by Karyn Bosnak
After leaving the Clarins counter, I headed toward the escalator, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the Kiehl’s counter. I was running low on three of my favorite hair necessities, the Leave-In Hair Conditioner and Crème with Silk Groom, as well as my favorite lip balm, Lip Balm #1. They ran me about $67, but would last a long time.
After all the distractions, I finally made it up to the floor where the lingerie department was. I started looking around and saw some bras and panties by the designer La Perla. I frequently saw La Perla ads in magazines, so I decided to check them out. After finding a bra that I liked, I was horrified to see that the price was almost $200! I looked at a couple more and discovered that they all were that high! Who in their right mind would spend $200 on a bra? Not me.
I quickly moved on and soon found the nightgown section, because that was what I was there to buy. They had long ones and short ones, cotton ones and silky ones. I liked the way the long ones looked, so I decided to grab a couple of those. As my hands were getting full, a saleslady came up to me and asked me if I needed a fitting room.
“Oh, yes, please,” I said while handing her all my nighties. She led me to a fitting room that she said no one knew about.
“It’s huge, and it’s hidden away from the others, so it’s always empty. You’ll love it,” she said.
Once we arrived, I was delighted to see that she was indeed correct. It was enormous, and almost as big as my apartment. Yes, it’s a sad day when a fitting room at a department store is as big as your apartment, but I tried not to let it get me down.
As I undressed and started to put on the nightgowns, I imagined myself sashaying around in my fabulous but small New York apartment, looking like Krystle Grant Jennings Carrington or Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan. I used to watch a lot of Dynasty when I was younger, and always dreamed of looking like those women. Maybe someday someone would even name a perfume after me. I bet all fancy New York women had fancy silk nightgowns like these.
As thoughts of a perfect life filled my head, I slipped an Oscar de la Renta silk nightgown off the hanger and over my head. I adjusted the straps and turned around to look in the mirror and…ugh! It looked just horrible! I did not look like Alexis or Krystle. I was too short and my breasts were too small to pull a long nightgown off.
With little hope, I tried the other long nightgowns on as well, and each one brought me the same reaction. Not good. Back to the drawing board.
I gave the long nightgowns back to the saleslady, and she suggested I try younger more hip styles from designers like Only Hearts and Eberjey. With her help, I picked out a cute tie-dyed sheer camisole and brief set, and an orange-and-yellow short nightgown. I also selected some short D&G spaghetti-strap nightgowns.
After a short while, I went back to my favorite hidden fitting room and tried them on. And bingo! She was right. The shorter nightgowns and camisole sets looked so much better on me! After trying them all on, I gave the saleslady two Only Hearts camisole sets and one Eberjey nightgown to hold, and went back out to see what else I could find. I never knew lingerie could be so fun!
After three more trips to the fitting room, I ended up also giving the saleslady a D&G nightgown, two more short nightgowns and a great camisole/pant set by Josie Natori, and a great bra and panty set from a designer called Princess Tam-Tam. I wasn’t there to get bras and panties, but once I saw this set, I just couldn’t pass it up! It was periwinkle and had the most beautiful lace stitching I ever saw! And every girl should have at least one nice bra and panty set.
On my way up to the counter to pay, I grabbed a few more black lace boy-cut undies that I knew would look so flattering on my big booty. As the saleslady rang it all up, I tried to add it all up in my head. It couldn’t be that much. A few seconds later she was done.
“Okay, the total is $778,” she said.
“How much?” I asked, shocked that it was so expensive.
“$778,” she repeated. “You had two Only Hearts camisole sets for $72 each, one Eberjey nightgown for $80, one D&G nightgown for $123, one Natori camisole/pant set that was $100, two Natori nightgowns for $50 each, one Princess Tam-Tam bra for $72, one pair of Princess Tam-Tam panties for $42, and three pairs of Wacoal black lace panties for $20 each. That comes to $721. And with tax the total is $778.”
I stood there in awe not knowing what to do. It was expensive, but I had to be honest with myself. I was twenty-seven years old and wasn’t going to be a spring chicken much longer. So I needed these nighties to look as sexy as I could because I needed to land a man. So they were kind of like an investment. An investment in my sex life and an investment in my future. Just like my favorite makeup products, they served two purposes. And if they didn’t work with Brad, then hopefully they’d work with the next guy.
And how “out of style” can lingerie really go? Sexy is sexy. Lace panties have been in style forever and weren’t going anywhere. These weren’t like a trendy top or something. They were pajamas. Lingerie. I’d be able to wear them for seasons. So I needed to chill out and not fret over my $778 lingerie purchase. It was going to be okay. With that, I gladly handed over my Amex card, and a few moments later I was out the door.
On my way home, I passed St. Patrick’s Cathedral and tried not to look because I didn’t want God to know I had sexy lingerie in my Saks bag. It was bad enough that I hadn’t been to church much lately. I didn’t want him to know I was also having premarital sex. All that “no going to heaven if you sin” stuff that was drilled into my head during Catholic school really stuck with me.
When I got home, I opened my pajama drawer. There comes a time in your life when you have to say good-bye to old T-shirts and college sweatshirts that have been masquerading as pajamas for years and make room for more adult stuff. And for me, now was that time. As I cleaned out my drawer, I put the old stuff in a bag and decided to give it to Catholic Charities with hopes that it might help me get back in good with God again. Surely he’d forgive me after I gave my old clothes to people who needed them.
Later that night Brad and I went to dinner, and when he came over afterward I put on the cute tie-dyed Only Hearts camisole set. And it worked. I again got in his pants, and again woke up with a smile on my face.
Over the next two weeks, Brad slept over almost every night. Things were going pretty well between us. And my financial life seemed to be picking up as well. American Express upgraded me to a Gold card. And if they were confident that I could pay it off every month, then so was I! Life was good!
THE BIKINI WAX
The second weekend in September, my dad came to visit me. He arrived on Friday afternoon, and I left work early so we could get an early start on our weekend of sightseeing. Well, that and we had to eat “supper” by five because he has a bad case of indigestion. My dad is relatively conservative. He is big on having a savings account. So just to appease him, I got myself one. There wasn’t any money in it, but I had one.
Despite not knowing the city all that well, I think I did a fine job being tour guide that weekend. In addition to taking him to all the basic New York landmarks, I took him to a few of my favorites as well! Like SoHo for some great shopping, and Madison Avenue for some more great shopping! And it was there that we experienced what would become my second New York celebrity sighting: Ted Danson walking into Barneys. Sam Malone himself!
On Sunday, we visited the famous St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and actually attended mass there. I was kind of afraid to enter for fear of being struck down by God, but then I remembered that he forgives people’s sins.
All in all, my dad seemed to enjoy his visit, but he had a couple of concerns about New Yorkers. For one, he wondered why no one talked to each other in public places, like on the train for example. When you are from the Midwest, you talk to everyone, I guess. I know I do. But in New York people didn’t do that so much.
“Everyone just sits there and puts their Walkmans on, and no one says anything to each other,” he said. I told him that
I thought it was a safety thing.
Another thing that bothered him was the phrase “on line.” In the Midwest, when people go to the store, for example, they wait “in line” to pay. But for some reason, everywhere you go in New York people always say “on line.” “Please wait on line for your tickets.” Or, “You have to stand on line to pay for those.” This is incorrect and I shared this concern with my dad.
On Monday morning, I bid him farewell and he left to go back home. As I got ready for work, I tried to look extra special because it was a special day for me both professionally and personally. It was the premiere of Curtis Court and the staff was having a party in the studio. And I also decided that today was the day that I was going to explore a new area of personal hygiene: the bikini wax.
The bikini wax was something I had read a lot about lately, and I had never gotten one before. It seemed to be something that all New York women did. And every salon from hair salons to nail salons offered them. After asking my friend Tracy in Los Angeles and Naomi in Chicago about them, I still was unsure about what to expect. So I decided to just go for the gusto and made an appointment at a salon uptown.
As I sat in the studio during our party and listened to boss after boss make speeches, all I could think about was my appointment. Like a hair salon, I didn’t really know where to go. I read about a place called J. Sisters but couldn’t get an appointment there quickly enough. So I went to a place that I found in the phone book. I would never do this for my hair, but unlike a bad haircut or color, a bad bikini wax could be hidden.
Later that afternoon, I went to a small salon on the Upper East Side owned by a Russian woman. I walked in and told them my name at the front desk, and waited patiently on a bench to be called into the back for my wax. The salon was rather barren (excuse the pun), and there was no big waiting room or anything. While sitting on the bench waiting to be called, I could see into the back of the salon. It looked like each “waxing station” was separated by those fake wall partitions, kind of like office cubicles. In fact, I bet the company that makes these cubicle walls could market them specifically to waxing salons as “pubicle cubicles.” My guess is that it’s an untapped market and they’d make a fortune.
Anyway, the waxing seemed to be taking place in these pubicle cubicles, just like my cube at work. Except the walls were high. Could you imagine if they weren’t?
“Hey there,” I’d say to the woman next to me, “looks like you are overdue for your wax. What are you getting done today? A Brazilian?”
“Yeah,” she’d say. “Gosh, I just love what they did to yours. What is that, a French wax? Say, bikini wax technician, could you make mine look like hers? Do you think that style would look right on me? I just love the way it looks on her.”
But the walls of the pubicle cubicles were high, so we didn’t have to worry about any unnecessary conversation. A few moments later, a woman appeared holding a piece of paper.
“Karreen?” she said, rolling the r. I stood up.
“Right dees way,” she said.
I followed the woman to my assigned pubicle cubicle, and a few seconds later my bikini wax technician arrived. She appeared to be Russian also, but she didn’t have an accent like the lady that brought me back here. She told me to get naked from the waist down and lie on the table. There’s nothing like getting right to it, I guess. I did what she said and took off my pants and underwear, and was careful to hide my underwear under my pants so they couldn’t be seen. I read in a magazine somewhere that all women do this and hide their underwear when they go to the doctor or the tanning salon or something. And it was true, at least for me.
Once I was naked, I hopped up on a massage table of sorts and the bikini wax technician, or whatever her real title was, came over to me. I didn’t want to tell her it was my first time, but by the frightened look on her face I could tell she knew.
“Have you ever been here before?” she asked.
“No. This is actually my first time,” I said. “It’s actually my first bikini wax ever.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry. It’ll be a breeze,” she said. “What kind of wax do you want?”
“Um, a bikini wax?” I said, thinking it was quite obvious since I was lying buck-naked on a massage table.
“Yes, I know that, what kind of bikini wax?” she asked.
“What kind? Oh, sorry. I guess a Brazilian. Is that where you take it all off?”
“No, a Brazilian is where we leave a little at the top,” she said.
“Okay, well, I want that,” I said. I was nervous.
“Okay,” she said. As I laid there quietly in my cubicle, she started to pour semi-hot wax on my pubicle.
“Damn, I could pitch a tent and go camping down here,” she said, laughing.
“Well, I’ve never had a wax before,” I said, embarrassed.
“Ahh, I’m just giving you a hard time,” she said. “You’ll be fine, just relax.”
Just then the phone rang. And she answered it. I figured that she’d wait until she was off the phone to continue, but she just kept on pouring. Then she took a linen cloth strip and pressed it into the wax.
“Doug, I told you that I’d be home in time to make dinner,” she said to the person on the phone. “I just don’t know what you—”
Rip!
She pulled the cloth strip up while still on the phone. And with it came half my pubicle. Oh it hurt!
“—want me to make,” she continued. She then pressed the cloth back down into the wax. “I could make, hold on—”
Rip!
Again she pulled the cloth strip up. Holy sweet Jesus this was painful!
“—steak or something. Do you want that?” she said. I couldn’t believe she was giving me a bikini wax while talking to someone on the phone about what to make for dinner.
“Okay, well, I’ll call you back when I’m done,” she said. She then hung up the phone.
“Sorry,” she said to me. “My husband isn’t sure what he wants for dinner.”
“No problem,” I said.
As she continued to pour and pull, her fingers went places where only a few doctors and boyfriends have gone before. When she was done, I just laid there with my mouth slightly open, unable to talk.
“Flip over,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Flip over. I’m gonna do your butt,” she said.
“My butt?” I asked. “Why my butt?”
“Oh, don’t worry, everyone gets their butt done,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, kind of freaked out. “I don’t really have a hairy butt or anything though.” I turned over and laid on my stomach.
“That’s what they all think. Don’t lay on your stomach, get on all fours,” she said.
All fours, was she crazy? What am I a dog? But I did what she said.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, getting up on my knees.
With her two hands, she spread my cheeks apart and poured hot wax in. I seriously couldn’t imagine doing what she does for a living. And just like on the front side, she pushed the cloth strip into the wax on one of my cheeks and pulled.
Rip!
Oh my gosh! It was just as painful. She proceeded to do the other cheek as well, and when she was done, she took the white cloth and shoved it in front of my face to show me.
“See, that’s from your ass,” she said. “Do you want me to throw it away, or do you want to save it to knit a sweater?” she asked, laughing again. I bet she used these same jokes on everybody.
“No, you can throw it away,” I said, completely shocked. She then wrote up a slip for me and left the room while I got dressed. I looked down at my newly waxed pubicle and wondered what the purpose of a little strip of hair, which was the signature of the Brazilian, was. It looked like a small landing strip.
While ringing me up, the woman at the front desk encouraged me to buy something called Tend Skin, which she said would stop a rash from occurring. Eww. The bikini wax was $60 and the Tend Skin was
$20, and I figured I’d better tip the bikini wax technician 20 percent, so my total came to $92. Wow. Pricey.
When I got back to work, it was very difficult for me to be productive for the rest of the afternoon. All I thought about was “down there.” And every time someone looked at me, I wondered if they knew what was going on “down there.” And thoughts of “down there” soon led to thoughts of sex and then it was just a lost cause. I packed up early and went home.
That evening, I went to see Sam, my trainer, who was happy at my progress so far. It was also time for me to renew my sessions, so I bought ten more. We sort of developed a brother-sister relationship, which he said frequently happens with his female clients. I asked him if he would cat-sit for me for an upcoming weekend, because I had to go out of town for my sister’s thirtieth birthday party, and he said yes.
Brad came over that night, and we stayed up late to watch the premiere of Curtis Court. We had a really bad time slot in New York, so the show didn’t air until 1 A.M. Brad said he liked it, but I wasn’t sure if he was telling me the truth or just being nice. Later that night, however, I was sure he was telling me the truth when he said that he loved the bikini wax. It was a big hit! Upon falling asleep, I quietly thanked the bikini wax technician, or whatever her title was, for a job well done. Despite the bad jokes, phone calls, and slipping fingers, she did a fine job! Hail to bikini wax technicians everywhere! You are appreciated!
SIX
GRAND DEBT TALLY $15,169.00
PUFF DADDY & PUFFY ME
Despite high hopes, Curtis Court didn’t premiere with stellar ratings. The show did okay in some markets, but poorly in the big three, which were New York, Los Angeles and Chicago. And those really were the markets that counted. Curtis Court wasn’t a bad show by any means. I think the court show genre was just overloaded at the moment. In addition to Curtis Court, there were eight other court shows on the air, with Judge Judy leading the pack. Every day we all waited for the ratings, and every day they were the same.
