The Haircutter by Dana Thompson

Author:Dana Thompson [Thompson, Dana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781510725829
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2017-12-07T05:00:00+00:00

We followed Christmas into his little office. He has a butt the size of a little boy’s. Carol sat down in one of his little arty chairs for his butt and she cleared her throat and sat up straighter. She’d never gotten used to Christmas. Her smile had a melted quality around him. She thought he was the coolest person in the art world because he never went to parties that weren’t his own. He didn’t even smoke. She once called him a mirage on the plane of artistic existence, and when I asked her what the hell that was supposed to mean, she said, “I don’t know, it’s what some artist said about him,” and I upturned a table and kicked one of the legs off to show how I won’t abide by anyone calling Christmas a mirage on the plane of artistic existence, even though I didn’t care, or didn’t know what that saying meant. (I was so confused back then.)

Christmas got out a spray bottle and sprayed his face and head until he was a glistening penis, then he got out a towel with a Santy on it and wiped himself down. “Disgusting,” he said. “There’s a week left on this thing,” gesturing toward Harp’s box.

“Disgusting,” I said, and spat on the floor.

Christmas looked at it and burst out laughing.

We’d leave the next day at six in the morning—Quick would pick us up in the wolf job truck. I looked at Christmas and Carol as they were going over a papered detail that I wasn’t interested in, and I thought, Huh. I thought, Will you look at that. I thought, A year ago, the only people I knew were Doorman Diego and that dead baby bird on the floor of the bookstore. Now I have a Christmas Carol.

Carol said, “Sign here,” and I signed a document. Christmas got out his pearl-handled pistol and shot the doc on his dotted line. Carol and I just put our pointers in our ears and didn’t say anything about it, because it was the third or fourth time we’d seen him do that and we were comfortable now like, That’s Christmas and his office floor of bullet holes that women’s high heels get stuck in. I felt a wash of satisfaction in the wake of the gunshot, like the final rinse in a carwash. I felt so good that, on the way out the door, I let me and Carol stop in front of Harp since I knew she liked art and since I’d heard someone at the opening describe how Harp “looks into the eyes of the viewer and then into their soul, and then into the infinity that their soul came from, and then he rides the wave of infinity with you. And then he drools, and if you look closely at the pinhead of the drool, it has the universe in it.” Sure enough, I saw a puddle of drool between his feet with some galaxy in it. Sure enough, I saw his eyes scramble up off the floor and snake up Carol’s body.

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