Piekje
You may have read one of my previous stories about my visits to Lizzie. Those were mostly products of my imagination. However, one part is true. I confessed my fantasy of cutting my hair to her, and she responded with, ‘We can do that, sounds like a great role-play and a lot of fun.’ But when it came to carrying out my fantasy, she kept a professional distance. According to her, building up the tension couldn’t hurt. Maybe it was for the best. Since then, I had a few more encounters with her.
Yesterday, I heard someone on TV say that people who face death almost all say, ‘I should have…’ Regretting things they didn’t do. I had been thinking about turning my fantasy into a card game for a while. A game I could play with her. After a few hours of effort, I prepared a quartet card game for the printer, with 13 sets of four cards each in the same theme. For example: ‘I’m already enjoying it, boy,’ ‘Love is in the hair,’ ‘A little more, okay?’ and more exciting things with a good dose of humor.
I scheduled a new, longer appointment with Lizzie. Two weeks later. As expected, I was greeted warmly, and we soon found ourselves kissing on the edge of the bed.
I started with, ‘Do you want to play or fool around? I have a fun game…’
‘You’re making me curious,’ she said. I opened the box with the quartet game and showed her the first card from the set – ‘I’m already enjoying it, boy.’ – with a photo of a blonde woman with an enchanting smile just like hers and the text: ‘You know I’m not a hairdresser, right?’
She burst out laughing at the sight of the card and dumped the box on the bed. ‘Wow, you went all out. So, you want to play quartet?’
‘Yes, for about fifteen minutes. Whoever has the lead at the end wins. I think we should agree on a prize for the winner. What do you want if you win?’
‘If I win?… Then… I’ll pick a leftover card from the pile, and we’ll do whatever’s closest to it. Do you dare?’
Oops, that was quite thrilling. But I agreed.
‘And you, if you win?’
‘I have something in mind, but if you think it’s too far, you can suggest an alternative.’
‘Okay, tell me.’
‘If I win, you’ll take me to a nice hairdresser of your choice, and you can decide how my hair will be cut. Of course, I’ll pay you for your time.’
‘Be careful what you wish for, boy. I know exactly who. Maybe I’ll let you win on purpose… Just kidding, I’ll play fair.’
We started the card game. After much laughter, the stopwatch on my phone went off fifteen minutes later. I had managed to lay down the most complete quartets and had the fewest cards in my hand. In other words, I had won this time.
‘Damn, I lost. But a deal is a deal unless you want to exchange your prize for something else?’
‘No, but if you’d rather…’
‘Okay, we have a deal. The salon I have in mind is usually busy, and the hairdresser I know there doesn’t work every day. So, let’s meet two weeks from Wednesday?’
‘Fine,’ I replied quickly, not realizing the slippery slope I was on.
‘Good, I’ll see you that day at 2:00 PM at the main entrance of Tilburg station. Keep in mind that it might take up to two hours…’
‘I’ll be there.’
The following weeks were nerve-wracking. I couldn’t eat, regularly dropped dishes – broken pieces hopefully bring luck – and my nights were restless. She probably won’t show up, I thought.
Wednesday morning, two weeks later, I woke up at first light. I tried to eat a sandwich and, yep, spilled a carton of Coolbest on my pants. Everything was sticky. So, another shower and change of clothes. Nerves! At 10:30, I got on my bike to catch the train to Tilburg. I arrived way too early. I paced in front of the station. Meanwhile, I looked down the street, where cars and bicycles were passing. It felt like everyone knew about my appointment. Almost all the passersby looked me straight in the eye and smiled.
The minutes ticked by. Almost 2:00 PM. No sign of Lizzie. Suddenly, a taxi stopped about fifty meters away. The driver got out and opened the rear door. At first, I couldn’t see who or what was getting out. A woman in a summer dress, she looked like Lizzie…
She walked towards me slowly, as if walking on a catwalk. The thin dress she wore seemed straight out of a French erotic film from the ’70s with Sylvia Kristel.
‘You thought I wouldn’t come, didn’t you? When I make an appointment, I keep it, and I expect you to do the same,’ she said, running her hand over my hair. Lifting it slightly.
I replied, ‘I hoped you’d come, and of course, I’ll keep my promise too.’
‘Good. So, should I take you to the hairdresser, or would you rather grab a coffee with me first?’
I said, ‘I’m sure we’ll get a coffee at the hairdresser’s, don’t you think?’
‘It’s not far. Shall we go?’ We walked for about five minutes and stood in front of a salon called Everyhair.
I opened the door of the salon and let Lizzie go in first. From inside, we heard several ‘good afternoons,’ and hairdressers and customers looked our way. Marleen approached us. ‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asked Lizzie from behind the counter, glancing at the appointment book.
‘No, not me, but my boyfriend does. At a quarter past two with you, Marleen.’
‘Okay… with me then, and you’ll wait with a coffee?’
‘Yes, that too,’ Lizzie replied, ‘but I actually came along to make sure he finally gets a good haircut, and I get to say how it should be done.’
Marleen looked me straight in the eyes and asked, ‘Is that so?’ I nodded, ‘Yes, she gets to decide today.’
‘Alright, that’s clear then, I know who to listen to. I hope you won’t regret it.’ Marleen and Lizzie exchanged a laugh.
‘Follow me,’ Marleen led us to an empty barber chair at the back of the salon. The chair was flanked by a bench. ‘Take a seat, coffee?’
‘How are we cutting it?’ Lizzie got up from the bench, stood next to Marleen, and said, ‘Anything is better than this,’ while she ran her hand through my hair one last time. ‘Definitely cut a good chunk off. Ears exposed, and do something about those long bangs in front.’
‘How much should come off… like this?’ Marleen asked, holding up a strand of hair about six centimeters from my head.
‘At least that,’ Lizzie replied, ‘maybe even a bit more.’
‘I’ll make it look good,’ Marleen said. ‘I’ll cut it dry; we’ll wash it later.’ Lizzie sat back down on the bench, legs crossed, elbow resting on her knee, hand under her chin, really settling in, as if in a front-row seat.
Marleen put a cape around me, and before I knew it, the first locks were falling. In the mirror, I saw her working diligently, and I could see Lizzie clearly enjoying it. Even without a mirror, I could tell a lot was being cut off; the crunching sound of the scissors cutting through thick strands was loud, and I could feel the hair falling, especially around my ears, which were still covered in hair. Marleen carefully cut around my ear in an arch, with centimeters falling away, leaving a slight draft and a cold, bare feeling around my ears. The same fate awaited the long hair on my neck. A sea of hair lay on the cape.
Wow, this is quite a haircut.
She put down the scissors, brushed the loose hairs from my head, and shook the cut hair from the cape. ‘There, that’s quite an improvement, isn’t it?’ She looked at Lizzie, trying to gauge her reaction. ‘You’re on the right track,’ Lizzie said, ‘but I still think it’s way too long; I’d like you to cut it much shorter, much, much shorter.’
Marleen looked at me and said, ‘She still gets to decide?’ I said, ‘Yes, that’s the agreement.’
‘May I suggest something?’ Marleen asked. ‘What if I cut the back and sides short and leave the top just a bit longer?’
‘Do you mean like this?’ Lizzie asked, holding up a page from a style book.
Marleen looked at the picture. ‘That’s even a step further. The back and above the ears are shaved down to just a few millimeters. Bold choice. Are you up for that?’
‘I dare anything,’ Lizzie laughed, ‘and I got to decide. Ask him.’
Marleen looked at me through the mirror. With my mouth wide, my lips pressed tightly together, I nodded yes.
Marleen grabbed a spray bottle and dampened my hair. Then she divided my hair into sections, separated by neatly combed lines, secured with clips where necessary.
“Here we go then, lean forward a bit.” With her left hand, she pushed my head down so my chin touched my chest, and with her right hand, she ran the clippers from my neck up to my crown. The sound was thrilling. I felt a cold trail being left behind, like someone was painting a stripe of cold gel on the back of my head. She repeated the motion until all my hair was reduced to just a few millimeters.
I was silent, very silent. Lizzie was too. In the mirror, I saw her watching the scene with her hand over her mouth in surprise. “How are you doing?” Marleen asked. I said, “I’m fine.” She continued with the clippers, shaving the sides up to where my head curved. When she finished, she set the clippers to the lowest setting and went for my sideburns. Completely. The cape, which had been cleared of loose hair just minutes before, was now covered again.
Lizzie got up and pointed at a photo in a style book. Marleen looked and listened attentively. “Maybe that’s trendy, keeping it long on top… but I find really short layers and cutting the bangs completely off much more masculine.”
Marleen grabbed the scissors and started lifting my hair from the back, her fingers pressing firmly against my head and the scissors on the other side of her fingers. She cut from back to front, reducing my hair to just a centimeter with a few blunt cuts. My long bangs, which I’d grown for so long, were ruthlessly chopped off. Maybe even shorter than a centimeter, because it seemed like the cutting on top of my head wouldn’t end.
Then I thought it was over. But no. Marleen began cutting in a disorganized horizontal fashion with quick, small movements. I saw tiny hairs floating down in front of my eyes. It went on so long that I wondered if there was anything left to cut.
“Well, young man, a bold haircut at your girlfriend’s request.” Marleen brushed off the hairs and, like a matador, whipped off the cape.
I looked in the mirror and said, “I’ve never had it this short. Wow, any shorter and I’d be bald.”
How foolish of me—that was an easy opportunity. Marleen anticipated what was coming and put the cape on me for the third time.
“That’s a good point,” Lizzie said. “I find men with a bald head very sexy. If this is the shortest you’ve ever had it, then you’ve never been bald?” I said, “No, I, uh, never dared.”
“A real man tries it at least once in his life. Seize your chance, or do I still have to decide for you…?” There was a brief moment of silence: “Marleen, take it all off!”
Marleen checked the clippers at the lowest setting and didn’t hesitate to follow the instructions. Even though my hair was super short now, the clippers still took off quite a bit.
Once the clippers fell silent, she took me to the wash area. With her slender hand, she rinsed every last hair down the drain. “Done,” she said. She dried my head with a warm towel.
She walked towards the counter. Lizzie got up and followed us silently. Marleen said, “It actually suits you. I’m curious if you’ll bring your girlfriend along next time. That’ll be €49.50.” Lizzie put 100 euros on the counter, “That’s fine, it was worth double.”
“Thank you. Gosh, if I even try to cut my boyfriend’s hair, he screams bloody murder. Let alone give me free rein.”
Lizzie, getting into the spirit, said, “Come by with your boyfriend next week. We’ll switch roles. We’ll be done with your boyfriend in no time…” Our coats were handed to us, and we said goodbye. Wow, it felt cold outside, even in the middle of summer. Lizzie waved down a taxi, and I handed her the envelope as agreed. I didn’t know what to say anymore. Just as Lizzie was about to get into the taxi, I saw Marleen running towards us. “Lizzie, I’ll call you next week…” With a satisfied look, Lizzie stepped into the taxi and waved briefly to me and Marleen. What an afternoon it had been.
