Day XXV

The barber

     I raised my eyebrows, wrinkled my nose, and looked at him.

    “Baron, el barbero, he needs ya ta clean up his chop afta school.”

     I grew to like working for the barber, I got free haircuts, read the latest Playboys, and other gentlemen magazines, plus I smoked. One day Baron said,

     “Joo, joo na,  joor fada he nose joo smoke, man!”

    It was how I found out my old man knew I smoked, but he never said anything. Baron had been married a long time, and had no children. After a week or two he got to know me, got to like me, and insisted I have dinner with him, and his wife from time to time.

      Donnya Maria was a really great cook, and being Spanish her cuisine was totally Iberian. She made a mean Paella, and they always had wine with dinner. Baron stacked a corner of his kitchen with three or four cases of Spanish wine.

    “Eeets so we never runs out joo no,” he smiled, like the proverbial Cheshire cat, as he smooth out his mustache between his thumb and index finger.

     She was a delightful and charming lady, but the thing I most remember was her hairy chest. I couldn't help but notice, she never fastened the top of her blouse, and her chest hairs blossomed over. At first I found it unsightly, but after a while her charming personality won me over, and I didn't notice it.

     They fed me as though I’d just escaped from Biafra, and with each meal I got a glass of wine; red with meat, and every Friday we had sea food with white wine. Thanks to the Barons, I learned to enjoy fine wine with dinner.

     “Eeees good fur joor digestion!” He would say.

     “Si si!” She would smile, “dreenk dreenk!”