A: Yes. I do his hair. If you want to call me a hair stylist, that's your choice [laughs]. It's not so much a styling, is it, as damage control.
Q: How did you get the job?
A: Ah, there's a tale, isn't it? [Pauses.]
Q [After a few minutes]: So. There's a tale. Where is the tale?
A: What tail? My goodness, he has no tail. I couldn't style that.
Q: Tale. Story. You said--
A: Of course. Dear, I'm so exhausted I don't know my tails from my tales. What was the que--oh. My goodness. How did I become his hair, as you put it, stylist. Funny thing about that. I was working in a shop downtown, and one day he just walks in. I was doing some girl's hair, and we were chatting it up like we were friends from years back, and in he walks. Stands in the doorway with a bewildered look on his face like he'd just seen Marley on the doorknob. I says to the girl, I says "There's a man who ain't never seen the light of day"--on account of his pallor, you know-- "there's a man ain't never seen the light of day." And she said back, "Watch the scissors, love. You've got them in my ear."
Q: He was pallid?
A: Then? Yes. It was the early '80s, you know. Everyone was pallid. It was fashionable then to look like you were diseased. Then of course, you were diseased, and it was suddenly fashionable to look healthy, which meant tanning and rouge and the like. He didn't like rouge, so we went with a shellac coating. But that was later.
Q: So he came in...?
A: Yes. He stood in the door. I remember it like it was two days ago. He was confused, and almost apologetic as he stood there. It was a windy spring day it was, and he had on a coat much too thick for the day but the coat billowed around him and I says to the girl in my chair, "I'm sorry dear. I'll get you a tissue." Because she was bleeding from the ear I'd poked the scissors into. And she says back, "Pah. It's nothing, love, don't worry about it. Get a load of the guy standing in the door with that thick coat on." And so we laughed a bit. Because of the coat.
Q: All you noticed about him was his coat?
A: Coat? Who thinks about such things when you see a man who has hair like a stripped wheat field?
A: The wind was blowing his lack of hair around like it hated him. I says to the girl, "That coat ought to protect him from--"
Q: About his hair...?
A: Ai, never seen anything like it. It was a single strand, wrapped around his skull. Coiled like a snake, it was, but in the wind it came loose. It shot out from his head like a narwhal's tusk.
Q: So it was rigid?
A: It was just windy. A feather would've been a bullet in the wind that day.
Q: Did he say anything to you? I mean, he's standing in the door. You've made a customer deaf in one ear with your scissors. Was it just silence, or after all this bluster, did he say something like, "My hair needs repair"?
A: Ah, I see what you're getting at. I'm the hair stylist to the President, ain't I, and you want to know how I came to be just that.
Q: Well. I mean. That is the reason I'm here.
A: Under advisement, I've been told I'm not to answer any questions.
Q: But you agreed to speak to--
A: I never touched Boris Yeltsin's head.
Q: I didn't ask--
A: Kellyanne Conway is a lovely woman, delightful. Great head of hair on her, that one.
Q: So he's standing in the door--
A: And there we'll leave him. Pish off, dear.