and just the day my hair is the color of tar who do I see but that Linda Sudhalterperson from Carnegie Tech
who’s having that one
We took up our positions on the sofa, Isabel at one end, me at the other, thecashmere throw over our legs. Around us was my Victorian living room, bowwindows covered in velvet drapery, ornate tiles around the fireplace, an uprightpiano in the corner with beginner music on it. Isabel lit the joint with her Bic, took a hit and handed it to me.
You know what she told me?
” she said in a choked
voice holding down smoke.
he said going to Yale graduate school made all thedifference to her. She said she never really took herself seriously as an artist untilshe went there. She said I should go. I felt like saying, oh, yeah, with what.
accepted the joint from me, took a drag, held down smoke, released it, and handedthe joint back to me.
re I am talking to her like nothing’s the matter
After a while I couldn’t help bursting out with, Linda, don’t you notice anything
strange? She said, what.
I said, my hair! Hasn’t it occurred to you that you’re
talking to a person with weird black hair?
She didn’t even notice
. Some artist,huh? I never liked her work anyway.
I handed the joint back to Isabel.
“Your hair doesn’t look too black.”
“Not now,” she said sucking in smoke
I went back to him the next day. Isaid, Remio, I washed my hair and it still looks too black. Fix it. So he did.