Descriptive Essay: Between Old Friends

1074 Words Oct 23rd, 1999 5 Pages
Between Old Friends

I felt the waxy goo before I saw it. Squinting, for a better look, I carefully separated the hair that grew from his temples, ordinarily bristling white, but now suspiciously black and tarry. Interrupting my cutting, I ventured, "Doug, what's all over your hair?" As I awaited his reply, I contemplated my long professional relationship with the man seated before me. I cut hair and work with hairpieces for a living. I design, install, and maintain them for fees far below those of large companies whose lavish infomercials are viewable following David Letterman's show. Doug was not typical of my clients. He favored a vanity I could not understand and fed it as cheaply as possible. His obsessive search for his
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"OK," he said," Order me a new one with gray in it, and I'll leave the mascara alone." My enthusiasm grew as I savored a breakthrough-and a sale. We arranged to meet the following week to pick the new color from nylon swatches I use.

The night before our meeting, he called. A hushed identification left me wondering what was going on. Doug's hoarse and hurried whisper explained why we could not rendezvous as planned. His in-laws were in town, currently in the same room, hence the quiet voice he employed. He did not want them to know he wore a hairpiece. Right! A mutilated furry animal balanced precariously, for a hat and he sincerely believed nobody had a clue. The new date he suggested was not doable on my part, so he offered a solution. "Let's meet the same day and same time, 7:30 p.m., in front of the Taco Bell on Sweetwater." I glanced outside my window, it was 7:35, and the crisp winter night sky was black as Uncle Remus' Tar Baby. "It'll be dark, Doug," I protested. Not to mention potentially freezing. On second thought, even becoming a Popsicle was more appealing to me than the possibility of the local sheriff picking us up for hanging out in,

Cornish, p.3

a big drug commerce area of Spring Valley. His plan of intrigue was growing less and less appealing. "C'mon," I pleaded, "Your in-laws already know!" "No!" he shout-whispered

"They DON'T know. Just bring a flashlight. It'll be fine.

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