Cheapskate in Love (17 page)

“No. The same.” He had an aversion to the word “new,”
because it rarely ever
meant
“free.”

She raised a patch of his hair with the comb and cut off
more than an inch. Bill saw what she did and was startled, which pleased her.
She had his attention at last.

“If you don’t like it, we’ll just shave your head. You won’t
need a dye job then.”

Bill didn’t resist, because at that moment Donna walked
behind them, and he gazed after her, sinking into a pleasant reverie again. His
eyes became glassy, as he frolicked in his thoughts with Donna—he, a
horny satyr, and she, a willing beauty with a distaste for clothes, both of
them acting like characters painted by Rubens, suddenly come to riotous life.
Catherine contemplated giving him a military cut in revenge, but she didn’t.
She gave him a shorter style than he usually wore. It made him look a little
younger and a lot more fashionable. When she had finished cutting his hair, he
asked if Donna was coming to him now.

“You could say thanks to me first,” she replied.

“Thanks. Can you get Donna now?”

“Sure, I’ll go see if your date is ready,” she said
sarcastically. “I’ll tell her that you can’t wait to see her. I’m sure she’s
been thinking about you this entire time.”

Bill did not comprehend her derision of him. In fact, he
hardly listened to what she said, but there seemed to be some truth in what he
heard, or so he thought. Since he had been contemplating Donna non-stop, why
shouldn’t she be equally absorbed in him? Satisfied with his reasoning, he sat
in positive expectation, waiting for her arrival.

Like a zookeeper, who has to feed bears and lions, Donna
came, reluctant to get too close to him. While she worked on his hair,
lightening and
redyeing
it to give it a natural,
attractive, even color, she was aware that he was ogling her. He watched her,
as if she was a lap dancer, performing a private show for him. His eyes roved
all over her figure, lingering here and there, fondling her. Although with
strange men she was not an avid conversationalist by nature and preferred to
let them initiate whatever dialogue took place, with Bill she thought she had
to start talking, lest he think that her silence implied some sort of consent.
In her experience, men seemed to become less mature, less humble, and less
socially restrained the older they grew, and they needed to be checked to
prevent harassment. The more advanced in years some men became, she had
discovered before, the more they desired what they didn’t deserve.

“Have you known Helen long?” she asked him.

“Helen?” he repeated quizzically. He had to pause to
remember who Helen was. His mind was completely occupied with another woman,
the woman who had become everything to him in the past hour. “Oh, yeah. Helen.
I’ve known her about ten years. She goes to the same church. Her husband was a
buddy of mine. We used to all go out dancing before he died suddenly about two
years ago, I think. He was a good guy.”

“That was a shame,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Why was she asking about Helen, he
wondered. He wanted to talk about the only woman that mattered to him. If he
didn’t feel so bashful around Donna, he would be chatting with her as he had
with Tanya on the train, but Donna’s gorgeous, curvaceous body and confident
sensuality overpowered his ordinary social skills. Her presence was a potent
aphrodisiac that left him like so many helpless hairs in her hands. She could
do whatever she pleased with him.

“She’s a wonderful, sweet lady.”

“A little old,” he noted.

“Would you believe I’m only a year younger?” Actually, Donna
was only six months younger than Helen.

“Can’t be,” Bill denied with his eyes bulging from his head,
looking at her more closely.

“I have four grown children, all living on their own.”

He was still looking at her carefully, as if he suspected
that a precious diamond might in reality be a chunk of glass. He concluded that
the item was genuine. “You look at least fifteen years younger than her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You could be in your thirties. You look like Sophia Loren,
with curves in places where other women don’t even have places.”

“In this business, I have to take care of myself.
Appearances matter here.”

“You’re definitely a success. A big success.” Bill addressed
his compliment to her breasts, which were the biggest achievements he saw.
Although his flattery was crude and only for her physical appearance, Donna
received it complacently. She was proud of how well she looked for her age,
especially in comparison with other women. She also felt that any man who could
say such things was less likely to paw her like an animal. A barking dog seldom
bites, she believed. Donna began to relax and tell him more about
herself
.

She told him she was divorced, while she was giving him a
facial. “I was married, but now I’m not,” she stated without emotion, as if she
was talking about someone else.

The one forbidding suspicion Bill had held about her was
that she was married. He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger. Yet he had assumed
that her occupation made wearing rings impractical. His fear that she was
already tied to someone had made him think she was beyond his greedy
reach—at least for the moment—despite how saturated his sensibility
had become with her. Her announcement was a shock. His mouth gaped open in
surprise, just as she was spreading a mud masque over his face. Consequently,
she accidentally pushed some between his lips, which caused him to jerk upright
and spit it out repeatedly into his cupped hands.

“I’m sorry. Sorry,” she cried, quickly getting towels for
him to use instead of his hands. “What did you open your mouth for?”

Catherine, who was passing by then, noted wryly, “A dirty
mouth goes with a dirty mind.”

Bill glared at her. But Donna had to press a towel against
the lower part of her face to muffle her laughs.

To compensate him for his muddy mouth, although it was not
her fault, Donna added a complimentary massage to his salon visit. While he sat
in the massage chair, he thought he was in heaven. Her angelic hands caressed
and kindled his body, stoking the fire of love, and he didn’t have to pay a
dime.

“I’m so glad I came in today,” he sighed through the hole of
the chair’s headrest.

“The mud didn’t taste that bad?”

“I can’t complain. I got this free massage.”

“You have some big knots in your neck,” she pointed out, as
she worked in that area.

“Gifts from China,” he said.

“What?” She didn’t understand.

“I had a Chinese girlfriend, a doctor. She’s highly skilled
at inflicting pain and stress.”

“She’s a doctor? Sounds like she’s in the wrong profession.”

“She likes sticking needles in people. She thinks those tiny
needles do something.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I wouldn’t let her stick her needles in me. We just argued.
That was enough of her medicine for me. She’s crazy.”

“I’ve never tried acupuncture.”

“Don’t. It doesn’t work. I don’t know why she has so many
patients. Her prices are higher than a regular doctor’s.”

“Maybe her patients are mostly Asian.”

“Maybe. You’re so different from her. So caring, so
compassionate.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can tell. You’re very perceptive.
A
deep feeler.
Just like me.” Bill wasn’t babbling his usual lover’s mush.
He actually thought what he said was true.

“Flattery doesn’t work on me. I’m too old to blush.”

“Nonsense. You don’t look a day over forty.”

“Please. You’re going to give me a fat head.” Her head was
rather oversized already.

“I’m serious. And you know what? I want to see you again.”

“Should we make an appointment in six weeks?” she asked,
hoping and pretending that he was only interested in having his hair trimmed
and his roots touched up.

“No,” he snapped, thinking immediately of the cost of
another salon visit. “Uh, yes, I mean, of course,” he added quickly, so he
wouldn’t eliminate any opportunity for seeing her again. “I mean
,
would you like to go out for dinner?”

The moment had come, which she had been dreading. Unconsciously,
she pressed her fingers deep into his neck muscles and squeezed extra hard.

“
Owwwww
,” he moaned in pain.

“I don’t know,” she said. What she meant was: I don’t think
so.

Nuances of speech, however, were lost on Bill. He urged her
excitedly, “Say yes. I’ll pay.” He considered payment of the bill the greatest
inducement he could offer any woman to go out with him. Most people were
essentially cheapskates, he thought, similar to himself.

Because she was unwilling to refuse him outright, Donna
suggested something that would be less awkward for her and would, hopefully,
discourage his further interest in her. It was also something that she wanted
to do. “Maybe, you know, instead of dinner...”

“Whatever you want.”

“How would you like to go to a party that some of my friends
are holding next weekend?”

Bill was delighted. “I’d love to. Your friends will be my
friends.”

“It’s just a simple get together at someone’s house.
Nothing special, really.
A barbecue. Maybe there’ll be some
dancing. The house is in the Hamptons, but everyone will be dressed casually.”

Lifting his head from the headrest, Bill turned to face
Donna. He was glowing, more from joy and anticipation than from the massage.
“We’re going to have a great time.”

She smiled faintly at him, less sure than him of what might
happen.

Her invitation altered him. He was thrilled at the prospect
of accompanying her to the barbecue. He looked like a different man and behaved
like one, too. His exuberant spirits lasted through the most difficult part of
his visit to the salon: Discharging the tab. Contrary to his usual self, he
didn’t request an itemized bill or notice that a twenty-percent tip had been
automatically included. Happily, he handed his credit card to Donna and signed
the receipt without even glancing at the total. His head was in the clouds.
“I’m so glad I came today. I have so much to look forward to. I look so much
better,” he said to Donna.

Catherine had just walked up and stood near Donna at the
corner of the front desk. “You can say that again. When you walked in here, you
were a fashion disaster.” He ignored her and her comment.

“My hair color looks great,” he told Donna.

“What about the haircut?” Catherine asked.

“It’s all right,” he said, shrugging his shoulders a little.

“Thanks,” Catherine replied acidly.

Donna handed Bill one of her business cards, on which she
had written her home phone number. “My
number’s
on the
back. If you change your mind about next weekend, give me a call. I can find
someone else to go with.”

“I’m going. I’m definitely going,” he assured her. “I’ll
call you to work out the details.”

“You can show off your new haircut,” Catherine told him. He
looked at her as if she were a talking parrot, whom he wished a cat would
catch.

He eagerly and warmly shook Donna’s hand. “This has been my
lucky day. I’m so glad I met you. I can’t wait to see you next weekend.” Donna
murmured a standard business salutation in reply, which he didn’t hear,
engrossed as he was in his giddy feelings. As he turned to leave, Catherine
stepped into his way and extended her hand. He paused, wondering if he could
walk around her without any more verbal or physical interaction. He decided
that it was best to err on the side of politeness and briefly shook her hand.

“It was our pleasure,” she announced in her best
professional manner. “Please come again.”

“Sure,” he said, not wishing to see her any time soon. He
walked toward the door and looked back at Donna. “See you soon, Donna,” he said
cheerily.

While waving goodbye to Donna, he walked into a tall, large
customer entering the salon, who yelled, “Watch it,” and pushed him out of her
way. He apologized to her and made it out of the salon, with a final backward
glance, smile, and wave at Donna.

Donna and Catherine remained standing at the front desk,
while Bill disappeared from sight. Another stylist had come forward to meet and
take away the new customer, who was a regular client.

“Oh, dear,” Donna sighed to Catherine.

“You hooked another one,” Catherine said.

“I’m afraid so,” Donna replied.

“A real rare Romeo.
A one-of-a-kind kind
of nut.
A lot of the men chasing you are immature and insensitive, but
this one has a unique, special quality that’s hard to describe. He seems
slightly more intelligent than the rest, but the least mature. And he has a
quaint, old-fashioned aura. He brings something new to your collection of men.”