by Allie Gail
“If you met him back then, you must know he wasn’t always like this. It was losing my grandmother that changed him. He wasn’t the same man after she passed away.”
“Must’ve been really hard on him.”
“It was. He didn’t handle it very well. Started drinking a lot. And of course, then everything went downhill even worse after he had his first stroke.”
“He seems to have quite a bit of moxie left in him still.”
“That he does.” Smiling wistfully, Myles tells me, “He liked Charlie, by the way. Held him in his lap the whole time, petting him and talking to him. He always was good with animals.”
“Well, next time we’ll have to bring him with us.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how presumptuous they sound. There is no ‘we’, and I have no reason to expect him to bring me back to see his grandfather again after this.
But even if he doesn’t, I’ll go back and visit Joe again on my own. I’ve already decided this.
To avoid any awkwardness, I quickly ask, “Do your brothers get to go see him much?”
“Sure. All of us go pretty regularly. We try to stagger our visits throughout the week so he has someone there at least every other day.”
“Oh. That’s good.” For some reason, my memory strays to the gift shop creep and I can’t help making a comparison. I could never, ever picture Myles treating an elderly person the way that man did. He has way more patience than I ever would’ve given him credit for. I had no idea what to expect when I left with him this morning, but a visit to a nursing home never occurred to me as a possibility.
Whether he knows it or not, he’s scored major points with me today. I mean, how could I not swoon over a guy who is so devoted to his family? It says a lot about his character.
The waiter returns with the credit card receipt, and Myles scribbles a signature while asking me, “Ready to go?”
I take one last sip of my Sprite before nodding. “Mm-hm.”
“I already put the tip on the card,” he informs me, sliding the cash back across the table in my direction.
“Then I guess we’ll be his favorite customers of the day, won’t we?” Leaving the money, I sling my purse strap over one shoulder and slide out of the booth. I might’ve known he would pull that trick. I’ve used it myself, with my dad. He’s pretty hardheaded, so if you want to buy him dinner you have to be sneaky about it.
Myles seems more relaxed on the drive back. I could tell he was distracted this morning, only I wasn’t sure why. I dunno, maybe he isn’t a morning person.
“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” he wants to know.
“Nothing much. I promised Autumn I’d go with her to get a massage and a pedicure around four. Other than that, nothing. Just gonna hang out at home, I guess.” I’m secretly hoping any imminent plans will include him, but I’m leaving that ball in his court.
“Why don’t you come over for a swim when you get back?”
“Sure. We could do that.” YES! Whoohoo! On the surface I’m the picture of indifference, but the lusty little vixen inside me is pirouetting and squealing at the top of her shameless lungs.
“Can I assume we’re still on for tomorrow night?” Slowing down for a red light, he gives me a sidelong look. “The fireworks,” he reminds me.
“Oh, yeah. Tomorrow’s the fourth, isn’t it?”
He raises an expectant eyebrow, as if he isn’t buying for a minute that I’ve forgotten what day it is.
“Absolutely.” Why not? I feel deliciously optimistic today. Besides, B-day isn’t until Friday. I should be relatively safe until then.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
His mouth curves into a sleepy, sexy smile, and I feel a thrill of anticipation as our eyes lock for a brief moment. Every smile is different, unique to the circumstance at hand. But there is something about this one that goes beyond amusement or mere friendliness. There is an unspoken promise lingering in that smile.
I’ve seen it before. I saw it the night we almost crossed the line.
It’s like we’re sharing some private, intimate secret.
And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that before this day is over we’ll be sharing much more than secrets.
“He’s totally into you.”
Reluctantly opening one eye, I turn my face to blink at Autumn in the spa chair next to me. She’s selected a silver chrome polish for her toes while I, preferring something brighter, have opted for yellow with a cute design of white polka dots. It’ll be interesting to see how that turns out. Normally I do my own nails, but Autumn insisted on bringing me here for an early birthday present.
Naturally, I tried to protest. Her response? I don’t want to hear it, Leelo. We’re doing this if I have to knock you out and drag you there by your blonde roots. Now get your bubble butt in gear and let’s go make ourselves hot. How could I say no to that?
“You think so?” I ask, glancing down at the progress on my toes.
“Well, duh. It’s kind of obvious. Why else is he being so nice to you? He’s practically climbed up your butt lately, from the sound of it.”
“Because he’s trying to get into my pants. Well, duh yourself.”
“Same difference.”
“There’s a difference!” I object.
“Oh, really?” Shifting her attention to the nail technicians, she demands, “Hey, Cam. Mai. If some guy came over and took care of you when you were sick, and then offered to babysit your dog while you went out of town, and kept asking you to do stuff with him, tell me. What conclusion would you draw from that?”
Huh. So apparently she comes to this salon so often she’s on a first-name basis with everyone here.
The girls exchange amused looks. “He’s totally into you,” one of them offers, echoing my best friend’s opinion.
“Damn straight he is.” Autumn rests her head back with a self-satisfied grin. “And you’re going swimming with him tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So I was just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“Whether swimming is a euphemism for something else.”
“If it is, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“If that guy’s not first on your to-do list, then he should be. Tell me something. How’s the maintenance on your pound cake?”
Wow. And people say I have no filter. “I’m pretty sure my girlie bits are just fine.”
“You’re off your period, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Have you, by any chance, taken a razor to the ol’ cornfield lately?”
“How does this – are we really having this conversation?”
“Just asking. You know, as a concerned citizen.”
“My ‘cornfield’ is fine. I keep it trimmed. It’s not like I’ve got Buckwheat in a leglock down there or anything.”
“Mm-hm. That’s what I figured.” Raising an arm, she waves to some heavyset brunette at the opposite end of the salon. “Claudia! How busy are you today? Think you can do me a favor and work my friend in?”
“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously. “Work me in for what?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Work me in for what?”
“Chillax, Leelo. You’ll thank me later.”
The woman – Claudia, I assume – strides across the room in our direction. My first startled thought is that she looks an awful lot like that actress who played the psychotic woman in Misery. The one who held her favorite author captive and then smashed both his ankles with a sledgehammer.
Not the most comforting likeness, I gotta say.
“This is my friend, Leah. It’s her first time here.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the woman coos with a smile that borders on creepy. “What did you have in mind, dear?”
“I don’t really–”
“A full Brazilian,” Autumn cuts in.
“No! She’s j
ust kidding,” I hastily assure Claudia. “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”
“She’d like a Brazilian wax,” my so-called friend repeats. “It’s kind of a special occasion. Could you maybe find a way to work her in?”
Please be all booked up. For the love of God, please be all–
“You’re in luck!” the woman announces gleefully, much to my dismay. “I had a cancellation, so it just so happens my schedule is open at the moment. Isn’t this fortuitous? Normally I have a two-week waiting list. You came in at just the right time. Are you almost done here, Mai?”
“Five minutes,” the Vietnamese girl replies with a giggle.
What is she laughing at? What’s so funny? Okay, that’s it. I am about two seconds away from jumping up out of this chair and making a break for the parking lot. I did NOT come here today to have my hair pulled out by the roots, no matter what anyone says.
“I am not getting waxed!” I hiss at Autumn between clenched teeth.
“Don’t be a candy-ass,” she scoffs. “It’s not a big deal. Believe me, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as people make it out to.”
“I can shave it myself just fine! And a lot cheaper, too. In case you haven’t noticed, I am a person, not a Lamborghini. I don’t need hot wax dumped all over my rear bumper.”
“This is way better than shaving. Trust me. Men love hairless kitty cats, and this is the only way to make sure it’s done right.”
“I’ve been a licensed esthetician for more than twenty years, honey,” Claudia reassures me. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’ll be in good hands. I know what I’m doing.”
“See? She knows what she’s doing.” Ignoring my reluctance, Autumn takes charge. “You can go ahead and set up for her if you want to. Thank you so much, I really appreciate this. We’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”
“Wonderful!” Beaming at the opportunity to impress a new client, Claudia scurries off into the back somewhere. I can’t believe it. They’re acting like my opinion doesn’t even matter. And it’s my vagina they’re about to snatch bald!
“Where’s she going? To get the sledgehammer ready?”
Autumn stares at me blankly. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought she might be planning to hobble me first.”
It takes a moment for that to sink in, but when it does she bursts out laughing. “Oh my God! She does look like Kathy Bates, doesn’t she?”
“How have you not noticed that before? The resemblance is uncanny.”
“I don’t know. I guess I was just so flattered when she told me she was my number one fan.”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s just skip this. I can’t really afford to have it done right now anyway.” It’s a lie, but I’m hoping the excuse will get me out of this predicament.
“Don’t worry, it’s on me.”
“But I don’t–”
“No arguments! I mean it. I want you looking your best for Mr. Cutie Buns.”
“I don’t know about this.” I chew my bottom lip anxiously.
“You’ll be fine. It’s no worse than having your eyebrows waxed. You’ve done that, haven’t you?”
“No. They’re not that thick. I just use tweezers.”
“Well…it’s not that bad. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.” Leaning over to rummage around in her purse, she pulls out what looks like an aspirin bottle and tips out a couple of pills. “Here. Take these.”
“What’s this?”
“Advil.”
“Wait a minute! Why are you giving me Advil? I thought you said it wasn’t that bad!”
“This helps.”
“Helps what? You just got through saying it wouldn’t hurt!”
“It doesn’t. It just stings a little.”
“But not much. Right?”
“No. Not much.”
“Autumn. If you’re lying to me, so help me God, I will hire a four hundred pound Italian named Guido to come to your house and break both your kneecaps. I’m not even kidding. I’ll do it.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Sighing, I toss the tablets back and swallow them dry. “This is so not what I had in mind. I thought I was coming here to be pampered this afternoon, not tortured.”
“If you want to sell the house, you’ve got to mow the lawn.”
“What am I, a hooker? I’m not selling anything!”
“Just a figure of speech. Think how crazy you’ll make Myles if you flash him à la Sharon Stone.” She waggles her eyebrows up and down.
“I’m pretty sure shaving would’ve gotten the same results.”
“I told you, this is better. It lasts a lot longer. Plus it exfoliates the skin, so you’ll be really soft and smooth. You won’t have to worry about stubble.”
I guess it’s pointless to argue with that. And who knows, maybe she’s right. Maybe waxing will turn my fuzzy kitty into a sleek, irresistible jaguar.
So five minutes later, I am lying flat on my back on something that resembles a massage table, naked from the waist down. The only thing that saves me from being completely exposed is the fluffy white towel draped across my thighs.
“I feel like I’m about to have a pelvic exam,” I complain.
“See now, that’s a good comparison. This hurts less than a pelvic exam.”
“It does?”
“Uh…sure.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Half an hour. Probably not even that long.”
Propping myself up on my elbows, I whisper, “I don’t even know this woman! This whole thing is kind of grossing me out.”
“Don’t worry about it. Claudia’s the best. She’s like a doctor – this doesn’t bother her.”
“Oh…well, as long as she’s comfortable with it…”
My sarcasm is cut short as Claudia steps into the room with a reassuring smile. She pauses just long enough to pull on some gloves and stir a pot of wax with what looks like a tongue depressor before getting straight to business. “All right, sweetie. What did you have in mind? A landing strip? Maybe a flirty little triangle?”
“Complete deforestation,” Autumn instructs her.
“Hey!” Insulted, I glare at her. “My hair is blonde, you fire-crotch. There is no forest going on down there.”
Claudia shakes her head with a chuckle. “The Full Monty, then? No problem. You have very light, fine hair, you lucky duck. This should be a breeze. You can lie back and relax now.”
Encouraged, I try to do as she advises.
“Okay sweetie, put your legs in the butterfly position. Knees apart, feet together for me. There we go, just like that.”
I’m pretty sure this undignified stance in no way resembles a butterfly.
First she sprinkles some baby powder on me and brushes it in. Then I feel warm pressure as she applies a blob of wax with the wooden stick. I tense, preparing for the worst.
“Now take a deep breath while I count to three, and when I get to three I want you to let it out. Ready? One…two…”
It is clear on the count of three that in Autumn’s case, BFF stands for big fat fibber.
“OWWW!!” I scream. Well, she asked me to let it out, didn’t she? “Dammit, fuck, fuck me in the ass, OWWW, ow-ow-ow!”
“Good heavens!” Claudia the Ripper clucks in disapproval as she hastily rubs some cooling gel into my searing skin. “Gracious me. Oh, my.”
Autumn, the bitch, is laughing so hard she’s doubled over with both hands clutching her stomach. “It only…hurts for a…a minute,” she sputters between hysterical bursts of giggles. “I swear!”
“I hate you!” Though to be honest, I’m kind of laughing at this point too. Because the pain really did only last for a second and the look on poor Claudia’s face is comically out of place. How can a woman who waxes vaginas for a living be shocked by a little profanity?
“My goodness,” she prattles. “Dear me. Are we all right?”
“Uh…sorry. I
’m fine,” I assure her meekly.
“First time’s always the worst,” Autumn snickers, wiping her eyes.
“Yeah, you might have mentioned that before!”
“Are you ready to continue?” Claudia wants to know.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I sigh in resignation. “Yes. Sorry. Go ahead.”
After the first initial shock, the rest isn’t really so bad. The most awkward part is the complete lack of modesty. Some of the positions she has me assuming should probably only be attempted in porno movies and gymnast classes. I have to admit though, she is meticulous. By the time she’s done with me there isn’t even a hint of peach fuzz anywhere down there. I’m as smooth and soft as a newborn baby’s butt.
I have to hand it to Autumn. She may have known what she was talking about, after all.
Confident that she has earned a new satisfied client, Claudia sends me on my way with an after-care instruction sheet and one of her business cards. And just like that, everything is fine and dandy.
Until we’re outside the salon, that is.
“Wait a minute.” Halting dead in my tracks, my mouth falls open as my eyes skim over the instructions. “Have you read this? It says not to go swimming for twenty-four hours!”
“Yeah, they tell you that.” Unlocking her car, Autumn slides in gracefully.
I get in on the other side and slam the door, glaring at her with irritation. “You knew this?”
She doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. “Meh, you should be fine. We’ll go back to my house and hang out for a while. Give it a few hours, you’ll be good to go.”
Oh my God. I’m going to kill her. I’m seriously going to murder her. I’m about to throat punch a kindergarten teacher right here in the parking lot in front of dozens of witnesses and I don’t even care.
“That’s not what this says!” I jab the paper with a finger. “Look at this – it also says sexual activity should be avoided for twenty-four hours! Why didn’t you tell me? I thought the whole point of this was to get me ready for tonight, you moron!”
“Don’t have a conniption fit. Those are just recommendations. It doesn't mean your pussy's going to self-destruct if you don't listen. Are you sore right now?”
“No. Not really. A little sensitive, maybe.”
