I had felt guilty abandoning Miriam. I'd followed her across town when she started work at a new salon, but truthfully, I'd only done so because the new salon was closer to where I'd recently moved. In that nearby beauty parlor, Miriam had her own room with a counter that lifted to reveal a sink and a panel of different colored locks for women choosing hair color. Something about the room just felt wrong.
All the beauty parlors my mom had ever taken me to had had an open room full of hair dressers gossiping and chatting as they worked. That environment made me feel less silent as I listened to their ongoing gripes, vacations, and wedding plans. Even Supercuts retained some of that social atmosphere. Maybe I just didn't like Miriam with her sycophantic interest in my filmmaking, or maybe she just didn't give a great cut and I was worried about giving her more responsibility than a trim.
Whenever I'm stressed out about my hair, I reminisce about Judy. Judy was the best hairdresser I've ever had. When I stuttered uncertain "uhs" and "ums" at her in response to how I wanted my hair cut, she'd simply say, "Ah, I'm just going to do what I want to do." And she would. And somehow it'd be exactly what I had imagined. She had a knack for that. She was one of those rare hairdressers that really understood how to adjust a haircut to make it look good on a particular individual.
I went to Judy throughout high school and later I waited until I was home on breaks from Vassar to see her. She would admonish me for not using conditioner, and then she'd move on to the latest gossip, repairing what damage she could. Unlike my dentist, Judy never made me feel obliged to promise I would take better care of my hair. Her only goal was to make her customers look as good as possible when they left the shop. She sent me back to the world believing that I could make my hair look as good as she did if I wanted to.
Her genuine exuberance made her only failing more bearable. I don't think I can remember a time that she wasn't running late when I arrived. Once she gobbled down a few cookies while I sat in the chair since she hadn't had time for lunch. I told her to take her time figuring a starving hair dresser was not what my hair needed. My patience eventually paid off. When I decided last minute to go to the prom, she squeezed me into her schedule to style my hair. She made me look great, and I've always appreciated that.
Sometime during my undergraduate years she decided to become an accountant. Though I was devastated, I could only wish her the best of luck. She assured me that if I ever needed a hair stylist for a movie, she'd be happy to do it. For whatever reason, the offer didn't bother me the way it had when it had come from Miriam.
So off I went to Supercuts, carefully folded page torn from Great Hairstyles For Women firmly in hand. For all their boasting of no appointments, I still had to wait 40 minutes. To pass the time, I ignored everyone around me focusing my concentration on the price listing against the opposite wall. How much for women's hair, men's hair, long hair, children's hair, perms, hair coloring, a wash and cut, styling, etc. I'd never seen the business of haircutting so itemized until I moved to Tallahassee.
In the heat of northern Florida's swampland, I enjoyed my clipped locks. Even the humidity was made more bearable by the fact that it enhanced my curls. Every four weeks I dutifully made my pilgrimage to the Walmart shopping complex to get my hair supertrimmed.
At the end of August, I got my hair trimmed shorter than usual in preparation for my cross country move. Two months later, I considered getting my first haircut in Los Angeles. Unbearably shaggy, there was not much I could do but bite the bullet and try somewhere...
Doh. At least Judy told us she was leaving before she quit.
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