Louise and The Men of Transit

New Hair

"I saw Jessica Van," Louise said as she sat back in the salon chair.

"Who?" Marvyn asked as they threaded their fingers through Louise's longer-than-normal hair. Louise had not kept up her usual weekly visits for a few weeks, and her hair had grown. The weight of it had pulled her curls down a little, Marvyn noted approvingly. Perhaps they could convince Louise to try for that longer haircut that Marvyn had wanted to do the last few visits.

"The TTC Chair, Marvyn," Louise enthused.

"Hm-hmm."

"They were all following her!"

"Who was?" Marvyn asked as they circled Louise, feeling her hair, watching how it fell.

"The men."

Marvyn looked up into Louise's eyes through their mirrored reflections. "The men," they stated flatly.

"Yes!" Louise twisted around to look up into Marvyn's still face. "The CEO and Andy, and some others I didn't know. Chair Van was walking toward the McBrien building, and the men were all following her," Louise bubbled. "Except for CEO Barg, I mean. He was beside her. But she was definitely the star. She belonged." Louise sat back.

Marvyn said, "You belong, too."

Louise twisted around again and said plaintively, "Not like her."

"Yes, like her. You have a right to be there."

Louise slumped back in the salon chair and stared down at her feet encased in their worn walking shoes. She said, "I want to be like her."

"A politician?" Marvyn asked.

"No, no, not a politician." Louise shook her head vigorously.

Marvyn asked, "Sweetheart, what do you want?"

Louise dropped her head. Her lips stretched up into a shy ear-to-ear curve. Under her half-closed eyelids, a light flared into her eyes. She lifted her eyes to their reflections: "Blonde."

Marvyn's eyebrows rose up into their hairline. "Blonde?" The hub-bub of the salon almost drowned their faint voice. Student hairdressers were sweeping cut locks while clients under their enveloping black aprons filled every chair. Hairdressers stood behind each one, chatting, lifting up hair, snipping strands, blow drying finished cuts into chic styles. Louise usually came during the quiet hours, when Marvyn was the only one at their chair. But today she'd called for an appointment at the last minute. Marvyn began to understand why and why she didn't seem to mind the crescendo of voices and hair dryers and the thumping music Bill the owner preferred, which Marvyn ensured was off when Louise came. Marvyn regarded Louise. Louise's eyes were shining, her body quivering with energy, now that she'd made her request.

Marvyn placed their hands on the two upper corners of the salon chair and spoke to Louise's reflection. "Tell me why blonde," they said evenly.

"Oh, that's easy. The TTC Chair is blonde, and the men admire her. They follow her."

"She's the Chair," Marvyn stated.

"Yes, yes, I know. But they say blondes have more fun, right?"

"Not work fun, sweetheart. Not the kind of fun you have in mind, Louise."

Louise considered. She stared thoughtfully into the mirror, into Marvyn's infinitely deep black eyes reflected there.

"Why don't we keep your curls long," Marvyn said after a moment, lifting their right hand to thread their fingers through some of Louise's curls, letting them fall down. Marvyn regarded the way the hair curled. "I can cut it so that your curls have a loose spring to them. Your hair is long enough now."