The Liar

When Griff walked into Vi’s place on Saturday, Snickers rocked the house. Women—stylists, customers, technicians—hunkered down to oooh over him, to rub his belly, stroke his ears, and generally to send the dog into an apoplexy of joy.

He thought back to his early twenties when he’d routinely looked for ways to meet women.

He should’ve rented a puppy.

He’d come in—under protest, and under Emma Kate’s orders—to get his hair trimmed up. He hated getting his hair trimmed up, but she’d been a little bit scary in the intensity of the order.

“You need yourself a trim,” Viola stated, and made his shoulders hunch.

“Emma Kate said I had to, but you’re busy, so—”

“Nobody’s in my chair this minute. You come over here, Griffin, and sit.”

The pup immediately plunked his butt down and looked pleased with himself. And the women chorused an awwww!

“A man should look well-groomed for his best friend’s engagement party.” Viola pointed a finger at her chair. “Be good like your dog.”

“Just, you know, a little.” Wishing himself pretty much anywhere else, Griff sat.

“Have I ever taken whacks at it?”

“No, ma’am.”

She whipped a cape around him, picked up her spray bottle to dampen it down.

“You’ve got a fine head of hair, Griffin. I’ll see you keep it. I suspect you were traumatized at the barbershop as a young boy.”

“They brought in a clown—one of those crazy-wigged clowns. It was bad. Really bad. Did you ever read It? Stephen King’s book? That kind of clown.”

“No clowns around here of any kind.” Enjoying herself, she gave his cheek a rub. “Boy, you need a shave.”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it later.”

“I’ll give you a shave.” When his eyes went a little wild, she just smiled. “Have you ever had a woman give you a good, close shave with a straight razor?”

“No.”

“You’re in for a treat.” She adjusted the chair, picked up her scissors. “You haven’t asked where Shelby is.”

“I was counting on you to tell me.”

“She’s in the back. We got a group of six women, friends since college. They’re taking a long weekend together, staying up at the big hotel. It’s nice having forever friends. You’ve got that with Matt.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She kept up an easy conversation while she drew small sections of his hair up between her fingers, snipped. To relax him, he knew. Every couple of months, when he talked himself into going in for a trim—or got pushed there—she did the same.

He liked to watch her work—the quick, competent, precise moves, the way her eyes measured the cut even as she talked to him or tossed out orders, answered questions.

She could keep up with half a dozen conversations at once. He considered it a rare skill.

“She’s going to be beautiful all her life.”

“Shelby?”

Viola met his eyes in the mirror, smiled. “Wait till you see her tonight. She’s got to get out of here soon, get Callie settled, then come back here so I can do her hair up. I see it in my head already.”

“You’re not going to straighten it, are you?”

“Not a bit. She says she’s got to get up to the hotel early, so you won’t be able to take her, and that’s a shame because I believe the pair of you would make quite the entrance.

“Lorilee, I’m about done here. Would you go heat me up a towel for Griff’s shave?”

“Sure thing, Miz Vi.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Griffin Lott, how are you going to talk me into leaving my husband of near to fifty years and running off with you if you don’t trust me not to cut your throat?”

So he ended up cocked back in the chair, a moist hot towel covering his face—but for the nose. He had to admit, it felt great—until he heard the sounds of her stropping the razor.

“I still use my great-granddaddy’s razor,” she said conversationally. “That’s for sentiment mostly. He passed it to my granddaddy, and he’s the one taught me how to shave a man.”

He actually felt his Adam’s apple try to shrink.

“When’s the last time you did?”

“I shave Jackson most every week.” She leaned down close. “We think of it as foreplay.”

As he choked, she removed the towel. “We won’t think of that as you’re thinking of that with my grandbaby. Added to it, I used to shave Mayor Haggerty every Saturday morning—before he retired and moved to Tampa, Florida. We’ve got a woman mayor now.”

She poured oil into her hands, rubbed them together, then smoothed it over his face.

“This is going to soften your beard up, and give you a nice cushion between your face, the cream and the blade. Smells nice, too.”

“That doesn’t sound like your grandfather’s shave.”

“You’ve got to move with the times.” Busily she laid a thick layer of shaving cream over his face, his throat, using a wide, stubby brush to whirl it. “So to go back, I don’t shave the mayor these days. But there are one or two around who like a good barbershop shave regular who come in. Others go to Lester’s Barbershop. He’s always talking about retiring, and if he ever does, I’ll be expanding my services for gentlemen.”

“Always thinking.”

“Oh, I am, Griffin.”

His gaze slid toward the straight razor with its pearl handle, then away.