The Salon – Part 29

No One Gets Off Easy Today

It wasn’t so much Vera who opened the salon door as the crackling tension she was pushing ahead of her. The tall, wiry young woman in a knee-length denim dress stopped on the threshold, pale. She had pressed her lips inward so hard that her mouth seemed to have vanished. Her shoulders rose with every ragged breath.

Nico hurried over to greet her, but there wasn’t much gratitude in what Vera had to say to him. First she slowly looked the hairdresser up and down. Then she drew a breath so deep it wrinkled her nose.

“Lucky for you, Nico,” she began ominously, “I can’t figure out which team you play for.” She cleared her throat and slid her hands into the pockets of her dress. “So for now, I’ll just picture you as some charming guy’s boyfriend.”

Nico didn’t answer. He watched her through narrowed eyes. He knew Vera well enough by now to know this wasn’t the moment to say anything. Better to wait it out. But Vera turned away from him and walked with measured steps toward Lara’s workstation. No one was at it yet. Vera stopped beside it and waited.

Gael’s door opened, and the masseur and Lara stepped out.

“Well, Vera!” Lara’s face lit up. “How lovely that you’re my first today!”

Vera didn’t return the smile. She studied Gael with open disapproval, gave a low hmm, and sat down.

“I bet you ended up with some dragon at home too,” she tossed at the soft-spoken man. “Maybe you don’t make snide remarks about her in front of people”—she shook her head—“but I’d bet my last cent you complain about her all the time. To yourself or to your buddies, for sure.”

Gael’s eyes went wide for a second.

“Is something wrong, Vera?” he asked warily.

“Pff. Yeah. There is,” the client huffed.

Lara sat down across from her and held out her open palms.

“Give me your hands.”

Vera obeyed without a second thought. Lara gave her lukewarm fingers a gentle squeeze.

The tall, furious woman’s shoulders sagged.

“That stupid, tit-staring asshole of a dick,” she burst out.

Lara smiled. She glanced at Gael and gave him a discreet nod. The masseur nodded back and left them alone.

“I see…” Lara said softly. “So what exactly did he do?”

Vera rolled her eyes.

“I’m so damn mad at him. At all of them! I can’t even look at Nico and Gael the way I used to…”

“All right,” Lara soothed. “Tell me what happened. Maybe it’ll help to get it out.”

The front door opened. Mia came puffing and stomping in, her shopping bag rustling.

“Oh my God, this stupid weather,” she panted. “When I left I was freezing, and now I’m dripping with sweat, and I’m late, and ugh, these shoes are killing me,” she grumbled.

“Then come over here,” Vera said, turning around. “Grab a chair—we’re doing therapy for women in relationships. Actually, wait: do you have a guy or a girl?”

Mia turned red to the tips of her ears. She kept her head down, waiting for her breathing to finally slow.

“D-do I have to answer that?” she stammered.

“I figured it was a guy,” Vera scoffed. “Bet he’s a jerk. Come on, I’ll prove it to you. You might not even know yet.”

She puffed out her chest and turned back to Lara.

“Prove it?” Lara raised an eyebrow. “Really? Isn’t this about your boyfriend?”

“Mine, yours, Mia’s—same difference. Every one of them gets a kick out of acting like we women keep them terrified. You know,” Vera grimaced, “the same guys who are otherwise supermacho, always rock-hard, smarter and stronger than everyone else, just love whining that their woman keeps sending them to the corner to whimper. Pff.” She waved it off angrily.

Lara put a hand over her mouth and fixed her eyes on the tabletop. She didn’t want to laugh.

“Here I am,” Mia announced, appearing beside them. She set down the chair she’d brought and sat. “What are we talking about? Fill me in!”

“Vera was just pointing out that every man loves complaining about his partner. More specifically, that we women make their lives miserable.”

“How, exactly?” Mia gasped.

“By forcing our will and our moods on them, and chewing them out for everything,” Vera snapped.

“You mean like when they put a dripping-wet glass down on the glass table?”

Vera tilted her head thoughtfully.

“For example… sure. I don’t have any glass surfaces right now, but yeah, I’d definitely lose it if he decorated something I’d just cleaned with rings.”

“But I don’t fight with him over it,” Mia said defensively, absently fiddling with the neckline of her T-shirt. “I mean, sure, I say something, but what can I do if it never even occurs to him to wipe it off or use a coaster…”

“Exactly! That’s it!” Vera rapped her knuckles on the table. “We don’t go screwing around with their stuff, so they’ve got nothing to call us out on. But they’re constantly doing things that show they couldn’t care less about what we do. And then they whine that we ‘make a scene over everything.’” She made air quotes with both hands.

“What happened to get you this worked up?” Lara asked. She had to know.

Vera threw herself back in her chair and cast her eyes up at the ceiling.

“This morning we ran into a few of his friends at the bus stop. Immature little assholes. One of them goes, like I’m not even standing there: ‘So, still in the honeymoon phase, or has she got you whipped already?’ And I’m thinking, here we go, he’s about to get a smack in the mouth. But no, for fuck’s sake! He’s grinning ear to ear, and he goes: ‘Yeah, yeah, she’s already testing out her little dragon claws, you know—the toilet seat, the I’ve-got-a-headache thing…’ And then they’re all slapping their knees and howling, like it’s the funniest goddamn joke ever.” She stopped for a moment, gasping for air. “He can fuck right off. Five dates in, for fuck’s sake. Dragon claws. Sure. In your dreams. Go find someone else whose tits you can stare at.”

Lara’s mouth fell open.

“Are you breaking up with him?”

Vera snorted indignantly.

“God, no. I don’t want to terrorize the guy. I’m sure he’ll figure it out sooner or later without any help.”