garfield Bennett, a retired meter reader. There were others unknown to him, and as one o’clock approached, he hoped Jennie would arrive on time, as clients now filled all six of the seats in the waiting area. Jennie was popular, and worked her magic on the other barber’s chair three afternoons a week to ease the flow, and Ramon had not yet had his lunch.
“I’m not late, am I?” said Jennie brightly as she brought in with her a swirl of dead leaves. “Lemme get outa my coat, an’ I’ll be with you gents in a jiff!” Jennie was Ramon’s opposite: vital, outgoing, given to gossip, and sometimes forgivably flirtatious. She loved her job, and was fond of mothering her boss. “Go eat,” she told him, admonishing him with a pointed finger. “Who’s next?”
As Ramon returned from lunch, he caught the steady stare of a dishevelled man with long salt-and-pepper hair who had been waiting for him. Ramon knew him as a panhandler, often the worse for drink. The man thrust his jaw forward aggressively.
“How much’ll you take off fer a han’ful a change? ‘Cos thass all I got.”
“I take off as much as you want me to take off,” answered Ramon imperturbably.
The man appeared satisfied. He got into the chair, and then confided in a whisper, “Gotta go to a weddin’. Son’s gettin’ hitched. Doin’ it in style. I never did get wed.”
