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A man with a lilting Spanish accent answered the phone. “Yes,” he assured Mark, “We can accommodate you this afternoon. Would 2:15 suit you?”
“Yes, thank you. That will be good,” Mark replied.
Mark hadn’t had time to fit in a haircut before leaving his base for the International Maritime Law Conference, as he was working long hours on a court martial case in Montreal. He was glad to be able to use the conference as an excuse to get away, as the heated climate surrounding the case stifled him.
That morning he’d emerged from the shower and confronted his reflection in the mirror. The verdict: he was looking a bit unkempt. In the evening he was due to attend the conference banquet at the Independence Seaport Museum and, as a representative of the RNZN, he felt that he had to look smart. The hotel had neither a barbershop nor a hairdresser’s, so Mark had turned to the concierge for advice on where to get a decent haircut at short notice.
The concierge mentioned several places nearby, but then added, “I go to a place near where I live. Jed the Barber, he’s about eight blocks up from here on Pine Street,” he said, gesturing in the direction opposite from the waterfront. “Here, just a minute,” and he tapped on the keyboard front desk computer and then turned the monitor so Mark could see the screen. There was a website, which showed a photo of a corner shop with big windows and dark blue trim. The concierge printed out the page and handed it to Mark. “Here’s the info. Tell them that Sean gave you the recommendation.”
“Thank you,” said Mark, “I will do that.”
It was cold, but the sun was shining and Mark didn’t mind a brisk walk, in fact it would be good to get some fresh-air exercise after sitting through two lectures that morning. He figured that he would cut out of lunch early and be able to get there in plenty of time.
As soon as the barber greeted Mark it was obvious that he was not the man who had spoken with him on the phone that morning. This man was unmistakably a fellow New Zealander. He motioned Mark towards a seat by the windows, saying, “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll be finished with this gentleman in about five minutes.” The gentleman in the barber chair was a blond man, probably in his early thirties. Mark noted that the customer looked good and was not wearing a carbon copy of Sean’s haircut; that was reassuring. He further noticed that the barber was an extremely attractive man – quite lithe and athletic, with a keen bone structure. He tried not to stare at him.
Mark pulled out his phone to check his email. He found nothing important there, so he looked at the weather forecast; there was a 30% chance of rain for the evening, and the temperatures would be rising slightly going into the weekend. He was watching the weather as he was due to fly out on Monday morning.
Jed and the blond man were talking enthusiastically about people and things they knew. Mark tried to listen, but he found that it made him feel out of his element. He was usually able to enter a strange situation and become part of the group, but this seemed to be such a close, intimate environment that he needed a chance to figure out how to get on board, even though he was just passing through.
The blond man stood up, while Jed dusted him off and helped him into his suit jacket. He examined his reflection in the big mirror in front of the chairs and said, “You’re the only one who can tame my cowlick, Jed,” as he ran his hand over the left side of his head, which looked perfectly civilized, but was evidently a trouble spot by the way he examined the area.
“Ah, it’s my life’s work to discipline the wayward cowlick and give you something to laugh about in the bargain,” Jed retorted.
The customer chuckled and turned to Mark, “Jed means that I couldn’t understand his accent. When I came in I tried to hang up my scarf on the hanger with my coat, but it kept slipping off. So, Jed told me to hang it on the hock. I asked him what that was, and then he said, ‘Hang it on the hawk.’ I was looking around for something that looked like a big bird. Jed had to take the scarf from me and hang it up on the hook over there.”
“And now that this Kiwi gentleman has come into my shop, you’re the one with the queer accent.” Jed teased.
“I am, Jedi, I am!” The blond man exclaimed and then leaned in towards Mark and whispered conspiratorially, “I call him that because he’s got the Force with those scissors.”
Jed’s sudden reference to their both hailing from New Zealand had put Mark more at ease; he didn’t feel quite so awkward and out of place. He smiled at the other man, but couldn’t think of anything to say in response.
Jed took payment from the blond man and produced a receipt. He saw him to the door and wished him a safe and happy trip to wherever he was going for the holidays. After the customer had gone he turned to Mark and remarked, “I may have to discipline him some day. He’s an impertinent one.” Then he paused and appeared to be sizing up Mark.
Jed seemed to be looking at Mark for the first time since he entered the shop. He’d been so preoccupied with the previous customer that he hadn’t noticed that Mark was in uniform. This seemed to impress Jed and he exclaimed, “I’ve neglected you! Here let me take your coat and your jacket. I’m Jed, and you are?”
“Mark Hadlow – the 2:15 appointment. I’m sorry to come in on such short notice, but I’m in town for a conference and realized that I needed a haircut.”
“Very good. What would you like – a trim or complete styling? Do you usually have it scissored or clipped? Do you want a shampoo, as well?”
Mark was a bit flustered, as he hadn’t expected to be asked questions – he’d supposed that he would show up, sit down in the barber’s chair, and the barber would simply commence cutting hair. “I guess I don’t need too much taken off, just some tidying up? And I may not need a shampoo,” he ventured.
Jed put his hand into Mark’s hair and studied it by touch and by sight. “Your hair is clean -- nice head of hair, by the way -- I think a trim is all you need.” He motioned towards one of the barber chairs next to the one that had been occupied by the previous customer. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
When Jed had him seated and comfortable, he shook out a grey and black pinstriped smock and draped it across Mark. “My assistant, Amado, told me that you sounded like an Englishman,” he said.
“Is that who I spoke with on the phone?”
“Yes,” Jed replied, “He went to lunch. As soon as you opened your mouth I knew I had a fellow Kiwi in my shop. Where are you from, sailor?”
“I come from Christchurch, and you?”
“I’m from Wellington, but I’ve moved around a bit before settling here. I think I’ve been to Christchurch more times since I left home than when I lived on the North Island. Guess I didn’t know what I was missing.” Jed paused to see if Mark registered any reaction to that last remark, and then went on, “So, you’re a Navy man – did you always want to be a sailor?”
“Yeah, I sort of grew up with it, living in Christchurch,” Mark mused, “I didn’t really know what I wanted to be,” he paused and gave a little laugh, “No, that’s not true. When I was a kid I wanted to be an actor or a comedian. My parents were none too pleased with that.”
“You wanted to be a comedian? Tell me some of your jokes,” Jed begged.
“Well, the problem is that I’m not really that funny – I’m funny looking. I guess I settled for being an admiralty lawyer because it seemed a bit like acting. I get to write my own script and sometimes I can inject a bit of humor into it.”
“Nonsense,” Jed protested, “You have a nice face.”
“So does the average gorilla,” Mark countered.
“Now, I am not going to listen to that. You are a good-looking man, uniform and all.”
“Right, then,” said Mark, “Well, let’s change the subject slightly – how did you come to own a barbershop in the States?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Jed began, “A mate and I decided that we wanted to visit San Francisco. We thought it would be straight out of ‘Tales of the City,’ but those times were gone by the time we got there. So, we met up with a friend of my friend and then we all decided to drive cross country in his car to NYC.”
“You drove to New York!” Mark exclaimed.
“Yeah, we were all young and stupid. It seemed like a wonderful idea. I went around to the barbers asking if anyone would be interested in hiring me and I got that sorted out so I could get a green card. So, I was in New York for a while, but then I happened to visit here and realized that I liked it. The cost of living isn’t as dear as New York and I thought that I could be myself here, instead of trying to fit in with those sophisticated New Yorkers.”
Jed realized that he was finishing Mark’s haircut and they’d only begun talking about each other. He began to feel wistful that his time with this attractive man was nearing the end and he hadn’t gotten around to finding the answers to his unspoken questions, “Are you interested in me? Are you gay or even open to persuasion?” He couldn’t allow potential date material like Mark to get away without even trying to make some connection. He noticed that Mark was watching him in the mirror as he worked, so he decided to take a chance.
“Say, why don’t you let me give you a proper shave? It would be gratis for a sailor away from home.”
Mark replied politely, “That’s good of you, but I already shaved this morning.”
“With an electric razor, I’ll warrant. I did say a ‘proper’ shave, didn’t I?” Jed ran his hand knowingly over Mark’s jawline, and made it clear that he found the results of Mark’s morning shave not up to his exacting standards.
“Well, it’s more than I deserve, but OK,” Mark acquiesced.
Jed removed the smock, shook it out and replaced it with a fresh one. “So no bits of hair get into the lather,” he explained. Then he got busy, selecting a bar of soap from a compartment in the cabinet by the mirror. He dropped the soap into a ceramic cup, added hot water, and began to whip it up into a creamy lather. While he was doing this, he continued talking with Mark. “Are you here for long?”
“No,” Mark answered, “I fly back on Monday morning.”
“Oh,” Jed said in a low voice, “I didn’t know that. Going back to Christchurch?”
“No, right now I’m based in Montreal. I’ve been called in as additional counsel for a court martial case. I really shouldn’t talk about it.”
“Loose lips sink ships, eh?”
“In this case, the loose lips may sink a career. I really can’t say anymore.”
“I understand,” said Jed.
“Speaking of jokes, does anyone remark about you being close to the hospital?”
“Yeah, all the time,” Jed chuckled, “It never seems to get old for them. I don’t even joke about bloodletting, because if something did happen I might be accused of making a threat beforehand.”
“That is wise, I think. But, barbers used to do surgery long ago, didn’t they?”
“Right you are, but the closest I come to surgery is removing ingrown hairs. We have to be licensed to do anything like that. I am licensed, as you can see.” Jed replied as he gestured towards a framed certificate on the wall. Mark note that the name on the certificate was Jed Brophy.
“Now, I’m about to apply the lather to your face, so you relax and let me get to work. I’m none too chatty while I’m shaving a gentleman, because it is delicate work and I don’t want you to move unless I need you to. Got that?”
Mark assured him that he would cooperate, even though he would have liked to have continued to look at Jed, especially since Jed would be so close to his face, rather than darting all around him as he had been while he was cutting his hair. The lather in the cup dazzled like freshly fallen snow.
“Now, you’ll feel the lather being brushed onto your face -- it’s warm -- and then I’ll be preparing the razor,” Jed told him.
Jed began applying the lather to Mark’s face. It felt as if warm velvet was being rubbed against his skin, and he did find himself closing his eyes and relaxing. He felt as though he was melting into the barber chair. Then, it was as if someone had flipped a switch and his brain slipped into a different frequency. He was suddenly in a peaceful, lucid state; surrounded by sunshine and sparkling water, the sun seemed to be caressing his face. It was the best part of being a Navy man; those rare moments with no pressing duties, just the feeling of being at sea on a perfectly beautiful day.
He heard a sound. Was it the waves lapping at the sides of the boat? He opened his eyes and saw he Jed stropping the blade as he explained, “In theory, these blades should be absolutely straight coming out of the package, but I like to make sure that there are no dints in them to botch the shave. We want a nice, smooth glide over the skin. Besides, most of my gentlemen like to see their barber stropping the blade – the whole barbershop experience is what they want.”
Then Jed took Mark’s chin in his left hand and began to stroke the razor over his face. Mark let himself melt into Jed’s touch, which was gentle and deft. He was aware that the feathery sensation gliding over his cheeks and jaw was a thin, extremely sharp blade, and that any slip-up by Jed could result in a painful slice to his skin. The idea gave him a slight thrill, even though he had to brace himself to avoid slipping into squeamishness. Every so often, he would peek through his eyelashes at Jed, who was staring at his face with the concentration of a surgeon performing a delicate operation.
He closed his eyes again and drifted back to the sea, and then there was wave of another sort approaching the shore; he felt a pleasant stirring in the root of his belly, as if he was some sort of aquatic plant or creature that was being roused from dormancy by the warmth of the sun and the water. He returned to reality with a start -- he was aroused. He surreptitiously crept one hand downward underneath the smock to check, and then prayed that he could get into his coat quickly once out of the chair, so Jed wouldn’t notice.
Mark couldn’t permit himself to drift after that. He remained awake through the duration of the shave, and was grateful that Jed insisted upon applying a cooling lotion to his face after he’d finished shaving him and had toweled off the remnants of the lather. Then Jed snapped the razor blade in half and tossed it into the trashcan next to the chair.
In answer to Mark’s questioning look, he replied, “I use a fresh blade on each gentleman, for safety’s sake. There was a time when barbers were under suspicion for spreading that horrible junk – the viruses, you know.”
When he asked Jed how much he owed him, knowing from the printout of the web page that a haircut was $25 USD, Jed refused to accept payment, saying, “I couldn’t take money from a Navy man and a fellow Kiwi. It was an honor and a pleasure to serve you,” in way which made Mark realize that it would be inconsiderate to try to argue with him.
There was an awkward moment when it became apparent that there was no further reason for Mark to linger in the shop, and yet he felt as though something needed to be said. Soon, Jed’s assistant would be coming back from lunch or another customer would enter the shop and it would be entirely too late. Mark remembered something inconsequential, but useful as a delaying tactic, “Before I forget – Sean at the Sheraton recommended you.”
“I’ll have to thank him, then. Before I forget – there’s something I wanted to ask you – what is your rank?”
Mark reached into his jacket pocket and handed a card to Jed, who read out loud, “CDR Mark Hadlow, Legal Officer.” Then the phone rang and, as Jed broke off the conversation to answer it, Mark realized that it was time to leave.
Mark stopped halfway out the door. That feeling in his root was pulling him away from the street into the shop. He ducked back in, startling Jed, and announced, “It says on your site that you’re closed on Sundays. Would you be free for breakfast on Sunday morning? I’d like to treat you as thanks for the haircut and shave. It’s the least I could do.”
Jed hesitated for a moment, as if he was consulting his inner date book. Mark began to wilt in anticipation of the excuse that he could sense was forming. Jed answered, “I would like that. There’s a place down the street, Sophie’s Cafe that opens at 8:30 on Sundays. They make good omelets, and they have other things if you don’t happen to like omelets. We could meet here at 8:30, if it’s not too early for you, and walk there together.”
“Omelets are fine with me,” said Mark, “I’ll meet you here at zero eight thirty.”
“It’s a date,” Jed affirmed, and then he blushed as he realized that he might have revealed his intentions too early in the game. He hastily added, “Hey, happy solstice.”
“Oh, right – that’s tomorrow isn’t it?”
“Yes, and in this hemisphere everyone thinks that nature is asleep, but if you look at the trees, the buds are swelling – it’s a new beginning. Of course, back home it will be the first day of summer, so that’s the height of nature. I just like to think about it that way.”
“Happy solstice to you, Jed,” Mark laughed, “See you in the winter.” He gave him a brief salute and Jed returned it with a delighted smile.
Outside, the cold air felt abrasive after the warm, slightly humid atmosphere inside the shop. Mark would go back to the Sheraton to relax and watch TV before changing into his mess dress for the banquet. At the banquet he would mingle with colleagues and, if there they had music, he would dance with at least one of the ladies. He’d been looking forward to the evening as a chance to meet someone, in fact there was a young lawyer from North Carolina that he’d been following with his eyes all during the conference. Mark was rapidly losing interest in that prospect; rationalizing that, even though the fellow didn’t wear a wedding band, he was most likely straight and spoken for. The banquet was rapidly demoted from the high point of the conference to the role of a necessary diversion – one of the lesser events to occupy his time until Sunday morning’s date.
For it would be a date, their first date, even though Jed had blushed and attempted to act nonchalant after he had acknowledged the fact.