The Salon – Part 26

Don't Even Ask

Mia shifted from foot to foot on the sidewalk and craned her neck, eager to be the first to greet Rosita, the salon’s elderly regular. The receptionist's fine, bleached-blonde hair kept catching in the light summer breeze drifting up from the river. In her pale blue blouse and slightly darker linen trousers, she looked like she'd been placed there on purpose, just to liven up the dull street.

Lara was getting ready inside. Nico and Gael weren't starting until the afternoon. The moment Rosita's unmistakable figure came into view — an ankle-length, button-trimmed summer dress in mauve — Mia's heart started pounding. She'd been thinking about Rosita and her new love interest for days. Rosita's romantic life was more colorful and exciting than anyone's in Mia's circle of friends.

She couldn't just pounce on her with the question, though. She needed another approach, something to get them to the point faster: was the romance still going?

"You're here so early!" Mia stretched both arms out toward her. "Don't tell me you hitched a ride with the mailman," she said, her voice dripping with implication.

Rosita rolled her eyes and waved her off impatiently.

"Don't even ask," she rattled off. "What do they call it these days? I'm ghosting that impossible man," she grumbled.

With that, she swept past Mia, ignoring the arms held out for her entirely. She gave the receptionist's shoulder a pat and threw the door open with a flourish. Her eyes went straight to the air conditioner's display. She nodded, satisfied. Mia stared after her, mouth open.

"Everything okay?" Lara asked, having seen Rosita breeze right past Mia.

"Sure, let's say that. The thing is, sweetheart, I don't want to talk about men right now."

Lara knew Rosita well by now. At times like this, she needed coaxing, the way you'd coax an anxious child: patiently, gently.

"Fine by me, Rosita," she agreed. "Let's leave the men alone today. Relationships in general, too. We waste far too many words and too much time on them." She glanced around. "Lucky for us, Gael and Nico aren't in until the afternoon."

A shadow crossed Rosita's face. The corner of her mouth dropped for a second.

"Oh. Gael's not here?" Her shoulders slumped. "Maybe that's for the best..."

"Is something wrong with Gael too?"

"No, not at all," Rosita shot back. "He's a sweetheart. Not like that jerk."

Lara's eyebrows shot up. Mia edged closer. Rosita dropped into the chair and let out, resigned:

"Okay, fine, I'll tell you: that man is a moody, arrogant, stupid oaf."

Mia nodded approvingly.

"That's quite something. And this is all about him? The romantic hero from your mailman's passenger seat?"

"I could say worse," Rosita muttered.

Lara pulled the water-filled foot bath in front of Rosita and gently took hold of her guest's ankle, easing her foot into the bubbles.

"I can't even imagine what he did."

"He said," Rosita began, her voice wounded, "that if I were a little younger, he might even marry me. So I told him if he weren't such a peasant, I might have married him. And he got all huffy about it. He's the one who got offended."

She sulked, leaning back and crossing her arms. Mia stroked her arm sympathetically, feeling the soft, wrinkled skin.

"Come on, don't let a good relationship fall apart over something so silly."

Rosita shrugged.

"Pff. I don't think anything can come of it. See, he's got this thing about being honest, about saying what's on his mind. What a load of self-serving nonsense! No, buddy, you're not honest, you're just a rude jerk. You know the type — every other sentence starts with 'I'm not saying this to hurt you, but...' Or: 'Believe me, I mean this with the best intentions...'"

Mia and Lara shook their heads thoughtfully.

"Still," Lara said quietly, "there's something to that."

Rosita's face lit up.

"Right? Say someone came up to you and said, 'Lara, honey, I don't want to hurt you, but you do hideous French manicures.' That wouldn't feel good, would it?"

Lara nodded.

"No, I don't think it would."

Rosita sat up straight. The sudden movement sent water sloshing over the edge. Mia jumped up and rushed for the mop bucket.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I'm just so worked up." She waited while Mia cleaned up the water. "Now, if that same person came up and said instead, 'Lara, I just learned a great technique. Can I show you?' Then showed you, and you liked it, you'd even be grateful."

Mia giggled.

"Vera was just telling me the other day that at her salon they had to give each other constructive criticism, and it turned into a whole circus."

Rosita threw both arms in the air.

"That's the other one! Constructive criticism. Insults dressed up in sugar. Don't criticize, you idiot — help. Show someone how to get more out of what they're doing, instead of throwing unsolicited comments at them."

She pressed a hand to her face. Lara laid a soft hand on Rosita's knee.

"You're completely right, but what if you told him all this?"

Rosita shook her head in small, quick movements, staring straight ahead.

"You know, sweetheart, maybe that would be the right thing to do. But we're too old to change now. When it's been drilled into someone for this many years that they can pick a fight with anyone, anytime, and get to call it 'honesty,' they can't hold themselves back anymore."

She traced quote marks in the air at the word "honesty."

"And I don't want to spend my last years swallowing insults and snide remarks."