"How come you don't like him?" I asked.

"Because he's a total fucking dickwad," said Chuck solemnly. "I know this kind of guy. I knew when she married him. I tried to tell her. But would she listen? Noooooo." Marie shrugged. He adjusted one of his rubber bracelets and continued. "He works in this stupid fucking place, this bar --"

"He doesn't work there anymore," Marie interrupted.

"-- which might as well be a whorehouse, where Willie Brown comes in with his dates, and money gets thrown around. Hookers sit at the bar, people are smoking Havanas, champagne is at every table, and I could see a million miles away what a guy like Gavin would do. He's one of those guys that needs approval, you know? He's got a pregnant wife, he's trying to impress his bosses, who themselves fuck all the waitresses there. So he thinks he has to be one of them. He starts fucking one of the cocktail waitresses, this cheap little piece of trash who goes to co-dependency meetings, who's got fake tits, and he's surprised that his marriage falls apart? And now he wants to get back together with Marie? Gimme a break."

"I didn't know about the meetings," Marie said, then giggled. "How do you know that?"

"I heard," said Chuck darkly.

"That's terrible." Marie laughed again. "Would you get the phone, Chuck?" she asked as she started to spritz my hair.

"Do you want to stay with that snowboarder then?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know," she said, frowning. She watched Chuck sit up and flip through her appointment book. "The thing is, I really, really, really like Brian. He has such an amazing body. It's incredible, these great arms, this ripply stomach -- I can't keep my hands off of him. I just love having sex with him, I love it. I don't want to give that up."

"Can you fit this woman in tomorrow for a semi-permanent?" Chuck shouted, waving the appointment book. "Maybe at 1? It says here you have a 'Joan' at 2 for highlights."

"That's fine," Marie said. Turning back to me, she stopped snipping. "Sex is very addictive, you know."

"I know. Well, are you in love with Brian?" I asked.

"Love!" Chuck interrupted, after politely saying into the phone "OK, we'll see you here tomorrow at 1 for a semi-permanent, and you're sure you know where we're located?" and hanging up with exaggerated delicacy. "What the hell does love have to do with it? Gavin supposedly 'loves' Marie. And now she's got her salon together, and she's independent, and she's with this new guy, and she doesn't need that scumbag anymore. And of course he comes crawling back, ready to fuck everything up again. He doesn't want her to be happy. He just doesn't want anyone else to have her!"

"Did you write the 1 o'clock in?" Marie asked mildly.

"Yes, I did." He closed the book and sat on a three-legged stool as if he were about to milk a cow. "Believe me, I know this guy. I've done that stuff myself -- broken up with a chick and then get all upset and want her back when she moves on. Nothing more attractive than independence in a woman. It'll get us pigs back every time. And Marie," he started waving his finger, "you know he'll do it again to you if you go back. You know he'll start fucking some little piece of dirt the second your back is turned."

"I know," said Marie. She held her hand on her hip. "But, well, I love him. I can't help it."

Chuck groaned and pulled on his long, plum-colored ponytail. "OK. whatever. You didn't listen to me before you married that jerkwater. You should listen to your guy friends, Marie. Guys know how guys think." He looked at me curiously. "What do you think?"

"I don't know these people," I said. "She has great sex with Brian. But she's not in love with him. She loves Gavin. She said before that she had great sex with Gavin because she was in love with him. Hell, I don't know." Chuck waved his hand in irritation, as if swatting away a fruit fly.

Marie placed a comb between her teeth again and smiled at both of us. "Do me a favor? Shut the fuck up and let me cut your hair. And you, go fix that sign, please."

Chuck and I exchanged looks. In other words: Case closed. Welcome home, Gavin.
SALON | Feb. 18, 1998

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