that barbers used to be doctors and dentists too, and so we accustomed to the sight’a blood.”
The would-be customer’s face had generous features. His lips were thick and malleable, so it was easy to see the fearful reaction to the barber’s threat. But even though he was somewhat afraid, he didn’t want to back down—at least not immediately.
“I’m just sayin’ that I been waitin’ and this niggah here just waltz in and you sit him right down.”
“Niggah? You want me to take this sheet off, Easy?” the barber asked me, “or you gonna kick his ass with it on?”
That made it easier for the angry customer. Two against one meant that he could back down with no shame.
“Fuck this shit!” he yelled. He walked to the hatch and out into the street.
Lena laughed and went back to her head of hair.
Looking after the retreating delivery man, I thought of Uriah and all the black men and women I knew who woke up angry and went to bed in the same state of mind. Life was like a bruise for us back then, and today too. We examine every action for potential threats, insults, and cheats. And if you look hard enough you will find what you’re looking for—whether it’s there or not.
“What you need, Easy?” Angelo asked.
“Just a razor line.”
“You got it.”
The barber lowered the back of the chair and raised the whole seat until I was almost prone, with my head at his diaphragm.
—
I liked the nameless barbershop because it was old-fashioned. They used real barber’s chairs and straight razors sharpened on leather strops attached to each station. There was always good company and often a crap game going in a corner. At the barbershop people read the newspapers and discussed racism and politics. The stylists wrapped hot towels around your face and you could close your eyes and relax for that precious few minutes that might be the difference between harsh words and hard blows.
“You want a little color up top, Easy?” Angelo asked while I was drowsing.
“Color?”
“You got a few gray hairs, baby….Don’t want the girls thinkin’ you a old man.”
“What I need is more’a them suckers,” I said, in full barbershop mode.
“More? Why?”
“Gray hair is the smart man’s bait.”
“Bait for what?”
“Female company.”
“How you figure?”
I opened my eyes and saw that Lena was glancing at us, listening in.
“When a man looks at a woman, what’s he thinkin’ about?” I asked Angelo.
“Her butt,” he said. “Maybe her face.”
“Now what’s the woman thinkin’ about, lookin’ back at him?”
“Hearth and home,” he chanted. “Hearth and home.”
“That’s right. A man is thinkin’ about right now tonight, but the woman got her eye on the future. She might like that man. Hell, she might lust after him, but at the same time she could tell you what kinda drapes she wants in the house you haven’t even thought about yet. She can tell you what kinda silverware you will eat with at two thousand Sunday suppers.”
“What’s that got to do with a few gray hairs?” Angelo wanted to know.
“Girl see one or two and she thinks maybe the man done aged enough to calm down, make somethin’ outta himself. She willin’ to let him look so maybe she could see what his prospects are like. That way a man like me might get a great night or a lifetime of pot roasts, fat babies, and halfhearted regrets.”
“Halfhearted regrets!” Lena shouted like a parishioner agreeing with the preacher’s words. “That’s why Easy Rawlins is a detective. That man knows some shit!”
She laughed so hard that she had to hold the razor away from her client’s face.
“Damn!” Lena cried.
—
Angelo used his razor to even the line around my short hair and then to shave the stubble from my chin. We talked about the Dodgers and the Lakers, the state of Watts and Vietnam. His wife’s mother had come up from Louisiana to live with them.
“Wife in the bedroom,” he said, “and her
The would-be customer’s face had generous features. His lips were thick and malleable, so it was easy to see the fearful reaction to the barber’s threat. But even though he was somewhat afraid, he didn’t want to back down—at least not immediately.
“I’m just sayin’ that I been waitin’ and this niggah here just waltz in and you sit him right down.”
“Niggah? You want me to take this sheet off, Easy?” the barber asked me, “or you gonna kick his ass with it on?”
That made it easier for the angry customer. Two against one meant that he could back down with no shame.
“Fuck this shit!” he yelled. He walked to the hatch and out into the street.
Lena laughed and went back to her head of hair.
Looking after the retreating delivery man, I thought of Uriah and all the black men and women I knew who woke up angry and went to bed in the same state of mind. Life was like a bruise for us back then, and today too. We examine every action for potential threats, insults, and cheats. And if you look hard enough you will find what you’re looking for—whether it’s there or not.
“What you need, Easy?” Angelo asked.
“Just a razor line.”
“You got it.”
The barber lowered the back of the chair and raised the whole seat until I was almost prone, with my head at his diaphragm.
—
I liked the nameless barbershop because it was old-fashioned. They used real barber’s chairs and straight razors sharpened on leather strops attached to each station. There was always good company and often a crap game going in a corner. At the barbershop people read the newspapers and discussed racism and politics. The stylists wrapped hot towels around your face and you could close your eyes and relax for that precious few minutes that might be the difference between harsh words and hard blows.
“You want a little color up top, Easy?” Angelo asked while I was drowsing.
“Color?”
“You got a few gray hairs, baby….Don’t want the girls thinkin’ you a old man.”
“What I need is more’a them suckers,” I said, in full barbershop mode.
“More? Why?”
“Gray hair is the smart man’s bait.”
“Bait for what?”
“Female company.”
“How you figure?”
I opened my eyes and saw that Lena was glancing at us, listening in.
“When a man looks at a woman, what’s he thinkin’ about?” I asked Angelo.
“Her butt,” he said. “Maybe her face.”
“Now what’s the woman thinkin’ about, lookin’ back at him?”
“Hearth and home,” he chanted. “Hearth and home.”
“That’s right. A man is thinkin’ about right now tonight, but the woman got her eye on the future. She might like that man. Hell, she might lust after him, but at the same time she could tell you what kinda drapes she wants in the house you haven’t even thought about yet. She can tell you what kinda silverware you will eat with at two thousand Sunday suppers.”
“What’s that got to do with a few gray hairs?” Angelo wanted to know.
“Girl see one or two and she thinks maybe the man done aged enough to calm down, make somethin’ outta himself. She willin’ to let him look so maybe she could see what his prospects are like. That way a man like me might get a great night or a lifetime of pot roasts, fat babies, and halfhearted regrets.”
“Halfhearted regrets!” Lena shouted like a parishioner agreeing with the preacher’s words. “That’s why Easy Rawlins is a detective. That man knows some shit!”
She laughed so hard that she had to hold the razor away from her client’s face.
“Damn!” Lena cried.
—
Angelo used his razor to even the line around my short hair and then to shave the stubble from my chin. We talked about the Dodgers and the Lakers, the state of Watts and Vietnam. His wife’s mother had come up from Louisiana to live with them.
“Wife in the bedroom,” he said, “and her
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