Chapter 22 - Evie Gives Steve a Haircut

According to Boy: It was few months after the Steve and Judy affair that Evie decided she should offer to give Steve a haircut. Steve was very bright, and very nice, but he never took great care to look nice.
 
Steve came out to our apartment every week or two, and we visited his about as often. We were not big party people, but we did hang around with Steve and some other friends a fair amount—at least that’s how I remember it.

So, when Evie offered to give Steve a haircut, he understood her offer just as she intended it—a well-intentioned favor. Steve was just too busy to go to the barber shop (or so he thought), and everyone knew that Evie was very handy with hair clippers. She had the tools, and the experience. Growing up, she always gave the haircuts at her house, and she always cut my hair. She did a great job.

"You wouldn’t mind?" Steve asked. "That would be great."

"If you’re not busy Friday night, why don’t you come on out to Glendale," I suggested. "Evie can cut your hair, then we will have some burgers, and drink some wine. Bring your change and we’ll play some poker."

With the acceptance of Evie’s offer, we began to make plans. Steve would probably bring his girlfriend. That was expected. Evie and I both liked her. She was very pleasant, but a little plain; and maybe a little dull. But Steve liked her a lot, and we liked Steve.

Steve’s wine of choice was not Red Ripple. He preferred very cheap, dry red wine. It was almost like a status symbol for him. He had probably read somewhere that the Weather Underground drank the cheap red wine that was sold by the gallon, and he identified. I don’t really know why he liked it so much. I was always suspicious of it because it seemed fruit flies ignored it altogether. I often kidded Evie about the "winery" that bottled it. I suggested that it had found a way to make wine without grapes. I suspect that comment may have been more fact than fiction.

I must state here that Evie’s offer to cut Steve’s hair contained a hidden agenda. Not only did Evie want to help Steve out with a haircut, she wanted to wash the stain off his forehead. Steve always had this slight discoloration on the front of his head, just below and above the hairline. His hair was quite thin, and very fine. So the discoloration was noticeable running from the top of his forehead into his hair.

We both thought it was dirt. Some of the time it was barely noticeable—such as when he had been in the sun and had a little tan. Other times it stood out.

It was not like a birthmark, we thought. "Usually birth marks are red, right?" I suggested. "Steve’s stain must be dirt."

 

Well, Evie and I were going to find out. On the night of the haircut, Evie took Steve into the bathroom to give him a shampoo.

"It’s always best to cut the hair right after it’s been washed," she told Steve.

When she got him into the bathroom, she had him lean over the sink, and she scrubbed and scrubbed. He must have become a little suspicious, but he never made a comment about it.

She then rinsed his hair, and dried it. The stain was still there, only now it was a little pinker because of the scrubbing.

The haircut went well, and Steve came out looking great. Evie had done a very nice job. We spent the rest of the evening eating burgers, drinking wine (a lot of wine), and playing poker.

And again, the fruit flies found only the Red Ripple, totally ignoring
Steve’s cheap red wine, which we bought for only him (by the gallon). But Steve liked it—he and his girlfriend drank the whole gallon. By the time the evening was done, none of us even noticed Steve’s pink forehead.