The Salon – Part 21

Red Nails

Lara gently set Rosita's foot on her knee. The old woman wiggled her toes playfully, turning her heel this way and that on the thick white towel — less like a woman past seventy and more like an impatient little girl waiting eagerly to be pampered.

Lara tilted her head forward, eyebrows raised, studying her client.

"You're very lively today, Rosita."

First the woman's shoulder twitched, then her whole upper body refused to sit still.

Lara frowned. She caught the restless foot gently and held Rosita's gaze.

Rosita huffed impatiently.

"Oh, just ask me already!"

She gripped the edges of the chair with both hands, puffed out her cheeks, and bugged her eyes out.

Lara recoiled.

"You don't mean—"

Rosita finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

"I do!"

Nico's giggle drifted over from the hairdressing station. Lara glanced that way. The hairdresser was wiping down the marbled black basin with its gold glitter flecks, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"Do you know something?" Lara asked accusingly.

Nico shook his bleached curls.

"No, but I can't wait to find out what Rosita's gotten up to this time."

Rosita gave an offended snort.

"Oh, sure, go right ahead — talk about me like I'm not even here."

Lara squeezed her foot gently.

"Come on, darling. I was starting to feel hurt that you two might be keeping something from me, when Nico's known who the lucky man is for ages."

Rosita waved a hand.

"Nobody knows anything, because it's still a bit of a secret."

She laughed. Lara raised her eyebrows again.

"And who exactly are we hiding it from?"

Laughter bubbled out of the old woman.

"Not from his mother, that's for sure! At my age, you don't need to win over a mother-in-law anymore. A yearly flower on her grave will do."

Lara and Nico exchanged a disapproving look.

"Rosita…" Lara shook her head.

"Oh, come on, don't make that face! Every age has its own beauty and its own hell. If my breasts already hang down to my knees and even my backside's wrinkled, the least I deserve is never having to put up with a mother-in-law's moods again."

"My mother-in-law was decent," Lara murmured, "until the divorce. After that, less so."

"I had four, sweetheart. One angel and three wicked witches. Let's be honest, it's a rotten gamble. But you know what? Let's just say that past seventy, a person loses their taste for that kind of gambling."

Nico cleared his throat.

"So who's the lucky one, then?"

Lara raised a hand.

"One moment — pick a color for your toenails first. This apple green, maybe. It would go beautifully with your little green summer dress. You know, the one with the ruffled hem I love so much on you."

Rosita's face crumpled into a grimace.

"Green? At my age? If my foot slips out from under the blanket while I'm sleeping, people will think I'm a corpse."

"Pick red, Rosita," Nico cut in impatiently, "and tell us already who the man is, because I'm going out of my mind not knowing."

"My mailman's father," Rosita blurted.

Nico leaned forward, gripping the basin with both hands.

"Not the mailman — his father? How on earth do you end up with someone's father?"

"Easily enough, if the man keeps showing up at my door with his old dad riding shotgun."

Lara unscrewed the cap of the red nail polish, then gently cupped Rosita's foot between her knees.

"No more wriggling now. And you're going to tell me, nice and slow, how the dear father made his way from the passenger seat into your bedroom."

Even Rosita's neck flushed red. She lifted her chin and fixed Lara with a defiant look.

"And what if it hasn't gotten there yet?"

The pedicurist pursed her lips skeptically.

"Then we wouldn't be having this conversation…"

The old woman gave a sulky pout.

"At our age, we don't waste time," she said hoarsely. "You'll figure it out."

The salon door opened. Mia burst in with two big bags in her hands. She stopped, caught her breath, and gave the others a quick nod before heading for the kitchen.

"Wait for me," she whimpered. "Don't say anything about your new suitor till I'm back, Rosita."

"What makes you think I have someone?"

"Eh… I doubt it's for the cat you're painting your toenails red," she huffed, and disappeared into the little room.

Not long after, the front door burst open again.

"What a scandalous color!"

At the sound of Gael's voice, the color drained from Rosita's face. Panicked, she pressed a finger to her lips. Lara lowered her hand.

"Everything all right, Rosita?"

"Shh…" the old woman hissed.

Gael passed close by them. He touched the guest's shoulder lightly, then went on toward the massage room. Rosita trembled like a leaf. The moment the door closed behind the tall young man, she sagged.

"Good grief," she moaned. "That was a close call."

Mia had reappeared from the kitchen by then. She sat down on the guest sofa and slapped her knee.

"Come on, Rosita, spill it! Who's the winner?"

The woman yanked her foot out from between Lara's knees. She looked pleadingly from Mia to Lara to Nico.

"For God's sake, don't let Gael hear!" she squeaked.

Lara leaned in close to her nearly fainting client.

"What in the world is wrong, darling?"

Rosita clutched her hair with both hands.

"I don't want Gael finding out about all this business with the mailman's father… What if it doesn't work out?" she rushed on. "I haven't given up on Gael completely, not on that gorgeous, big-handed, sensual dream of a man!"