by Hadena James
“They are after something, I just can’t figure out what,” I sighed.
“Your wedding rings, maybe?” Alex shrugged.
“Are they special?” I asked her.
“Uh, yeah,” Alex gave me a stupid look. “You know Zeke spent like a ton of money on the engagement ring and matching wedding bands, right?”
“Why?” I frowned at her.
“Because he might as well do it right,” Kenzie gave me the same stupid look. “We went with him when he got them. He went all out on them. They are worth more than my house.”
“You live in a shithole,” Alex told her.
“I know, but it’s still a house, it’s worth something,” Kenzie answered. The divorces had not been kind to Kenzie. She always seemed to make more money than her husbands.
“Come to bed,” Alex said.
“Fine,” I climbed back into the bed. It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.
At noon, my cell phone rang. I checked the number. Ivan.
“What do you want?” I had been out of bed for an hour. I was cranky as hell and my mother was threatening to take me to the beautician later today to have something done to my hair.
“Geez, I have good news for you, grouch.”
“Well, I’m waiting. Hey, what is frosting?”
“Something you put on cake,” Ivan said.
“No, with hair.”
“Call my wife, she has it done every couple of months. From what I can tell, it’s a magical treatment that does nothing to change the appearance of her hair, but costs me one hundred bucks every time she has it done.”
“Ok, so what was the good news?”
“The guy with the dog bite talked. There are drugs or were drugs hidden somewhere in mom’s car. They were trying to recover them. It seems to be a lot,” Ivan was smiling.
“Where’s the good news?”
“We know what they are looking for.”
“But where’d the drugs go? They weren’t in mom’s car.”
“We think someone got to them the night you were at the club. The hold-up was a distraction for the real person to steal the drugs from mom’s car.”
“Where’d the drugs come from?”
“We don’t know. He said that and then clammed up, asked for a lawyer, refuses to say anything else.”
“And the purse snatcher that hit me as we left Natalia’s on Sunday?”
“Either another distraction or completely unrelated and random. He isn’t talking.”
“The hold-up guys?”
“Also not talking.”
“If no one has the drugs, why aren’t they talking?”
“Because it involves drugs, which means it probably involves cartels. Would you talk?”
“Good point. Mom wants to take me to a beautician and have my hair done. She wants to perm it and frost it. I don’t have a clue what she hopes to accomplish with it.”
“You could make a spa day out of it.”
“What is a spa day?”
“God, you need to get out more,” with that, Ivan hung up.
“What’s a spa day?” I asked whoever was willing to answer.
“Oh good plan,” Kenzie jumped up. “I know just the place.”
“I was just asking. I wasn’t suggesting,” I protested.
“That is just what the doctor ordered. We’ll get her hair done, get her a manicure and pedicure, get her a massage and then have her waxed!” My mother squealed with excitement. I hung my head. Kenzie was already talking to someone on the phone.
“What’s a spa day?” I asked Alex.
“For you, a form of torture. For most women, a day in paradise.”
It took forty-five minutes of wrangling, but when Kenzie got off the phone, she was practically glowing.
“Ok, I got us all in, we are getting the full work, except the waxing, I figure Nadine is the only one that really needs that. I’ve seen her legs and I’m not sure she owns any razors.”
“Hey, I shave!” I told her.
“When? When was the last time you shaved anything?” Alex gave me a look.
“I shaved my underarms the day I got shot.”
“And your legs?” Alex asked.
“It’s been a month or two,” I admitted.
“Nadine!” My mother looked horrified. “What about your bikini area?”
“I trim it,” I defended myself.
“Trim?” Telisa raised an eyebrow.
“Am I supposed to do more than that?”
“Yes, it’s called a Brazilian,” my mother informed me.
“I don’t know what that is,” I said.
“It’s where they remove all the hair from your private parts, including the backdoor,” she responded.
“Mom! How do you know about that?”
“I’m single, Nadine. I keep up on these things, a woman should be proud of her appearance, everywhere,” she said the “everywhere” with an emphasis that made me want to curl up into a ball. Somehow I resisted the urge.
We loaded up in Alex’s car, unwilling to take the risk of using Melina’s again, besides it still had blood in it. I was told to bring only my ID. So I packed a small wallet that fit in the front pocket of my jeans.
A few hours later, I discovered Alex was right, “spa day” was code for “torture.” Melina and Telisa spent twenty minutes talking to the hair stylist. When they got done, I lost three inches of hair and looked like an older version of Orphan Annie with dark hair. For some reason, they had suggested a spiral curl perm. It hadn’t worked exactly as planned. I definitely had spiral curls, very tight ringlets that looked terrible on me. The stylist worked with it to loosen it before it was too late, but gave up. Turned out it was too late.
After that, I went to the manicurist. She pushed the skin back on my fingernails, which actually hurt. She gave me explicit instructions on nail care, while I waited for my fingers to start bleeding, then painted them fire-engine red.
She sent me to the pedicurist. There, someone took what I can only imagine was a whet stone to my feet and removed as much skin as possible. I checked the water, there wasn’t blood, I wasn’t sure if it was because there was still a small amount of skin left on my feet or because they were too shocked to bleed.
She also painted my toenails fire-engine red. This was not a color I would have picked for myself and I was confused by the choice. However, they were the professionals, so I didn’t argue.
Next, I was sent to sit in a tub of mud with cling film around my bandaged shoulder. That had been Telisa’s idea. My mother had sealed the edges with duct tape. The mud was a greenish color and I was assured that it would suck the toxins out of my skin during the course of a thirty minute treatment. I made it ten. I wasn’t all that fond of mud, even mud they assured me was clean. I thought that was an oxymoron. I showered and was ushered into a masseuse.
This I enjoyed. She was excellent at avoiding my shoulder. She also didn’t ask about any of the scars. I didn’t have a lot, but the ones I had were bad. A tiger had taken a chunk out of my leg as a teenager. I had been shot a few times, stabbed a few times and was generally clumsy. My body bore the marks of all of it. The tiger scar was by far the worse.
I missed the title of the woman I went to next, but I was pretty sure she was the head torturer. She plucked my eyebrows. This made me scream and burst into tears. I had never had my eyebrows “shaped” and I was positive that it was never going to happen again. My mother called me a wuss as the tears flowed and the woman tortured the other eyebrow into “shape.” I didn’t know what shape they were going to be when she was done, but it wouldn’t be natural. Next she worked on my chin. I don’t have many of those dark, black hairs on my chin, but I have a handful here and there. Like every woman who deals with those terrible hairs, I shaved them. This woman plucked them with tweezers and then ran really hot things over them. I was sure she was cauterizing them so they wouldn’t bleed.
However, nothing compared to my last treatment. T
he Brazilian. A cute, bubbly blond bounced into the room. She adjusted me on the table, told me to help stretch the skin and applied molten hot wax to my private areas. This was followed by strips of cloth-like material that she yanked off with zeal. I didn’t scream. I really wanted to.
Several strips later and we adjusted position. I was now face-down on the table with my butt in the air. I wasn’t entirely sure I understood what was about to happen, but I was positive it was going to hurt as much as the eyebrow shaping.
The molten wax hit my skin and I realized it was exactly what I thought it was. My mother had said “backdoor,” and she was right. The woman told me to hold my cheeks, making my position even more uncomfortable. She pressed the strip down, told me to take a deep breath and yanked.
“Oh my fucking… What the hell…” I shouted incoherently from my odd position.
“First time?” She asked.
“Did you take all the skin off?” I asked.
“No,” she giggled. “Most first timers are surprised by it. Let me just clean off the extra wax and you’re done.”
“I was done long before I got here.”
“Then why are you here?” She made polite conversation.
“Because I am getting married this weekend and it is hard to fight against a mother and a mother-in-law –to-be, about these sorts of things.”
“Congratulations,” the bubbly blond told me. “You can get up now. Rub this on it for a couple of days, it will inhibit growth and soothe the skin.”
“Thanks,” I responded, getting up and taking the outstretched jar. I was pretty sure it was going to be a jar of “take home torture.”
All the way home, I kept wiggling in my seat. This seemed to provide Alex and Kenzie with endless amusement. It seemed to annoy the mothers who told me to “sit still, it wasn’t that bad.”
At the dinner table the wiggling continued. It kind of hurt. It certainly didn’t feel good.
“Would you stop, Nadine. You’re like a kindergartener,” Melina scolded me.
“Couldn’t you have just had me abducted by aliens and anal probed? It would have hurt less,” I responded.
“Don’t be silly,” she handed me a small piece of chicken with nothing on it.
“What’s this?”
“Your dinner, you get married in a couple of days and stress will make you gain weight. We don’t have time for another dress fitting, so you are going to eat this and like it.”
I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like it. The others had gravy on their chicken and not just any gravy, but my mother’s special sauce. It was a Russian family recipe and secret. You learned the secret when you got married. When Ivan had gotten married, his wife had gotten a cookbook from our mom. I had gotten pearls that didn’t go around the neck and a Brazilian. I was convinced I had gotten the short end of that stick.
After dinner we watched The Avengers. After that, I forced them to sit through Aliens v. Predator. In the morning I would make them watch the sequel and if I could find time, we’d be watching Predators at some point later in the day. If they were going to torture me with Brazilian waxes and eyebrow plucking, I was going to torture them with Sci-Fi movies that contained lots of blood and gore.
Wednesday
I awoke Wednesday morning to quiet. Kenzie and Alex were both gone from the room. I rolled over and checked the clock, it was ten a.m. I had slept in and even more surprising, I realized that nothing bad had happened Tuesday. Well, the “spa day” had happened and while I had been tempted to shoot a few people, real bad guys hadn’t attacked us. There was something to be said for that.
I climbed from bed. The cling film and duct tape were still attached to my arm. I found some fingernail polish remover and poured the entire bottle onto the duct tape. It didn’t seem to loosen it any. I grabbed a corner and yanked.
“Geez, oh my fuck…” I started shouting.
Alex came running into the room. Kenzie was hot on her heels. They stopped and looked at me.
“That really hurt!” I showed them the duct tape.
“Did you use anything before you jerked on it?”
“Yes, fingernail polish remover, I’m not an idiot,” I proclaimed.
“And it didn’t help?” Kenzie asked.
“Hell no, it didn’t help. I wouldn’t be yelping if it had.”
“Ok, hold on,” Alex grabbed hold of the second piece. She and Kenzie did something to my skin that made it feel cold and then they both yanked.
“Fucking knock it off!” I shouted at them, hopping around the room in pain. Melina came in.
“Stop swearing,” she scolded me.
“It hurt. Why did you use duct tape?” I asked.
“It worked, no mud or water got in.”
“It still hurt like hell coming off.”
“Stop being a wuss,” Melina turned and left the room. Kenzie, Alex and I followed. I was massaging the areas of missing skin and trying to put a shirt on that wouldn’t touch it.
My mother had a bagel set out for me. Nothing fancy, a plain bagel. Next to it was fat free cream cheese. I ignored both and flopped onto the couch. I was feeling better, aside from the itch that had developed in a sensitive area and the missing skin from my wounded shoulder. I used the soothing cream, but it didn’t help the itch.
“Are you wearing underwear?” My mother asked as I tried to discreetly scratch.
“Of course!”
“Go take them off,” she gave me the mother’s glare. I stared back, mouth open. I was pretty sure it was her that had told me to always wear underwear.
“Take them off, it will be easier on the freshly waxed area,” Telisa informed me, also giving me the mother’s glare.
“Fine,” I stood and stomped back to my room. I took off the underwear, slide my jeans back on and went back downstairs. I didn’t want to admit it, but it did feel a little better.
“Better?” Melina asked.
“Yes,” I muttered.
“See, told you. Now we have some more shopping to do and the girls are going to meet us for dinner tonight. Your Aunt Olga has a present for you.”
“What else could we possibly need?” I asked.
“Well, we’ve got the shoes, the dress and the honeymoon items, but there is still plenty that needs to be done,” Melina countered.
“That doesn’t answer my question, mom.”
“I started packing for your honeymoon, you only have one bathing suit and it should belong to a nun,” she informed me.
“Do I need more than one and what’s wrong with the suit I have?”
“You are going to be in Belize for three weeks, beautiful beaches, good weather, the jungle, Mayan Ruins, you need vacation clothes. Six or seven bathing suits and at least one should be a bikini,” Telisa told me.
“I’ve got a massive scar on my leg from a tiger and scars to my torso, I don’t wear bikinis.”
“You are too modest. Zeke won’t care about the scars, especially once he sees you in a bikini. You may have to have a quickie before you make it to the beach,” Melina told me.
“Mom, stop talking about sex. It’s weird.”
“God forgive me, I didn’t mean to raise a prude,” she rolled her eyes skyward as she talked.
“You also don’t seem to own shorts,” Telisa told me.
“Yes, I know. A tiger got hold of my leg,” I said it very slowly.
“So you keep telling me, that still doesn’t mean you can’t wear shorts,” Telisa responded.
Frustrated, I stood up, jerked the fly of my jeans open and dropped my pants. I forgot I wasn’t wearing underwear. There were two gasps, one from Alex, the other from my mother.
“That looks bad,” Melina moved closer to me.
“That’s what I’ve been saying, I can’t wear shorts with this scar,” I responded.
“Not the scar, your private area, you must have reacted badly to the wax,” Telisa corrected me.
“Two years of physical therapy and a couple of sur
geries and all you can gawk at is my private part?” I huffed.
“Your leg is fine, I’ve seen much worse,” Telisa waved a dismissive hand at me. “That is not good.” She pointed at the bikini area. It was decorated with large red bumps.
“I’ve died and this is hell,” I said to no one in particular.
“Don’t be so dramatic, are you using the cream?” Melina asked.
“Yes, I’m using the cream.”
“Use more of it,” Telisa told me, handing me another jar that looked similar to mine.
“Fine,” I grabbed my jeans, yanked them back up and headed to the bathroom. I slathered the soothing cream on so thick I couldn’t put my jeans back on until it had soaked in some.
“Nadine, are you ok?” My mother asked through the door.
“Fine, just need a few minutes,” I told her.
“Ok, well, yell if you need me.”
“What I need is for you to go home,” I mumbled, hoping she didn’t hear.
I sat on my bathtub for what seemed to be an eternity, waiting for the cream to soak in and wondering if my life would ever be normal. If I had to bet on it, the answer would have been “no.” My mother and Zeke’s mother were determined to see to that.
Finally it was dry enough to get dressed and leave the bathroom. Alex was in the process of fixing a quick lunch. Salads for everyone. I grabbed the French dressing and it was instantly removed from my hands, replaced by fat free ranch.
I ate only half of it. I don’t really like ranch on a good day. Fat free wasn’t an improvement.
We loaded up into Alex’s car. Another trip into town. This time for vacation clothes and someone had commented about my lack of shoes.
I didn’t bother to look at anything. I stood by the dressing room and made trips in and out as I tried on the clothes that the four women picked out for me. Each piece had to be modeled.
We left with six new bathing suits, four of them bikinis. I now owned seven pairs of shorts, five new skirts, three wraps to help cover my leg when I was in one of the bathing suits, and a couple pairs of jeans. They had also accumulated an assortment of shirts and tank tops. I was sure when we got back from Belize, I was going to pitch most of them along with the shorts and bikinis.
