Cheapskate in Love

chapter 18





All the time that Catherine spent with Bill, washing his hair and giving him a trim, she liberally applied the tonic of her talk, but Donna never left the forefront of his thoughts. He couldn’t stop hallucinating about her.

“You shouldn’t dye your own hair,” Catherine remarked, while he reclined in a chair at a sink, about to have his hair washed. She was running one of her hands through his hair, mussing it up, while holding a hose faucet in the other hand. “The front is way darker than the back. Like a raccoon or a dead cat. And you missed this spot where your hair is thinning, so you look bald when you really aren’t...”

She ran her hand over the crown of his head. “Not yet,” she added.

Bill didn’t hear anything she said. His eyes were closed, and visions of Donna danced in his head. In his delirium, he slightly smiled. Catherine knew what possessed him, and on purpose to dislodge his thoughts, she squirted him in the face with a blast of cold water. She quickly apologized, pretending it was a great mistake, and dried his face, but her tactic failed. His dreams were undisturbed. He didn’t mind if they were wet ones.

The train of happy scenes unraveling in his brain continued when they moved to the cutting floor. With scissors and a comb in her hands, Catherine stood behind Bill, who was seated in a chair. Both faced the mirror ahead, but only Catherine looked into it with concentration. She was trying to visualize the best style for Bill’s hair, while he was imagining Donna in various stages of undressing. Even though Catherine’s reflection was visible in the mirror, he didn’t see her. He only saw Donna.

“How much do you want to take off?” Catherine asked.

“I want you to take it all off,” he said, dreaming of Donna.

“What!” she cried. “Hey, wake up! I’m asking you a question.” She shook him by his shoulder. “How much should I cut off?”

His vision momentarily cleared, and he made out Catherine’s more rectangular outline. “Just a bit,” he said, before the brilliance of Donna flared in his skull again, scattering his senses.

“An inch?” Again she had to jab him and repeat herself.

“Less,” he said, before slipping away to worship his shining icon.

She combed through his hair, raising it up, critically examining the current style. She was hurt by his disinterest in her, but she was a talented professional and wanted to give him the most flattering look she could. After a few moments, she smacked his head with the side of her comb before asking, “How about a new cut?”

“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.”

Donna turned toward Catherine. “I swear I wasn’t trying. I didn’t do anything to lead him on.”

“You’re cursed. If you were plain like me...” Catherine saw Bill return outside and stand in the middle of the window. “Your boy’s back,” she said under her breath.

Donna looked and saw Bill waving at her. She wanly returned his wave.

“If you were like me,” Catherine continued, “men wouldn’t even notice you.”

Bill blew kiss after kiss toward Donna, who received his attention with the same enjoyment and facial expressions that the smell of rotting trash in summer would give her. Catherine came to Donna’s rescue. Leaning in front of Donna, she began blowing kisses madly back to Bill, which quickly prompted him to leave for good without any backward glance.

“I can’t go through with it,” Donna stated. “I can’t go out with him. I can’t. I simply can’t.”

“What are you worried about?” Catherine asked. “Him? He’ll be putty in your hands. You can put a leash on him and have him do whatever you want.”

“I guess you’re right,” Donna replied. Encouraged by Catherine, she put Bill out of her mind for an entire week.