“It’s not like I intentionally neglect myself,” I protested.
Ignoring me, Maggie continued, “I booked an appointment for her with Shan Li at The Lotus Flower Day Spa in Tyler. He’s an absolute magician when it comes to making your hands as soft and beautiful as the rose petals he puts in the soaking bowls. So we get in there and Retta goes immediately into panic mode. She doesn’t have a clue as to what to do, and I have to point to the wall of nail polish samples and tell her to choose one.”
Sybil gave me a sympathetic look. “I bet you started to hyperventilate.”
“If a cop had come in and directed her to walk along the tile’s grout line, she would have gotten arrested for pedestrian-under-the-influence,” Maggie declared. “Then she went completely anal picking a shade that was practically clear. I mean in that case, why bother? Even Shan Li encouraged her to throw caution to the wind. Do you know what color she ended up with? Something a whisper beyond her naturally fair skin tone.”
“Another exaggeration,” I said with hard-won patience. “It had been summer and, as usual, I was both wind and sun tanned, not what Maggie calls, ‘cloistered-nun nude,’ which is how she refers to my winter coloring.” I held out my work-hardened hands. “Seriously, can you see me in black, or with those cute little decals like the young people wear?”
“No one suggested that. Only for pity’s sake, when you get a manicure for the first time, you should—upgrade a bit. But back to my story.” Maggie pointed toward me. “Shan Li’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he first realized the condition of her hands.”
Remembering all too well, I explained to the others, “He must have thought it his professional duty to show me every bit of dead skin he dug out and cut away from my cuticles. Excuse me? I’m busy, not blind. Bottom line? The man is a sadist, and has a fetish.”
Puffing up like an indignant hen, Maggie offered a waspish, “You may not worry about your cuticle care, but he does.”
Once again ignoring her, I all but snorted. “There were definite control issues. ‘Sit still. No do dat!’”
“Admit it,” Maggie replied, “you’re a closet bigot and you were uncomfortable with his accent.”
She might as well have slapped me. Me, who she well knew had spent almost all of my youth in the company of a Japanese family that I’d adored. Maggie also knew that I loved to watch international movies and learn as many words and phrases in new languages as I could.
I turned to Carly and Dana. “How would you feel if someone yelled—not asked—‘Wah you haan!’” I turned back to challenge Maggie. “Honestly? The first time you walked into that place, you understood him?”
“He made hand gestures when you continued to just sit there and stare at him.” Maggie said to the others, “I told her, ‘Go wash your hands.’”
“So I did.” Determined to take control of my own miserable experience once and for all, I continued, “When I finished I looked for something to wipe off with. There was nothing. But I caught sight of Maggie pointing to this microwave-like box. Inside, there were warm towels. Can you believe it?”
Looking sympathetic, Carly said, “It is simply a towel warming appliance. Didn’t that feel wonderful, Retta? So soothing after his digging at you.”
“All I remember was that I wanted to go home.”
It could have ended there; I prayed it would. Unfortunately, Maggie wasn’t getting the laughs she expected, which made her reluctant to leave well enough alone.
“That was just the beginning. When she gets back to her chair, she notices the lady at the end of her row getting a pedicure.”
The woman had her pants rolled up over her knees and an attendant was rubbing small smooth rocks up and down her legs. I said, “Maggie, the woman was moaning and writhing. I didn’t know whether to call 9-1-1 or ask them to continue what they were doing in one of the back rooms where they would have more privacy—if you catch my drift.”
Already giddy with laughter, although she’d told the story at least a half dozen times to various people at my expense, Maggie wheezed, “She was not having the Big O, she was only sitting in a massage chair.”
That earned a few chuckles from Dana and Sybil. Carly, bless her, sent Maggie an unamused glance, but otherwise kept her gaze on her work.
“It gets better,” Maggie said. “See, what I love about Shan Li, is that when he’s finished with the manicure, he always treats you to a nice, soothing neck massage. But you should have seen the look on Retta’s face when he walked up behind her, lifted her hair and started rubbing warm, lotion onto her neck.”
“Never mind the neck. His hands were down in my shirt!” I resented her diminishing the episode as much as I’d been offended by the act.
“He was only trying to reach your shoulders. You were beyond tense.”
“Oh, and being groped by a complete stranger was supposed to relax me? Excuse me if I’ve only been with one man in my life. I didn’t know if what the guy was doing was foreplay or what!”
“Well, what did she want him to do—announce in front of the whole salon that he bats for the other team?” Maggie asked our audience. She added to me, “How was I to know you weren’t worldly enough to have watched his behavior and figured out that much?”
Dana sighed and leaned back against the pillows, all but lost in her pleasure. “Don’t stress any more, Retta. It is a cute story. I’ll also give this Shan Li the benefit of the doubt, but it does sound as though he has a bit of an ego thing going on. As far as I’m concerned, Carly gives the best massages and pedicures I’ve experienced. By the time she’s finished, I feel as if I’m cocooned in a cloud of utter peace.”
It was hardly what Maggie wanted to hear after giving her performance her all. I could tell she wouldn’t resist having the last word, much like an impudent child seeking revenge by poking someone else’s balloon with a pin.
“It’s so good that you’re keeping in practice, Carly,” she crooned. “You never know when you might need to put those skills back to use.”
Three
A BEEPING IN the kitchen proved well-timed. Sybil lurched to her feet, muttering under her breath, “Thank You, Lord.”
From the expression on the younger women’s faces, I had a feeling they wished they had an excuse to run, too. Hoping that I could ease the level of tension, I said to Carly, “I regret not having some skill to make me feel more secure when I was your age. Farming and ranching is all I’ve ever known.”
“What are you talking about, Retta?” Dana asked, looking incredulous. “You’re a wonderful pianist. That’s why I hoped you would take back the position at church when I bowed out because of my condition.”
Thanks to Maggie’s deepening frown, it was difficult for me to take any pleasure from Dana’s compliment. What was going on with her now? I wondered.
“Oh, playing for church and school while the kids were growing up wasn’t exactly the accomplishments I once dreamed about.” I hoped I sounded more casual about it than I felt. “They hardly compare to the success you had in California before you met Jesse. At any rate, as competent as Patsy Oliver is, people continue to say how much they miss your playing at services.” The latter I added quickly, not to offend the quiet lady, who had jumped at the chance to take over the position and earn a little more money, after I had to decline the offer due to my obligations here. To be fair, Patsy’s situation wasn’t easy. While she’d had no formal training, she also had remained single to nurse an invalid mother, until the poor woman’s death this year. It was my hunch that Patsy was struggling to make ends meet these days, so I was doubly relieved that the opportunity came her way.