Down Memory Lane, Part 3 – Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

This story serves as a sequel to Down Memory Lane, Part 2 – Daydream Believer and it can be enjoyed independently without the need to read the original story.

Frank Lane, the barber, had bounced back from his mundane existence with the reappearance in his life of Marie, an old friend from way back. Despite now focusing on traditional barbering for male customers, he had cut Marie’s hair in a style that resembled a famous young singer. Marie had promoted Frank’s undoubted skills to a young female audience through social media, and his modest barbershop unexpectedly received an invasion of delightful new customers…

The Place Where #Daisycut Was Born!

That is what the headlines shouted in the local newspaper a couple of days later.

It was completely inaccurate, of course, and I was sure Daisy Dreamer would have had something to say about it. As far as we could tell, no journalist had interviewed anyone for the article, and they had not sent a photographer along. They had gleaned all the information from “socials” and regurgitated it with a questionable veracity.

Marie shrugged. ‘Well, it is publicity, and, after all, there is only one thing in life worse than being talked about…’

‘And that’s not being talked about,’ I said, completing the Oscar Wilde quote with a fair degree of accuracy.

Marie shared a moment as we recalled the times when we all laughed in the salon as we quoted from amusing literature. ‘And thus spoke Monty Python,’ she corrected, with both of us knowing what we meant by our words, even if modern youth would not understand anything of the borrowed text.

‘Well, things have moved on since the newspaper printed that. A real journalist has invited himself along to interview us this morning, as they have become aware of the charity aspect of what we are doing. Specifically, they have heard of the women donating their ponytails to a hair loss charity and us giving free restyles as a reward.’

The interview went well, and with Hannah popping in, she had a forum to explain that neither she nor Daisy Dreamer had cut their hair simply for fashion or even charity. Their message sounded clear, direct from her lips, and the journalist lapped it up. I got the gist of it, and I vowed to work hard on my understanding as I slowly clambered back into the real world. They took photos, and my smile, my gleaming head, and another new bright shirt courtesy of Marie, all got another workout.

And, within hours, I was trending!

Relaunch

The changes in the shop initially confused my regular clientele. Indeed, there were those who vowed never to return. But it did not take long for the older clients and the bright young things to find common ground and get along together.

The DaisyCut still ruled supreme, and I felt that it would do so for a while. However, at indeterminate point in the future, young adopters would be begging for options on how to grow it out into something else fashionable. And so, on Sunday afternoons, Marie and I would study fashion magazines and websites to pre-empt transition styles… just as I once had with my wife.

Not every convert was as steadfast in their resolve as Hannah. She visited at least every two weeks to maintain the severity of her bowlcut, often quoting another snippet of idealism from Daisy Dreamer. However, those students with less strongly held views about the purpose of their haircut began wanting to ring the changes with their style. So, I adapted, creating softer variants. I added fades with patterns, a new skill I taught myself – one that was not prevalent in the Eighties – that served to keep me challenged. My interest in colouring hair was revitalised, although not just using a toner to hide the grey, but bold streaks and highlights. I liked to think I was not just cutting hair but, rather, that I was helping people reinvent themselves… just like in the old days.

While I kept busy every day, Marie came when she could, usually when she did not have a shift at the charity shop. She sat in the corner, sipping tea, offering opinions that I valued. Her presence reminded me that she had Debbie’s eye for creativity that complemented my technical skills.

We forgot our planned meeting at The Hub, as I did not have the time. Interacting with all the young people was incredibly enjoyable, and even my familiar clientele appreciated my improved demeanour. More than once as I had queued for coffee, I had heard favourable remarks concerning the former “Mister Grumpy”. Things had changed, all for the better.

Sometimes, I would catch myself glancing at Marie, wondering how I had gone forty years without noticing how bright she shone. ‘How did I not see you before?’ I asked her once as we enjoyed a meal together.

‘You did,’ she said levelly, the smile not leaving her face. ‘But you were just too in love with Debbie to even think about looking anywhere else.’

It was true. There was nothing I could add, but I did not forget what Marie said.

Stars Shine

Over the next couple of weeks, I had settled into a sort of routine. Then, just after I had opened one Thursday morning, a woman walked in that I had never seen before. Incredibly confident, remarkably attractive, and sporting a perfect #DaisyCut. It was an immaculate and precise rendition of the style, although it was not me who had cut it for her. She was a serious runner, dressed in expensive designer gear and trainers, but for the purpose of staying fit and not just vanity. A transient businesswoman staying locally, I surmised.

‘Hi, I need a trim,’ she said breezily. ‘The height of the perimeter needs raising a little, and I would like the back and sides shaved down to the bone. It will give the style a bit more edge for this evening.’

‘Certainly, miss,’ I said, gesturing to my chair as she scrolled through her phone. ‘And no variations? Patterns, colours, or the outline a little softer?’

She looked up from her phone with a wry grin. ‘No, not this time, thanks,’ she acknowledged as I draped the cape over her.

‘So, going somewhere nice this evening?’ I questioned, surprised by my renewed ability to engage in a conversation with women, and even ask appropriate questions.

‘Yes, I am actually, but just in town,’ she smiled, putting her phone away as I took my special scissors from their padded drawer.

As I trimmed the outline of her bowlcut by a miniscule amount, she said she travelled around with work, but she had a particular fondness for our area. She asked me questions about the shop and how long I had worked there, and I found I could happily talk about the early days without choking up when mentioning Debbie.

As always, the raucous sound of the hairclippers stifled conversation. However, she was fascinated by the foil shaver, as she said she had never seen one used, telling me that her regular stylist simply relied on the finest setting of the hairclippers. I explained that the shaver gives an even smoother and more even finish. With that, she pulled out a hand from under the cape and lightly touched her nape with her fingers. She agreed with my claim, radiating her smile and producing a little squeal of delight.

As I applied the finishing touches, I saw Marie sailing past my window and then pushing open the door. My heart skipped a beat. I was longing to tell her about the delightful and well-travelled young lady in the chair, even if I was a little disappointed that my time with her was ending.

As the bell dinged above the door, the client turned her head to see the source of the sound. ‘How quaint,’ she giggled. ‘I could use that.’

‘No, it is my bell,’ I wanted to say, but she interrupted my selfish thoughts by dragging out her phone and tapping the screen. ‘I’ll record it on my way out,’ she decided.

Not understanding her fascination with my ding-a-ling, I simply shrugged and smiled good-naturedly. My gaze shifted to Marie, who appeared frozen in the doorway, gawping at us, wide-eyed, as if she had seen something untoward behind me. I looked around to verify that there was nothing out of place, and I even checked that I had remembered to do up my flies!

‘This is Marie,’ I said by way of introduction to bring my friend out of her trance. ‘She’s my partner… er, business partner,’ I quickly corrected. ‘Yes, business partner.’

‘Yes, I know all about Marie,’ the young woman said. ‘And you too, Frank,’ she added, looking up at me.

‘You do?’ I blinked in confusion. I saw that Marie had become a little more animated, trying to mouth something to me and jabbing a finger covertly in my direction. It took me a short while, but I eventually got it. ‘Yes, I trimmed the young lady’s DaisyCut,’ I said patiently, having eventually deciphered the word she kept repeating. ‘She did not have it cut here originally,’ I droned on, ‘but she asked if I could sharpen it up for her, as she has a special occasion this evening.’

As I attempted to soothe Marie, I heard my customer sniggering behind her palm, trying to muffle the sound. A little rude of her, I thought to myself, and I wondered if I had misjudged the bright young thing.

‘No,’ Marie eventually croaked. I shook my head in confusion, and I decided to see my client on her way, then spend time sorting out what was wrong with Marie. ‘No,’ my friend said with more conviction. ‘This is Daisy… Daisy Dreamer. That was what I was trying to tell you.’

I looked down at the young lady. Then I studied her reflection in the mirror, before looking down again, staring into her twinkling mischievous eyes. I did a comical step backwards as if I had burnt myself. Both women giggled as my jaw dropped open.

‘Sorry, Frank, I should have said, but sometimes it is just nice to be treated normally,’ Daisy apologised. ‘I have a gig in town tonight, and, given how you have promoted me and gone viral yourself, I wanted to avail myself of your skills and meet you both in person.’

She stood and extended her hand. I took it. ‘Hello, er… Miss, er, Dreamer,’ I stuttered.

‘Just Daisy is fine, Frank,’ she invited, as she moved to Marie, who gave a little curtsey as they shook. ‘I have been following your socials, and I have really been impressed with the charity contributions by you two and the girls whose hair you have cut. It really contributes to my whole campaign and the very essence of my message.’

She had stunned me, but I chose not to be so humble in my reply. ‘I am pleased –’

‘But since you did not cut enough of my hair to donate to the hair loss charity, I have just pinged some cash over to them,’ she generously announced.

‘That’s kind, Daisy,’ I acknowledged, ‘but since you did not donate any hair, then I will, of course, need to charge you for the haircut rather than offer it for free.’

Daisy looked surprised by my pompous request but nodded her agreement, bringing up the relevant app on her phone. In contrast, Marie stared at me aghast.

‘Alternatively, Daisy,’ I looked at her, then at Marie, and I winked, ‘you could simply honour us by joining us in a selfie!’

The amusement on both their faces was obvious, and the relief on Marie’s face was palpable.

I took selfies, Marie added hashtags, and Daisy updated socials. The “Likes” on the post soared almost immediately.

Daisy recorded the bell above the door with Marie’s assistance, saying her soundman would incorporate it into a rhythm track for one of her songs, with full credit given to The Lanes Barbershop.

‘And if you are not doing anything this evening, there will be two VIP tickets on the door for my gig tonight for the lovely couple.’

‘Thanks,’ we chorused. ‘Oh, but we’re not a –’

She jogged out of the shop. ‘See ya!’ she called out, interrupting our correction of her assumption regarding our status.

‘See ya!’ We responded together, but she was gone.

Marie and I stared at each other. Our hands touched. It was just the tips at first, then our fingers became intertwined.

‘Well, Frank,’ Marie said. ‘That was something.’

I nodded. ‘Doing anything tonight, Marie?’

The Final Cut

We put the VIP passes around our necks, and security waved us through to our plush seats. The lights dimmed. The crowd roared. And then she appeared.

Daisy Dreamer. Lithe and commanding in a sleek black and sparkly jumpsuit, her freshly trimmed DaisyCut shining under the spotlights and bouncing beautifully as she strode around the stage. As the music began pounding, she whipped up her enthusiastic fans into a frenzy.

Exchanging bemused stares at first, we both allowed the years to fall away and recalled all the gigs we attended at this very same venue. So, what if the whole audience were young enough to be our grandchildren? We whooped, clapped, and tapped with the rhythm, along with everyone else.

Daisy opened with a song called “Shear Power”:

Cut it all off, watch it fall,

No more lying, no brick wall,

I’m not your doll, I’m not your pet,

I’m a gleamer! Daisy Dreamer!

And you ain’t ready for me yet.

The crowd screamed in recognition.

I looked at Marie. She was crying. ‘Debbie would have loved this,’ she whispered. ‘With us… with you…’

I squeezed her hand. ‘And you?’ I asked. ‘Are you loving it?’

Marie turned to me, her eyes shining, and she said it best by saying nothing at all.

As the music pulsed and the lights flashed around us, I leaned in and I kissed her.

When Daisy finished the song, the crowd grew silent, and the lights dimmed. As the instrumental coda faded, it left a harsh metronomic beat echoing loudly around the arena.

Ding- DIng- DINg- DING!

It was hypnotic in its intensity and almost painful in volume, a thousand times louder than Marie and I had ever heard it before. But we recognised it… the amplified sound of the old brass bell above the door of The Lanes!

The beat suddenly stopped, and Daisy was spotlit in the middle of the stage, thrusting an arm skywards.

‘Let’s. Be. More. FRANK!’

Epilogue

Three months later we saw Daisy again. She made a brief appearance at our grand reopening, bringing in the crowds. Ceremonially, she swished away the rainbow-coloured haircutting cape from the sign above our window. She revealed our bright new future, but with its nod to the past:

Debbie + Frank + Marie

DREAMS

UNISEX

Male + Female

And Those In Between

And in that moment, I was not the man who had lost his wife.

I was not the barber who had become invisible.

I was Frank Lane, the precision haircutter, still learning, still growing, and still in love.

The End

A Note from the Author

In addition to sharing my stories on the Hair Story Network, they are also collected on my personal archive with additional exclusive material in The Hair Apparent Stories.

Traditionally, I have relied on my own imagination and that of my readers to visualise my stories. However, on my own site I have experimented with a single AI-generated image to serve as a “book cover” for each story. They provide a pictorial introduction to the characters and scenes portrayed in the text that follows in the story. Although I currently do not plan to illustrate my stories (in the same manner as other authors do increasingly well), I will remain open to what the future may bring!

P.S. For the avoidance of any doubt, all content on my personal archive will remain freely accessible to users of the Hair Story Network.