Cristophe Cut to the Quick Over Bad Press : Media: Hairstylist talks about the tangle he got himself into since the President had his infamous bad hair day.

The espresso was flowing. The hair was flying. It was morning in Beverly Hills and Cristophe, the Barber of Bill, was talking about patriotism and the presidency.

“If you look at my story, it’s like the American dream,” the Belgian-born stylist said, running a suntanned hand through his long tresses. He had come from Europe a poor unknown. And now, looking around his bustling salon, he had to admit: “I’ve been very blessed.”

So last month, when he was summoned to Los Angeles International Airport to cut Bill Clinton’s locks aboard Air Force One, the man who snips Dustin, Dinah, Julio and Farrah says he only wanted to do his part for America. He wanted to give the leader of the Free World a good haircut.

“I just wanted to protect (the Clintons), to make sure that the hair business was taken care of,” he said last week, speaking for the first time about what has come to be known as the President’s bad hair day. “I wanted to help. . . . That’s what’s so devastating.”

Since news broke that two runways were closed while Clinton received his new, high-priced do, the President’s man of the people image has suffered under attacks that he is more uptown than down home.

Cristophe has been in a tangle, too. First came the scolding from his father, a retired cookie company salesman who lives in Brussels. (“He called me up like I was 6 years old saying: ‘What did you do now?’ ”)

Then came the cameras. Television crews staked out Cristophe’s Beverly Drive salon. Paparazzi lingered outside his door. Newspapers all over the world spelled his name wrong, adding an h after the C . And for all the talk about a $200 trim on the Tarmac, nobody got Cristophe’s prices right. (A card next to his barber chair lists his prices as $250, $175, $150 or $125, but Cristophe says he never charges $200.)

The media angered Cristophe like a bad case of split ends. Reporters distorted the truth, Cristophe said, painting Clinton as a vain, self-indulgent, Hollywood wanna-be. And worst of all, said the 36-year-old stylist, they used Cristophe to do it.

“I felt utilized as a tool,” he said. For the record, the commander-in-chief is “not into hair,” Cristophe insisted. “I am not saying this in a negative way. But honestly, do you really think that Hillary or Bill Clinton, from what you can see, is very concerned about their appearance?”

Cristophe admits that the surge of publicity has not been entirely unwelcome. Long before he cropped the President on the runway, the man who liberated Hillary of her headband, who did the hair in Little Rock on Election Night and twirled the First Family’s curls on Inauguration Day had announced plans to open a salon in downtown Washington. Moreover, he has a line of hair care products in the works. It isn’t a bad time to become a household name.

“If I was the only person involved . . . I’d think it was a wonderful thing. Who cares about the way they spell my name?” he said. “But if the price I have to pay is what I’ve had to live with, it wasn’t worth it.”

You see, Cristophe says he truly likes the Clintons. It’s not a political thing, really. “I don’t even know most of their agenda,” he said. All he knows is that every time he flies to Little Rock, Ark., or Washington to run a comb over their powerful heads, he comes home happy.

“If only people could know them the way I know them,” he said. “I didn’t think people like them existed anymore.”

Things were not always so heady.

Back in 1982, when Cristophe Schatteman and his wife, Danielle, moved to the United States, he wielded his scissors for a mere $35. Taking the lead from hair idols such as Sassoon and Sebastian, he decided to be known by only one name. And a few years later, he opened his own airy salon, decorated in earth tones “to accentuate the skin.”

At first, Salon Cristophe had only two stylists. But as his clientele grew, so did his staff--and his prices. First he went to $40. Then to $60. He says his current rate--$250 for a woman’s first-time cut, $150 for a man’s--is dictated by simple economics, supply and demand.

“If one day somebody in my chair would stand up after I am finished and say: ‘You know what? This is really a fraud. It’s not worth it.’ I would sit down and reconsider the entire thing,” he said. “But so far, it has never happened.”

Since he clipped Clinton’s hair, Cristophe fears that his high prices have hurt the 40 lower-priced stylists that he employs. “They charge 50 bucks,” he said, “but they’re suffering because everyone has in mind, ‘Oh, Cristophe, that’s the 200 bucks place.’ ”

For that reason, and out of respect for the First Family, Cristophe has laid low during the last month, turning down more than 100 requests for interviews that poured in from Australia, France, Germany and New Zealand, among other places. And he has tried his best not to talk about the President’s scalp--even when his clients insist.

The other day, Melissa Tooker-Engelhardt of Laguna Niguel arrived at the salon brimming with curiosity. Cristophe had barely finished explaining his plans for her--a “wispy, shaggy, ‘90s version of ‘Klute’ “--when she started in.

“So are people giving you a lot of grief?” asked the 38-year-old mortgage banker, closing her eyes as Cristophe re-layered her bangs. “So what if Clinton gets cut by one of the world’s best haircutters? If I were President, I would, too.”

“I don’t think I want to talk about it,” Cristophe said, smoothing a hand over the nape of her neck.

“You were victimized in a way,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault. If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else.”

Cristophe nodded but said nothing.

Mitchell Jacobs, a Bel-Air divorce lawyer, came next, raising an eyebrow at Cristophe as he settled into the barber chair.

“ You’ve been busy,” Jacobs said.

And so it went. At a bistro around the corner from his salon, Cristophe was eating a Caesar salad when he was approached by one of Kirk Douglas’ sons, Peter. “He only charges me $50!” the younger Douglas told a reporter. “Though actually, I haven’t been in to see him in a long time. Now that he’s famous, I can’t get in.”

“Oh, please,” Cristophe said with a sigh.

Cristophe met Hillary Rodham Clinton in June, 1992, when actress Markie Post threw a haircut party for a bunch of her girlfriends. Post stars in the television series “Hearts Afire,” which is produced by longtime Clinton pals Harry Thomason and Linda Bloodworth-Thomason. Hillary was one of her guests.

“When I met her, I had no idea who she was,” said Cristophe, who had by that time shorn many a famous pate, from Bruce Springsteen to Betty Ford’s. “All I knew was that she was a friend of a friend of mine. That was it.”

He believes that for Hillary, “the headband thing was (an act of) desperation” prompted by a bad clip job. With his help, she was able to shed the homely accessory, creating a look that People magazine called “snippy-review-proof.”

Cristophe is tighter-lipped about Bill. Seeking insight, one must resort to analyzing the hair expert’s assessment of men in general.

“Men cannot rely on 1,000 things,” the stylist said. “Women can put makeup on. But a man--if he wakes up with a bad face, this is it. There is nothing to help him except his hair.”

After they met, Cristophe developed his own relationship not only with Hillary, but with the entire Clinton circle. He clipped Chelsea. He cropped then-White House communications director George Stephanopoulos. He entered into a personal services contract with the Clinton family, providing grooming services for an undisclosed fee.

He was not possessive, he says. Because Hillary is often on the East Coast, Cristophe recommended other hairdressers for her to try, such as Frederic Fekkai, who reportedly charged her $275.

But something kept the Clintons coming back. Maybe it was the way Cristophe focused his attention so unwaveringly upon whoever sat in his chair. Maybe it was the fact that the President and Cristophe share one annoying trait: Both men are always late.

“When I cut, I lose a little bit of my conception of time,” Cristophe said.

Cristophe talks openly about most things. He freely acknowledges that his industry thrives, in part, on insecurity. “I’ve never met somebody who said: ‘My hair is wonderful. It does exactly what I want and I’m very happy with it.’ ” And he is happy to confirm that, had he not gotten into hair, he probably would have been a plumber. But one subject remains off limits: the runway debacle.

“I’m not going to go into details about how it actually happened,” he said. He will only say that not a single media outlet has gotten it right.

“It sounded like Bill Clinton flew to Los Angeles and said: ‘Hmmm, I need a haircut. Who is the Hollywood hairdresser of the stars? What’s his name? Cristophe? One name? That sounds good. How much does he charge? $200? That’s great. You know what? Close the runway for two hours and bring that guy over here.’ ”

He paused and rolled his eyes. “I mean, come on,” he said.

So what about the future? Has the relationship soured? Cristophe will only say that he has talked to the Clintons since their last jet-powered trim and “they’re wonderful people.” Will he be invited back to the White House?

“I didn’t bring it up,” he said. “I want to do whatever I can for them, to give something back. . . . They’re role models on every level. We should want them to look good. . . . (But) I don’t want to be like--what do you call it?--a chain and ball that they have to carry around.

“I’m just a barber who tries to be the best at what he does,” he said. “I don’t want to make it sound more important than what it is. It’s not heart surgery. But it’s a craft like any other craft.”

A very pregnant and very beautiful woman appeared behind Cristophe. She could see he was occupied, but she didn’t look miffed. Judging by her easygoing attitude, Kelly LeBrock--the model, actress and wife of action-hero Steven Seagal had been kept waiting before.

“I should go get a Father’s Day card and come back, right?” she asked, taking the hand of her daughter, Annaliza, and giving Cristophe a squeeze.

The barber smiled warmly. For Cristophe, it seems, they always come back.