Hair, Washington style: jelly beans, champagne, and Mrs Reagan

Press, 7 February 1985, Page 16

Hair, Washington style: jelly beans, champagne, and Mrs Reagan

By Barbara Gamarekian of the “New York Times,” through NZPA The omelette man had gone through 12 dozen eggs and a case of champagne, shampoo girls and manicuurists scurried from customer to customer, a limousine driver consulted a mink-clad woman, telephones rang endlessly, and a elevision crew moved about recording it all for either posterity or the evening news. It was just an inaugural Saturday at Robin Weir’s beauty salon. Over the hubbub came a voice: “Robin, Eva Gabor is calling.” “Tell her I can’t really be there early,” Weir shouted back.

Just off the busy room, Julius Bengtsson, Nancy Reagan’s West Coast hair stylist, was on the phone: “I’ve been waiting for you girls since 2.30 and now I am backed up. I have two more comb-outs here, and I have to be at the White House at five and then I have to get dressed for the gala — can’t you come right now?”

The “girls” were Marion Jorgensen and Betty Wilson, close personal friends of Mrs Reagan who were in town for the inauguration. “They wanted me to come over to the Watergate,” Bengtsson said, sighing, as he hung up. “But if I get stuck in traffic, I’m dead.”

Bengtsson was wearing suede shoes by Ralph Lauren, burgundy cord trousers by Calvin Klein and a

matching sweater by Gucci, all topped with a jacket of beaver fur. “I love Polo and I love Calvin, and Mrs Wilson brought this sweater from Rome,” he explained. Mrs Wilson is the wife of William Wilson, Ambassador to the Vatican. He had styled Mrs Reagan’s hair that morning and was to return to the White House for an afternoon touch-up. “After today,” he said, “I’m going to be with her all day.”

Mica Ertegun walked in and surveyed the wild scene. With a somewhat dubious look sha followed a white-clad employee to Weir’s chair, which Isabel Mathias, the wife of the Portuguese ambassador, Leonardo Mathias, had just vacated.

Across the room, Madelein Bordallo, wife of the governor of Guam, Ricardo Bordallo, was telling her stylist, “I may come back on Monday for a touch-up.” Having one’s hair dressed by the First Lady’s stylist lends a certain cachet to the event. As a result, many of the women in town for the inaugural festivities head for Robin Weir’s salon, where they are greeted by such symbolic Republican snacks as chocolate elephants and red, white and blue jellybeans — not to mention on-the-house omelettes and champagne. Weir is Mrs Reagan’s Washington hairdresser. Bengtsson is working out of Weir’s shop for, aS he puts

it, “the duration.” “Pat Buckley and Jerry Zipkin told me about him,” Mrs Ertegun said as Weir rolled her long dark hair in heated rollers. Beverly White, of Palm Beach, said she had arranged her hair appointment “through friends who knew how to get him.” “Senator Hawkins is coming in later,” Weir said as he fluffed her hair. “Oh, tell Paula I was here and said hello,” Mrs White replied. “Maybe I’ll see her at the gala tonight.” In the door swept Jayne Ikard and Beverly Sills. “Can you believe this?” Mrs Ikard asked Miss Sills as they took in the situation. “I knew you’d love it — it’s a circus.”

Mrs Ikard had come for a comb-out, but Miss Sills, swathed in a chincilla coat, just to watch. “I do my own brushing,” Miss Sills said. “I’m into tousled.” Eighteen-month-old Alexandria Davis wandered about. “Mommy,” she wailed. Marty Davis, wife of

Representative Robert Davis, (Republican-Michi-gan), groaned. “I’m never going to do this again with a child — I had no idea what a zoo it would be,” she told Linda Dawson, who was painting her nails scarlet. “We’re working all day Sunday, too,” Miss Dawson said. “I just did Mrs Sinatra’s nails today at her hotel — a light, opaque peach — and I have to go back tomorrow.”

Weir and Bengtsson enjoy a relaxed rivalry. “Too bad Mrs Reagan has to lower her standards,” Weir said jokingly, over her choice of Bengtsson for the inaugural week. “I have thousands of photographs of myself, but every time I come here they’ve disappeared from the walls,” Bengtsson complained, looking about at Weir’s array of autographed photographs from such clients as Mrs Reagan and comedienne Joan Rivers. “There’s one of me in the drawer with Zsa Zsa, but it looks as if they threw acid on it,” he said, fishing out a

stained photograph of Miss Gabor. In California he travels to his clients’ homes. “But I work anywhere — trains, planes,” he said as he fussed over Dodie Booth, a Los Angeles customer here for the inauguration. “I’ll never forget your postcard from Air Force One saying, ‘this is the only way to fly’,” Mrs Booth said.

“Did I write you a letter from Windsor Palace?” asked Bengtsson, referring to a trip to England with Mrs Reagan. “I sat up all night writing to friends on the Queen’s stationery — and the Queen of England paid for the stamps.” Across the room, one of Weir’s customers, Linda Casell, director of the charlin Jazz Society, confessed that she was a Democrat.

And what were her plans for the evening? “I’m going to write to President Reagan and tell him to give more money to the arts,” she said, “and then I’m going to the movies to see ‘Cotton Club’.”