Zero History

68. HAND-EYE
Now it was Milgrim’s turn, on the Biedermeier vanity stool, the remains of Ajay’s
luxuriant top-curls darkly littering the spread towels. Ajay himself was in Hollis’s huge
scary shower, ridding himself of the aerosol product Chandra had applied to the sides of
his head. Staunchly unwilling to see her cousin naked, she faced away from the shower
as she used an electric clipper on Milgrim’s back and sides. Milgrim, seeing Ajay naked,
thought he looked like a professional dancer. He was all muscles, but none of the bulgy
kind.
The idea, now that Chandra had had a good look at Milgrim, and at his hair as it had
been the day before, was to give him a different cut. He found himself imagining a
Milgrim wig for Ajay, something he was sure he’d never imagined before.
It was getting steamy, but he heard Ajay crank the shower down, then off. Soon he
appeared beside Milgrim in a white robe with corded trim, carefully knotting its belt. The
top of his head was now Chandra’s initial approximation of Milgrim’s previous look,
though it was black, and damp. Milgrim’s own indeterminately brownish hair was falling
on the towels.
“I’ll have to trust,” Ajay said to Chandra, “that that wasn’t a joke.”
“For the sort of retainer your friend has me on,” Chandra said, over the burr of the
clipper, “you’ll get no jokes at all. I’d never tried it before. Seen an instructional video.
I’ll do better next time. Keep your chin down.” This last to Milgrim. “Really it’s to cover
bald spots. Up top. Going that heavy on the sides may be pushing the envelope a bit.” She
shut the clipper off.
“Pushing the envelope,” said Ajay, “is what we’re about. High speed, low drag.” He
toweled his head.
“Do these people know you’re a perfect idiot?” asked Chandra.
“Ajay,” said Garreth, through the door.
Ajay flung the towel in a corner and went out, closing the door behind him.
“He was always like that,” said Chandra, Milgrim not knowing how that was supposed
to have been. “It wasn’t entirely the army.” She gave the hair on top of his head a few
brisk snips with her scissors, then removed the towel she’d draped around his neck.
“Stand up. Have a look.”
Milgrim stood. A different Milgrim, oddly military, perhaps younger, looked back at
him from the wall of fogged mirror above the twin sinks. He’d buttoned the collar of his
new shirt, to keep hair from getting inside, and this contributed to the unfamiliarity. A
stranger, in an air tie. “That’s good,” said Milgrim. And it was. “I wouldn’t have thought
to do that. Thank you.”
“Thank your friend on the bed,” said Chandra. “Most expensive cut you’ll have had.