Behind the Chair: A Hairstylist’s Chronicle of Salon Life

Once a week, I will post excerpts from a new book of short fiction stories loosely based on salon life that will soon be published.

Behind the Chair: A Hairstylist’s Chronicle of Salon Life

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“So what can I do you for today?” The words flowed smoothly from my beaming face, but my innards were in knots; no one had ever made my knees quake before. Sam’s eyes twinkled and his baby blues stared into my golden browns. With the most glorious pearly white smile, he simply stated, “I need a trim”.

Now, at this time, I would normally ask the client how they wore their hair, how much they wanted off, how often do they get haircuts, etc., etc. But Sam wasn’t an ordinary client and I knew his hair as I had known my own. I ogled him from the tiny bar’s dance floor and studied every inch of his square jaw, high cheekbones, full mouth and zipper hairstyle, so popular in the 80’s, even with the blondes. I watched as he would spin his vinyl with such intense focus at the local watering hole where we met. Sam would rest the headphones between his shoulder and ear as one hand manipulated the record and the other mixed the music. His magical tongue would slightly extend from his lips and glide back and forth, dampening the area until the next song was on.

“Ok, follow me” and I escorted Sam to the shampoo chair and wrapped a towel around his neck. I gently tucked the cloth under his collar and caught a hint of his signature scent, Drakkar Noir, popular among 20-somethings of the “Me Era”. As my fingers caressed his neck, I could feel his fine hair prickle. I reached one arm across his chest to lean him back into the sink and rested his head in the groove. I held the nozzle in my left hand as I adjusted the water temperature with my right. The water poured over Sam’s warm head as I helped it through his hair with my left, making sure his entire head was drenched. Heat resonated from his scalp, which only led me to believe he was as much in the moment as I was. When Sam’s hair was dripping, I turned off the water and methodically pumped several squirts of shampoo into my hand. The liquid was cold and I didn’t want to shock his system, that would be reserved later in life for revenge after arguments and fights, so I rubbed my palms together to warm the cleanser and massaged Sam’s scalp from his temples to his nape with circular movements and light pressure. Slowly and deliberately my hands moved with strong determine and I could feel his body relax and tense at the same time. Following the same manipulative dampening procedure, I rinsed the shampoo from his hair, using the tips of my fingers to tantalize his scalp as the suds washed away. The look of pleasure on his face was immeasurably satisfying and I knew this man was all mine; love at first wash.