The Beauty Shop

It was really just a converted house behind the Keansburg-Middletown National Bank and across from Modern Pharmacy. Hollywood Beauty Salon…complete with its own neon sign and kinda pink shingles. It was the place the Ladies go. Ladies taking care of Ladies. It was all Feminine, all the time. Sights. Sounds. Even the smell. There was a smell there that was not nice. Yet it was that smell. That smell I adjusted to so I could be there and be told I was a good boy. Sometimes they noticed me. Mom was proud when they did. That was nice. Sometimes they did not notice me. Mom was Queen when they did not. That was nice, too.

I think that is why she liked going. Her and the other ladies like her. They liked being Queen once in a while. Hair done their way. Someone tending them. Kindred willing to wash their hair like servants to the Royal Court. No dishes in the sink. No dirty clothes waiting. No picking up after themselves. No floor supervisor ensuring the line ran smoothly. No din of the waxing machines at the Tulip. Nothing but sitting and being tended. Plus select offspring. Only those smart enough to sit quietly where told and read magazines that had nothing for men.

This was so different than the barber shop. Barber shop smells were mine. I was part of them. Barber shop smells are embraced. Beauty shop smells are endured. Here, I was outside the smells. Didn’t like the smells here….remembered them as pungent…even stinky. Adjusted to them like beast to the harness. Something to tolerate…for as long as directed.

The Beauty Shop was foreign. This was a Their place. I was tolerated here…if. If. One word……so many directives. If not, there were consequences. If successful, even the rewards were different. No lollypop. No baseball updates. No burp of man lotion on the neck. Here the reward was petting. A pinch on the cheek. A pat on the head. A hug to a strange bosom. They did not call you “sport” here. They talked about you more often then to you. Here you were on display. The Queen’s subject. Evidence of Her prowess. Proof positive of a good boy in a place where Ladies tended Ladies and maleness was watched carefully.

Mom went less often than she wanted and took me more often than she would have liked. She needed that time. She deserved that time. She included me…because I was her son. She sent me to the Barber shop and knew I would behave. She took me to the Beauty Shop and made sure I behaved. I was groomed, inside and out.