Shaved

by Gina LaManna

  “Myself,” she said. “I’m my own number one fan. You know, I read a self-help book once about that crap.”

  “Well, now you have me to talk to.” I scanned her room which, like mine, was quite luxurious. She had a large whirlpool tub next to the window that overlooked the ocean, and one king-sized bed that was fully rumpled with the imprint of Meg, as if she’d taken a flying leap onto it, and the comforter had molded around her figure. “It’s okay to feel sad, or worried. I felt both before I got married. It’s natural.”

  “Yeah, but is it natural for the groom to go missing?”

  “In this family, anything can happen.”

  “I might never be one of the family if my husband-to-be doesn’t come back to wed his bridezilla.”

  “Meg,” I said, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “You’ve always been one of the family. You butted yourself in from the day we met.”

  “I suppose I did, didn’t I?” she said with a watery smile. “And I have a big butt. There’s no stopping it when I want something.”

  “I know.” I patted her shoulder. “And we all love you. Even Anthony. Even Carlos.”

  “I know,” Meg said. “Especially Carlos. I think he even loves me more than he loves Bella, but it’s not a competition.”

  “No, it’s not a competition.”

  “But he’s known me for longer.”

  “That is a fact, seeing as Bella’s not even been alive for a year.”

  “Hey, I can’t help it that I’m old and privileged, okay?”

  “Meg, I can tell you’re worried. I really think—”

  “Hold that thought,” Meg said as the phone rang. “I’ve got to get this.”

  She leapt for the room phone and answered. “Uh-huh. Yep. Okay. That’s today? I forgot all about the schedule change—can we still make it? Both of us? Perfect.”

  I frowned, waiting for Meg to share the news with me. I figured it couldn’t be great news seeing as she’d said “both of us” and smiled at me like a shark eyeing its prey.

  “That was the spa,” Meg said. “It’s time.”

  I felt my legs go numb. “Oh, I don’t really think I’m up for pampering.”

  “Remember, I’m feeling really sad and down. My groom has disappeared. I’m hurting.” Meg stepped closer to me, twisting her hands before her body. “Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m asking. Live dangerously, Lacey Luzzi. You might be dead tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s not really funny, seeing as how we almost got shot today.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Meg said. “If they shoot at you again, a bullet might hit you, and you could die. Don’t you want to experience life to the fullest?”

  I groaned again, but I let her pull me out of the room. “If this goes poorly, you’ll be dead by morning. Understood?”

  Chapter 11

  “All of my clothes?” I asked. “Or, like, maybe I could leave some on just for fun?”

  “Sure!” A chipper woman with a severe blond braid and brilliant, sea-green eyes nodded happily at me, as if we were about to sit down to a plateful of cake that had zero calories. “Like I said, you can leave on anything from the waist up. But down below, I’ll need everything to come off. Then just climb up on the table.”

  “Um, I’m not so sure—”

  “Go on, Lacey,” Meg said. “I’m going to step out now that you’ve met Olga. But if I find out you’ve snuck out of here without getting the wax...”

  I whimpered. “I’m too much of a wimp for a wax.”

  “Well, Olga is very good,” Meg said. “And you’re gonna love it. Remember what I said? You might be dead by tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be great for you—and Anthony, might I add—to experience this phenomenon?”

  “Of yanking all of my hair out and causing excruciating pain that borders on cruel torture?” I hesitated. “Yeah, I’d probably rather take the bullet.”

  “This is the finest spa in Kauai,” Olga said. “I’ve been doing this for eighteen years. I promise, it will be virtually painless.”

  “You can promise that?” I asked. “Really? Isn’t it hot wax ripping hair from your private parts?”

  “Sure, if you look at it like a caveman,” Meg said. “Ancient Egyptians used to pluck every hair out down there. Yikes, huh?”

  “You’ll be very happy with the results,” Olga said. “It’s very freeing.”

  “I’m plenty free,” I grumbled. “I know my rights. I’ve read the Constitution. Or at least the SparkNotes version of it.”

  “Get on the table,” Meg said. “I promise you’ll love it. You can trust me; I’m your best friend.”

  With that, Meg pulled her head from the private room that she’d hauled me into and shut the door behind her. Olga gave me another one of her fixed, plastic-Barbie sort of smiles and waited patiently.

  “So, like, what all comes off?” I asked. “I’ve obviously never done this before.”

  “We can do however you like,” Olga said. “Believe me, I’ve seen everything.”

  “Well, I’ve seen nothing, so I’m going to need a little help here. What do you recommend?”

  “Your friend has paid for the Brazilian, so...” she hesitated, as if I should know what that meant.

  “Is that a type of wax?” I asked. “Underwear? Food? Help me out, Olga. I’m clueless.”

  “If you’re going to wax, you might as well do everything,” she said. “Front and back.”

  “Back?!” I blanched. “Excuse me, but nobody’s allowed there. Ever.”

  Olga sighed, then looked at her watch. “If you’d like to do the simple bikini, we can do that. It’s not my personal preference, but some—”

  “Fine, fine, just...” I hesitated. “Do the full thing. But if you lied, and if it hurts, I cannot guarantee I won’t punch you in the face.”

  Olga grinned. “Like I said, I’ve seen it all.”

  I gave her buff, toned arms a quick glance, and I realized she could probably hold me down without breaking a sweat. “So—everything?”

  “Everything,” she said, and then left the room.

  I ran through just about every expletive in my brain and about eleven escape routes. But apparently, there was a niggling curiosity about this whole ‘bikini wax’ process I’d heard so much about, and also, I could be dead tomorrow. Meg was right. It was a fact. Did I really want to die without experiencing a bikini wax?

  The answer was no. Especially if it was free and didn’t hurt. There really wasn’t anything to worry about, I thought, coaching myself aloud as I slipped out of my shorts. It took some more internal coaxing to go the rest of the way and climb undressed onto the table.

  Plenty of women do this all the time, I told myself. Monthly! They choose to come back, over and over again, to get all of their poor hair yanked out by the roots. Surely it couldn’t be that bad if people paid good money to do this repeatedly.

  And Olga was a professional. She’d seen everything. She could help me get that post-baby-body back to feeling sexy. It was important to try new things and keep the romance alive. Anthony and I weren’t old and withered. We were young, vibrant, in-love parents, and I intended to try my dandiest to keep things that way.

  “Oh, crap,” I said when Olga returned. “Crap, crap, crap. I can’t do this.”

  “Sure you can,” Olga said, and then helped me to lie back. “Breathe. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

  “Minnes-ooooh, hot! What was that?” I yelled. “You didn’t tell me you were starting!”

  “It’s better if we keep things moving,” Olga said. “So, are you married?”

  “Yes, I am. And we have a daughter named crap! That hurts!”

  “Sorry, what’s her name? I didn’t quite catch that. You’re doing great.”

  “Bella,” I said, gasping. “What in the world! You said it didn’t hurt!”

  “The first time is the worst,” she said. “And also, this part is the worst. Once we flip you over, you’ll barely
feel a thing.”

  “Yes, because my body will be raw and numb and probably in a coma from the pain,” I said, gritting my teeth as another strip came off. “I can’t believe people choose to do this.”

  “I guarantee you’ll love the results,” she said. “Now—what brings you to Hawaii?”

  “A stupid wedding!” I stammered. “Meg’s. That horrible woman who calls herself a friend? That one. She’s a huge—”

  “—there we go,” Olga said. “Deep breath. You’ll want to exfoliate after this. And wear loose clothing. And generally avoid exercise for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “An excuse to avoid exercise is the only good thing to come of this,” I groaned. “And I do that anyway.”

  “I’d avoid anything with friction, as well.” Olga blinked at me. “You will be raw.”

  “Right,” I said with a glare. “Watch it—where are your hands going?!”

  “I’m going to need you to relax and open—”

  “I’m going to need you to relax, Olga,” I said. “Take a break. Five-minute breather.”

  “It’s way harder to take a break than it is to continue,” Olga said. “Take my word for it.”

  “Fine, then just...hurry it up, will you?” I said. “I don’t know how much longer I can handle this. It’s hot in here. I’m sweating. Is it hot? Is it just me?”

  “Take a breath,” she said. “Relax, we’re almost done.”

  “Say,” I said. “Have you ever heard of someone named Coco?”

  There was no initial response from Olga, but I could have sworn she ripped off the next strip with a bit of extra vengeance.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. “And you don’t like him?”

  “Flip over,” she said. “Please.”

  Weakly, I flipped over. “Tell me about Coco.”

  “Nothing to tell,” she said. “You have obviously heard about him, and that’s all he is. A reputation.”

  “How would one find him if one wanted to do such a thing?”

  “One shouldn’t want to do any such thing,” she said, then yanked some more. “You’re all done. And, if you want to stay alive, I suggest you be all done with Coco, too.”

  “How does nobody know who he is?”

  “You’ll want to put this cream on for the first few days,” Olga said, handing me a tube of antiseptic lotion. “And try this exfoliation serum after that.”

  “Why is everyone so scared of him?” I asked. “If it’s everyone against him, shouldn’t it be easy to overtake him?”

  Olga moved to the door, turned, and gave me a stare down. “You should know how families work better than anyone, Miss Luzzi.”

  I stared after her for quite some time, trying to decipher what she’d meant. Surely, she knew my name because Meg put it on one form or another, right? I’d never told her my last name, but it was entirely possible she had looked it up. And it was entirely possible she’d meant something different than what I’d interpreted. She couldn’t know about Carlos and his history—and mine along with it. That was impossible.

  Then again, when I had booked tickets to travel across the ocean to a tiny little island for my best friend’s wedding, I would have considered it impossible to be caught up in a murder mystery involving the Hawaiian version of the mob. Impossible doesn’t mean much in my family.

  I slipped into my undies, wincing as I did, then turned around in search of my shorts.

  “Looking for these?”

  I snapped my head up and found Rachel, the maid, standing just inside the door with my jean shorts dangling from her fingers. “What are you doing in here?”

  Rachel gave me a patronizing smile, then opened the door a crack and threw my jeans into the garbage can outside. Then, she closed the door and locked it with a resounding click. “Don’t yell,” she said, pulling a knife from her side. “It will only make things worse.”

  “What are you doing here, Rachel?” I asked. My private parts were burning, I had no pants, and I was being faced down by a woman wielding a big, ugly weapon. Not good. “Those were my shorts!”

  Rachel gave a light laugh. “Yes, well, you won’t need them.”

  “If you think not having pants is going to stop me from running out of here, it won’t,” I warned her, raising my hands. “I’m a mom now. I’ve been peed, pooed, and thrown-up on in public. I have been poked and prodded. And after what Olga just did to me, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can do that’s more invasive. Nothing embarrasses me anymore, Rachel.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Rachel said, stepping toward me. “Sit. On the table.”

  I inched toward the table, keeping my hands raised and my eyes moving in search of anything that could be used as a weapon. Olga had turned the wax machine-thing off, but it had to still be warm. I kept my back to it as I inched closer and closer.

  “Why are you here?” I asked. “I thought you didn’t have anything to do with May’s death?”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “But I’ll have something to do with yours.”

  “Did Coco put you up to this?”

  “Very good. Now sit. I said sit!”

  I climbed onto the table and sat, calculating the distance between me and the wax. If Rachel had brought a gun, I wouldn’t have made it. With a knife, it was just possible. “Why? How did you get roped into this?”

  “The same way anyone gets roped into anything with Coco,” she said. “Revenge, cash, or both. I chose the latter, though the former was a nice perk.”

  “Revenge for what?”

  Rachel tapped the point of her knife, then smiled when it cut the very tip of her finger. “Sam always said he’d leave her. Always said he’d come and be with me. I loved him. We were together for a while, then he dumped me and got back with May. I told him I missed him, and he said he missed me.”

  “Tragic.”

  “Shut up,” she said. “Well, anyway, I thought maybe he killed May—got her completely out of the picture. But when I asked him about us being together last night, he said no. Rejected me! He’s torn up—torn up!—over her death. And I saw, finally, that he’s always loved her. I’ve always been his second option. I don’t like being the second best.”

  “Well, okay,” I said. “But there are plenty of fish in the sea. Why not find someone else?”

  “Oh, I will,” she said. “With the wad of cash that I’m earning from your death.”

  “Is there a price on my head?” I asked. “For Pete’s sake. This is ridiculous.”

  “You brought this on yourself by getting involved.”

  “Lesson learned,” I retorted. “But I don’t suppose backing out now will encourage you to spare my life?”

  Rachel bit her lip as if considering it, then shook her head. “Sorry. He’s paying me too much to refuse.”

  “What if I paid you double that to stay alive?”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “I’m ready to get off this godforsaken island. The only reason I’m still here is because of Sam. He kept saying he was going to dump May after...” She hesitated, shaking her head. “Something. I thought he was using her to complete a task, but it was all a lie. He was just stringing me along. There’s nothing left for me here.”

  “I have a daughter,” I said, coiling my muscles to spring as Rachel inched closer toward me. “And a family. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Sure it does,” she said. “Fifty grand. Cold. Hard. Cash.”

  “I’m only worth fifty grand?” I asked. “That’s barely a year’s salary for some jobs!”

  “Deal with it.”

  At each word, Rachel punctuated her point by taking a step toward me and bringing the knife upward. The second she was within striking distance, I made my move.

  I leapt from the table and grabbed at the hot wax jar. I ripped it from the wall, the cord dangling behind as Rachel screeched with frustration and lunged after me. She managed to get ahold of my shirt, but I ripped that from her grasp. It was an excellen
t turn of events that I wasn’t wearing pants as she swiped at my hip and missed by a breath.

  “You’re not going to make it out of here alive!” she hissed. “Even if you do, Coco isn’t giving up until he kills you.”

  “Let him try.”

  “If you’d just make this easy for us,” she said, pulling herself to her feet and taking a deep breath, “maybe he’ll go easy on your family.”

  “I don’t think so,” I grunted, and sent the entire hot wax jar—cannister and all—sailing in Rachel’s direction. “Happy waxing.”

  Some of the gunk landed on Rachel’s forehead. She clutched clumsily at the cannister, her mobility impaired by the large knife in her right hand. Rachel dropped the wax, but not before some of it splashed onto her hands and down the front of her maid’s uniform. She let out a wail as the wax hardened on her forehead and dripped into her eyes as she tore at the stuff with her fingers.

  Meanwhile, I lunged for the door and ripped it open, screaming for help. Unfortunately, there was a private lobby and lounge that was currently empty save for a stunned young woman sitting behind the front desk.

  “She’s trying to kill me!” I called to the woman, who promptly fainted and fell from her chair. “No help at all,” I grumbled, and rushed across the hall to find Meg.

  I yanked the first door in sight open to the sound of an unfamiliar voice yelping.

  I quickly raised a hand over my eyes and called an apology as I slammed the door shut. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I yelped as I opened the next three doors and found unfamiliar women all in the middle of private appointments.

  “Finally,” I said when I pulled open the door to the last small room in the pristine white hallway and saw my best friend’s face contorted in surprise. “Meg, help! There’s a woman trying to kill me!”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Meg said, and yanked on a pair of undies. “I’ve got this, Lacey. Just you wait. Nobody interrupts a wax session without serious consequences. Taking a break is the worst.”

  “Really? That’s what Olga said.”

  “It’s true,” Meg agreed. “Now, where is she?”

  We didn’t have long to wait until Rachel careened into the room. I had shuffled for Meg’s phone and was already dialing Anthony’s cell (which was curiously listed as her number one favorite speed dial) while she’d reached for her purse. The wax tech had long since vanished from the room.