Mexican Kimono. Billie JonesЧитать онлайн книгу.
the acetone a few hundred metres away. I was now running about thirty minutes late and wondered why Gemma hadn’t called to ask why. Another thumbs-down for her. No one cool waits around like a stood-up date without at least ringing to check that nothing serious has happened to prevent them arriving on time. Which, luckily for her, had happened, but she didn’t know that, so it was still uncool.
A gorgeous Vietnamese guy greeted me as I entered the nail bar. It was the funkiest nail place in town and run by men. That’s not why I went there, if that’s what you’re thinking.
They just so happened to be the very best at acrylic and they were super-fast. Kylie reckons they flirt just so you come back, but I disagree. I didn’t see them flirt with her at all. They were just being friendly. I, on the other hand, had my favourite technician, and whoa could he flirt! He was hot for me for sure, but I drew the line at a boyfriend who touched feet all day. I imagined us getting intimate, and then him caressing me with those hands and instantly saw hundreds of feet belonging to hundreds of different women. It sort of felt like cheating, not to mention the whole ‘ick’ factor of so many dirty feet. Not exactly a turn on.
I asked the guy if Hoang was available for French tips and a pedicure and saw Gemma waving frantically to me. Then she does the unthinkable and yells across the shop, ‘Sammy, you look great! You’ve lost weight!’
Can you imagine? Who says that? Instead, as the consummate together person I am, I casually strolled to the empty chair beside old loose lips and smiled in a friendly and endearing manner that I totally didn’t feel.
‘Gemma, great to see you again. Blue hair, wow, how did you manage to get it that colour?’ Notice I didn’t say anything about her hair looking great. I don’t lie to friends outright like that, unlike some people I know (Kylie).
‘Do you like it? Kylie did it for me. She’s great with hair, isn’t she?’
‘Yeah, I love it. Kylie, hmm, don’t use her myself.’ I didn’t have the heart to say blue hair was so 1990s. I mean she really should know these things, being a performer and all.
So, how are you? How’s that fabulous advertising job of yours?’
OK, so I may have bent the truth slightly about my actual role inside the office. ‘Oh, you know how it is, I could only climb the corporate ladder so far before I need to expand to somewhere bigger and better like, you know, Tokyo.’
She nodded in rapt approval. ‘Really? So are you off overseas then?’
‘Well, not at this stage. I thought I’d take a few weeks off, do some yoga, eat lentils, you know, de-stress from that whole pressurised environment. I tell you, it was killing me. It was work, work, work. Deadlines, KPIs, budgets, bonuses, and boys. It’s a man’s world out there in corporate-land. It’s tough going being one of the players when you’re a young, good-looking woman. I must say, I envy you. Being able to turn up unwashed, ungroomed, with just a guitar. Lucky you. Lucky, lucky you.’
She started laughing, although I’m not sure what at. ‘You’re so funny! Kylie was telling me your boss sent you out clothes shopping for him!’
Thankfully, Hoang walked over to me at that moment. Do you see what I mean about Kylie? She can’t help but spread malicious gossip around. It’s the bloody hairdresser in her. Now I was just going to have to spill one of her secrets.
‘Hoang. How are you?’ I said in my best sultry voice.
‘Very good today. What you want today, Miss?’
‘The usual, Hoang, plus a full set of French tips.’
‘OK, French tips no problem. What’s the usual, Miss?’
Coy, very coy. ‘Ha, ha, Hoang. You know, the usual pedicure!
Last time you said my toes reminded you of your long-lost love, Quelo.’
‘Ah, yes, Quelo. My bullmastiff. Had to be put down after he ate our tax bill. All the ink poisoned him. How I miss him!’
Hoang became emotional while I was still reeling over the fact he likened my toes to a friggin’ dog’s! Although, when I thought about it realistically, I could see he didn’t mean my feet visually, he meant metaphorically. He loved me, he loved Quelo. I could see that.
Hoang proceeded to fill up the foot spa and turned my chair massager on to ‘mile-high-club’ mode. It vibrated the bejesus out of me. I knew what he was thinking. The quicker, the harder, the faster – the better. Men. They were as transparent as the defence in the Stapler-Gate affair.
I relaxed into my chair and closed my eyes as Hoang worked his magic. The vibrations of the chair worked all the suddenly unemployed stress right out of my body. Kylie said that sitting in those chairs for thirty minutes or more was equivalent to running on the treadmill for five kilometres. Something about the way they work every muscle in your body. I tried to get a manicure or pedicure every week after I heard that. Incidental exercise, she called it.
I remembered ‘old blue hair’ next to me and figured since I’d invited her here I should really put some effort into some sort of conversation.
‘How’s the band going?’ I asked.
‘Great! We start touring next month. I’m so excited. We start here in Perth and work our way around Australia. It will be great to see the whole country, although we won’t have much time for sightseeing. It’s a gig, then back on the bus to race to the next gig, then back on the bus …’
‘Bus? You’re travelling with a group of grunge boys on a bus? For how long?’
‘We’re booked solid for the next six months. Major cities and regional.’
‘Couldn’t your agent secure a plane? How will you shower?’
She did that infuriating easy-going laugh thing again. ‘Who knows? I guess some of the venues will have bathrooms. That’s all part of the excitement of the trip! We don’t know who we’ll meet, where we’re going. We’ll sleep on the bus, write another album.’ She had a faraway look in her eyes, so I let her escape to the land of the great unwashed. She was totally off the BFF list. Not only because she was going away for most of the year, but because she didn’t care where she would shower and she was happy to sleep on a bus.
Hoang looked up at me with sex written all over his face. I was sure he winked at me, but I was concentrating on holding my stomach in, so I may have just missed it. From where he sat, you know, at my feet, it was kind of an unflattering angle.
‘Excuse me, Miss, what colour you like?’ asked Hoang. See what I mean? He really is interested. Next it will be something like ‘What’s your favourite movie’ and BOOM! He’ll ask me out.
‘Hmm, good question, Hoang. I used to love pink, of course, every girl does. Now I like yellow, sometimes green, but I guess I’m a little partial to purple these days too.’
‘I meant for your toe nails, Miss.’
‘Oh, yes of course … I’ll have red please.’
He walked away from my perfectly pedicured toes and selected the red varnish off a shelf near the front counter. He started speaking in Vietnamese to the guys who were grouped there.
Hoang pointed to me and gesticulated wildly, then the group burst out laughing and looked in my direction. At this point, I felt sort of bad for Gemma. They were obviously laughing about her blue hair. Really though, she brought it on herself.
He strutted back to me and knelt at my feet again (very empowering) and proceeded to paint my nails red. My Mum calls it horrid, as in ‘Whore red’, which is a plus for me. If she thinks it’s tacky, it must be good. I would hate my mum to approve of anything I do, then I would definitely know I’ve lost my edge.
Gemma’s technician asked for her colour choice and she picked, you guessed it, blue. Poor girl. If she were a better friend, I’d take her aside and teach her a few things about the ‘real world’, but at this stage I really had to