You go to the same beauty salon on Saturdays every six to eight weeks because Maggie is the only stylist who really knows your hair. But the guy sitting near the front desk, acting like he owns the place, is an enigma wrapped in a silk shirt. Everyone knows overworked Janice at Station 4 is the owner. When you asked Maggie if the mystery man was Janice's husband or business partner or a stylist with an open appointment book, she rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, honey, that's just Eugene."
So what's Eugene's trip? His hair is always perfect—but you've never seen him get it cut here. His clothing appears as if he just raided the clearance rack at a Palm Springs men's shop. More than anything else, he just loves chiming in on customers' conversations with their stylists. Like the time he cut Maggie off and asked about the previous night's Lakers game. After going on about the intricacies of Tex Winters' triangle offense, he jumped into a discussion across the room about the East Coast, telling no one in particular he'll depart soon for his "annual therapy" to "catch all the Broadway shows with my dear old friend Maurice." Add that Eugene drives his late mother's cream-colored Towncar, and the needle on the gaydar points to queen. But we'd never ask which way he swings because, you know, that's none of our business. At least until he leaves the room.