Pretty Hurts (Left 1.50)

“Travel.”

“Oh yeah, where?” he asks.

“Everywhere.”

He chuckles as he turns on the clippers. “I hear that. I’ve been promising myself a trip out of the country for years. It can be hard to step away from

the business and trust that it’ll run solo properly.”

“I can imagine. Being your own boss is a lot of work and sacrifice. I don’t think most people realize how much.”

“Ain’t that the truth? How does your gig work?”

“I’m freelance for the most part, so I travel to sites, work with regular customers, and sometimes sign up for projects. It’s a lot of time management and carefully constructed scheduling and budgeting.”

“Do you stick strictly to the beauty side of things?”

“Oh no, I do prosthetic and horror stuff, too. Halloween is a busy time for me. I’ve even done a few indie movies.”

“Dude, that’s awesome. Do you like horror movies?” he asks.

“I love them … especially the cheesy, eighties horror movies. Those are classic.”

“Really? ’Cause I have tickets to the Alamo Drafthouse for a viewing of an eighties horror movie with the cast.”

“Oh my God, that’s going to be a blast.”

The tickle of the clippers is something I’m still getting used to as it passes over my scalp.

“Yeah, I thought so, too. My buddy ended up being scheduled to go out of town for work, so I have an extra ticket if you’re interested.”

“I’m totally on board. When is it?”

“Friday night from eight until ten.”

“Which Alamo?”

“The one on South Mason.”

“We’ll meet there say seven forty-five?” I ask.

“Sounds good to me. Thanks for accompanying me.”

“My pleasure. It feels like ages since I got to do anything fun. All work and no play.”

“Make Jill a dull girl?”

I laugh as he begins to place shaving cream on my head. He pulls out the straight razor, and I watch the flex of the muscles in his forearm as he slowly runs the sharp blade over my flesh. It’s my therapy session. I sit in the chair, forget my problems, and connect with someone who makes me feel completely embraced. He never knew the old Efia. He doesn’t see what I’m lacking because he has nothing to compare it to. The fact that he’s intriguing eye candy only adds to the experience.

I close my eyes and relax as he takes away the stubbly hair. I look forward to the horror movie extravaganza to come in a few days. Dealing with everything, I’ve neglected my fun to work ratio. It’s the quickest way to burn out, and dip into depression and chaos. I learned that early on in my career. I was so hungry for success I pushed myself into exhaustion. Every dime I made that wasn’t taking care of bills went back into the business.

I ended up weeping on the floor feeling like a complete failure. One phone call to Liv, and she high-tailed it over to my studio apartment with gratuitous amounts of coffee-flavored ice cream and tough love. We stayed up all night talking and I woke feeling cleansed and clear-headed. I started up my policy of reinvestment in myself and scheduling in my fun the same way I did my work. It was like the clouds parted, and the sun shone brightly once more. The haze I’d been lost in slowly dissipated and I found myself refreshed and able to go even harder for my business.

Finished with the shave, he places a warm towel around my head as he cleans up. Normally it would go on the client’s face, but he’s adjusted it for me. I can see why he has repeat customers. In a world where things are so rushed, he allows you to slow down and get some TLC in.

He removes the towel, and I pay him my fifteen dollars; ten bucks plus a well-deserved tip.

“See you on Friday?”