Larry’s salon was the second floor of this 3 story building
About a year after I moved to San Francisco, when I was 17, RJ moved to a hair salon on Maiden Lane owned by Larry Coffey. Larry had a great space above Shaw Shoes and below the Thompson Gallery, all defunct now. He rented chairs to only two other established hairdressers. I went with RJ when he changed salons and he lent me to Larry for shampoos. I used to joke that I worked in the only salon in SF comprised solely of heteros, 3 men, 1 woman and me the assistant. RJ “turned me out”, sold me to the madam, shortly after we arrived.
Larry was a tall man in his sixties, rotund with blue eyes and a scrappy but neatly clipped silver beard way before it was fashionable. He had a wealthy disheveled look, his clothes were Brooks Brothers and Dunhill shirts, lightly ironed with the sleeves rolled up. His shoes Gucci leather loafers and he smelled of good cologne. As I worked there and got to know him he became a friend, kinda. Looking back I see that he was trying to help me but at the time he was just another person in the blurry edges of my life.
I was still living in the Tenderloin when we moved over to Larry’s salon. After knowing me for a few months and finding out where I lived, he offered me the empty apartment under his. He owned a building in a little alley off of Taylor at Union. It was two flats with a small garage. The house hadn’t been restored as much as cared for in its original state. It was an example of beautiful old SF with ample molding, built-ins, fireplaces, hardwood floors and bay windows.
Larry’s flat above mine had a view of the water, and from mine you could see glimpses through the roof tops. He asked that I help him out as a nanny on a couple of weekends a month and make him coffee in the mornings. When I told RJ he only said that whatever I do, do not sleep with him. It would complicate things in the salon. I agreed.
I moved into the flat with my clothes and books. Larry had a few boxes of papers in the living room and somewhere I got a king size bed that I pushed under the bay window in the dining room. That was all I had and I only used that room and the bathroom. I can’t even recall what the kitchen looked like. Larry’s kitchen upstairs was all commercial grade appliances and pans. He even had a professional two station espresso machine, an all stainless monster with the drawer to empty it into and everything.
The first time I went upstairs in the morning to make coffee for Larry I told him I didn’t know how to use one of those. He was laying in bed and told me to come and he’d explain. He tried to kiss me and I said no and left. I never even tried to make coffee after that and he didn’t ask.
My life then was a set of disparate selves with little overlap. I realize now how dis-associative it was for me.
There was the me that was a nanny. Every other weekend or so Larry would get his 10 month old baby girl for visitation. The mother lived up in Napa and she would drop her off or we would drive up there in Larry’s white convertible VW to pick up the baby. My job was to care for the little girl while Larry entertained. Almost every Sunday he would go to Tomasso’s for dinner, but I only went with him when the baby was there. He always had the table in the back and he would bring anywhere from 3 bottles to half a case of wine. Always red, always delicious.
Larry would sit and eat and people would join him. Some previously invited, others recognized when we walked in. It was like everyone knew Larry and liked him. I thought he was a bit of a show off but he gave me my first good wine and that warm tingling dinner party feeling with friends who were like family. I was into dressing up back in those days. For Larry I got a form fitting button up black dress and button up shoes from the Old Aardvark on Haight Street. I was the nanny, quiet and in tune with the baby. I took her for slow finger gripping walking practice outside on the hill up to Broadway. I balanced her on the closed toilet seat and my knees in the micro bathroom to change her diaper at the restaurant and cleaned off the butter pasta she rubbed all over her head. It was good to have this in my life at the time. It gave me respite from the salon and Sharon’s.
There was the me that worked for Sharon some nights.
There was another me on my nights off. I had I bought a man’s suit at the Aardvark’s as well and got a hat from somewhere. I used to walk down to Washington Square park and drink with the bums at night sometimes. We’d watch everyone going in and out of the restaurants and bars. The traffic looking festive once the alcohol blurred my sight. There was a quiet and peace at the bottom, with a bottle. Sitting with them I knew I wasn’t really one of them, but their absolute lack of interest in anything other than drinking and smoking till blackout was soothing. The lack of pretense in their mission reassuring. They never asked me anything, never tried to do anything to me, they just let me sit with them and drink. We talked about nothing and settled all the world’s problems simultaneously.
And there was the me who got up from my bed every morning and went to work at the salon. I had money from Sharon’s so I took a lot of cabs. I would buy new clothes if I forgot to drop what I already had at the laundry. I ate exclusively at restaurants and refused to cook or be domesticated. I had a lot of cash and it felt like I had to spend it all to recover from making it. I spoke with RJ about it. I said that I realized why prostitutes were poor, because it took spending all the money to make it alright. He only laughed.
I lived at Larry’s for less than 6 months. I didn’t have many visitors but one night Dan and Daren, some old friends from high school, came up from the Peninsula. We were all laying in my bed drinking and smoking pot when Larry came down stairs to get some papers. He hadn’t knocked or anything, and I don’t think he had ever come down before. He had a friend with him I recognized as his lawyer. They both seemed a bit drunk and jolly. When they saw us Larry’s face turned red. The lawyer smirked at me and then they both left in a hurry, Larry mumbling something. I knew that it was bad, and he asked me to move out the next day. The journal I had at the time that had the 2 numbers I had taken from Sharon’s was gone when I moved. I wrote everything in code, not even able to be honest in my own journal. RJ was less than pleased I even kept one so I never told him it went missing. Larry must have taken it but I never asked him either.
I found an apartment a few doors down from RJ and his girlfriend in another small alley off of Hyde and Green Street. I stopped working for Sharon and was making more money at the salon building my clientele. Around that time I turned 18.
P.S. Years later I would rent a chair from Larry myself. RJ had moved on to his own salon in the meantime. I learned through his off hand comments that Larry was no fan of RJ, but by then it didn’t matter.
Thanks for reading,
Christine
