11. THIS BUSINESS
TYPE:
Any working man who does not have to work too hard to keep his mind on more important matters. An opportunist.
SUBJECT:
A girl of corresponding economic position, preferably a stranger.
APPARATUS:
1 Barber Chair with Accessories.
REMARKS:
The directness of this method calls for a good deal of self-confidence. Delicate or timid personalities should avoid it.
THIS BUSINESS
It is peaceful everywhere in town, but the barber shop is the most peaceful place of all. Two of the boys are working; talking in low tones to their customers; and the third is drowsing in the corner, behind the two-foot square bootblacking establishment. He has long since read all the ancient Libertys and Colliers and newspapers that are lying on the chairs. The air is full of gentle boredom.
Then through the door comes a stranger. She looks about the shop hesitantly; the two men that are sprawled out having haircuts glance at her apathetically through the mirror. Not you, however. You leap to position behind your chair and wave your towel encouragingly, almost lovingly. You feel actually affectionate; it has been a very dull afternoon. She isn’t bad either; clean and pink-looking.
“Yes ma’am,” you murmur, as you tuck the fragrant towel into the collar of her dress. “Shingle?”
“Not too short, please,” she answers. “Just a trim.”
Set to work with a flourish. The barber on the end winks at you, but pretend not to see it. All is quiet for a few minutes except for the snipping of the scissors, and then the coon who belongs to the bootblacking establishment shuffles through the door and puts a record on the Victrola in the corner.
Hum the tune and step lively as you reach for the clippers. Catch the customer’s eye in the mirror and smile. She responds slightly.
“It may be old,” say jovially, “but it’s still good.”
“I always did like it,” she admits.
Bend over and snip critically at a tuft of hair just behind her ear.
“What I say is,” murmur confidingly, “I’d rather have a good old tune if it’s really good than a lot of new junk. It’s funny about songs. I play the clarinet myself. Sometimes you’ll have a lot of swell ones and then a year’ll go by and you won’t have anything worth playing.”
“Yes, that’s true,” says the lady.
“Weren’t you in here about a month back?” Pause with upraised scissors to regard your work in the mirror.
“No,” she says, “I’m new in town. I was through here once when I was a baby, that’s all.”
“That’s funny. I thought sure I cut your hair once before.”
“No, you couldn’t have.”
“Who did cut it last time?”
“I don’t know. A fellow in Dodge City.”
“It looks like a Dodge City haircut. They must learn how to cut hair by correspondence in that town.” Chuckle at the joke. She is annoyed.
“It looked all right to me,” she says promptly.
“Sure,” answer her, “it looks all right. I’m not saying it didn’t look all right. It’s when it gets long the unevenness shows up, but you don’t need to worry. It looks all right now.”
Work industriously for a minute, then step back again to survey the effect. “Do you want it any shorter on the side there?”
“Whatever you think looks best. I guess you know more about how it ought to look.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” you protest.
“Sure you do,” she says.
“You going to stay in town long?” Select a pair of clippers.
“Yes, I’m here for good, I guess. I’ve got a job here.”
“That’s swell,” heartily. “We need new people here. Don’t we, Jim?”
The second barber jumps and looks up. “Eh?” he says.
“I was just telling the little lady we need new people here.”
“Oh, uh, yes. Sure.”
“Yes,” you resume, “it’s a good town, but sometimes you get to wishing there were more people. You know, young people.”
“Yes, I must say it doesn’t look very lively to me,” she says. “Of course I’m used to Dodge City; that’s pretty lively.”
“Well now, I don’t know. You have to make your own excitement, of course. But it ain’t so bad. If you get in with the right kind, of course. A place like this, it’s pretty important what kind you get in with.”
One by one, the other customers leave and their barbers drift outside to loaf in the sun. Tiny grains of powder dance in the beams that slant to the floor of the shop.
“Do you mind the clippers?”
“No, go ahead.”
Work a minute in silence.
“Say,” you begin, “would you mind my asking you a personal question?”
“It depends on what it is.” She lowers her eyes to her lap.
“Are you married?”
She smiles. “You’ve got a nerve. No, I ain’t.”
“That’s good.”
“Why? It’s none of your business, is it?”
“You don’t act very friendly, do you?”
“Well, I don’t believe in acting as friendly as some people do.”
Laugh heartily and start to comb her hair tightly over her forehead.
“You know, you got pretty hair,” you say. She glances at it rather complacently in the mirror, and tips her head. Resume impulsively, “You know, this business is awfully hard on a man of my calibre.”
She is unsympathetic. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering if you were busy tonight.”
She giggles. “Who wants to know?”
“Ah, cut that out!” you cry, flicking the big duster on her neck. “I want to know. Who did you think?”
“I don’t know about tonight,” she muses.
“I’ve got a flivver. There ought to be a dance somewhere. I bet you’re a mighty good little dancer.”
“I’d like to,” she admits, “but I don’t think I’d better.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m just starting out in this place. You know how it is.”
“What’s the harm? A ride and a little drink won’t hurt you. If you like I’ll ask a couple of friends. Listen....”
One of the other barbers comes in again, and you stop abruptly. The haircut is obviously finished. Untuck the towel with lingering fingers and step to the door with her as she fumbles in her purse.
“Fifty cents, ma’am,” you say loudly, and add in a low voice, “Listen. Eight o’clock, see? What address?”
“Four eighty-three Garden. But I don’t know....”
“Oh, who’ll ever know about it? Eight o’clock, O.K. Fifty cents, seventy-five, one dollar. Thank you ma’am.”
“Say Jim, did you see that!”