The Search

A major trauma in considering the move from the East Coast to the West, was leaving my hairdresser of many years. My internist, gynecologist, dermatologist, opthamologist -- all were expendable. But how would I survive without Sharon, who embraced me each week, all frizzy and frazzled, and made me whole again.

During my first months in San Francisco, I was on a constant Search for a new Sharon, threatening each time I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize myself that I wasn't staying. I was going home. Phil, fearing that he would lose his long-awaited Shangri-la, walked all over the city gathering cards at hair salons that he thought might please me.

No matter how weird my hair, my grandchildren always told me I looked nice. They lied. My daughter-in-law heard good things about a place in Chinatown called Mona Risa. I was sure she had it wrong. It must be Mona Lisa, I insisted. But I walked by the place one day and sure enough, there it was. Lisa with an "R." If they couldn't get the name of the most famous painting in the history of art right, what would they do to my hair? Tempting as the big "$5 Haircut" sign in the window was, Mona Risa was not a contender.

When I found Andy, a Vietnamese hairdresser who worked magic with color, I was delighted. But he never could get the cut right. I stayed with Andy for color, but The Search continued for someone who cut well.

I found a stylist when I stopped a stranger in the street whose cut I admired and asked who did her hair, the acknowledged best way to find a hairdresser. This led me to Eddy, who gave me a great cut. The Search was finally over. I now had a colorist and a stylist I was happy with. All I had to do was make sure that Andy didn't know about Eddy, and Eddy didn't know about Andy. Life was good.

After a year of secretly shuttling between two salons, Andy told me his landlord was selling the building and he would have to move. Where was he going? To Eddy's salon. I panicked. How could I go to two competing hairdressers at the same salon without offending both? As time for the move drew near, I had to confess to each of them that I had been seeing someone else. "No problem!" Andy said. "Relax!" said Eddy. They assured me they were both okay with it. Knowing how proprietary hairdressers are about their clients, I didn't believe either of them, but decided to give it a try, anyway.

On my first visit to Andy after the move, I was traumatized to find his station was right next to Eddy's. I could feel Eddy's eyes on the back of my head as Andy worked. When I went to Eddy for a cut, I could hear Andy's disapproving grunts in the background. Overwhelmed with guilt at my lack of loyalty to these two good men, I began to stutter, calling Andy Eddy and Eddy Andy. I apologized to both and told them I would go home, take a tranquilizer, and try to remember everybody's name.

Phil took one look at my pitiful condition when I got home and, guessing what had caused it, moaned, "Oh, no." The Search, he knew, was on again.