Four women from very different places share a few revealing moments together in an upscale nail salon that leaves each of them changed.
The salon was brightly lit and tastefully decorated in rich neutral tones, with the soft jazz of a local radio station playing in the background, accompanying the hum of voices and occasional bursts of laughter. Maggie Collins sat in the lobby area, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, glancing at her watch as she calculated how long before Dan would be back with the kids. Time seemed to be slipping away from her, and she sighed, wondering how much longer it would be.
On the other side of the room a well-dressed woman sat flipping casually through a fashion magazine, her flawless makeup and perfectly styled hair a sharp contrast to Maggie’s own faded sweats and hastily gathered ponytail. She remembered a time when she’d been able to leave the house looking so cool, calm and collected… and she shook her head, wondering how she’d come to forget those days. The other woman smiled politely as she glanced up, meeting the wistful gaze.
“Lovely out, isn’t it?”
Maggie nodded, self conscious that she’d been caught staring. “It’s beautiful, yes.”
She was rescued from the awkward moment by the arrival of one of the nail technicians. Petite and pretty, the girl knew well how to put together a hip, young look, blonde hair pulled back to show her flawless skin, a perfect match to this place Maggie thought, wondering how old she was. The girl checked something on the desk before turning a dazzling smile to the two seated in the lobby.
“Maggie?” and at her nod, the girl smiled brightly, “I’m Trina, I’ll be doing you today.” Her gaze moved to take in the well-dressed woman, still seated, “Lisa will be right out for you Alyssa.”
The other nodded, returning her attention to her magazine while Maggie rose to follow the smiling Trina. Back through the rows of tables, each with its own bright pool of light, neatly arranged bottles and all manner of tools carefully laid out. At the far end of the salon a wrought iron trimmed mirror was the backdrop for an impressive display of polishes that had been arranged on a black and brass rack. Trina reached a slim, manicured hand to turn the display so that Maggie could see the many colors, “We’ll need to start by picking out a color.”
Maggie stared in some awe at the rows and rows of polishes. She felt suddenly as if there were a whole world just beyond her doorstep that she was only now rediscovering. “There are so many,” she marveled, reaching to remove a bottle from the shelf.
Trina nodded her understanding, “It’s hard, I know.”
The older woman set the bottle back, careful not to disturb the others, “Maybe you could suggest something?”
“Sure,” the girl replied good-naturedly, scanning the bottles with a practiced eye. She spun the display soundlessly as she looked for the colors she wanted. Each she would inspect quickly before holding the bottle up against Maggie’s hands. At last she made her selection. “Yes, this… this would be good for you.”
It was a soft and subtle shade of pink, with the hint of a shimmer, and Maggie nodded her approval, glad to have the choice made. The task complete, Trina led her back through the rows of tables and chatting women to her station. She sank to the seat indicated with some relief, unsure what to do next.
Trina reached to take her hands, staring down at the dry, peeling skin, the barely-healing scrapes she’d gotten drawing with sidewalk chalk on the driveway, and the short unkempt nails, still dirty from the garden. She sighed, “Well, you certainly need a manicure,” she remarked though not unkindly. “You do a lot of work with your hands?”
“I’m a Mom, so yes, I guess I do.”
The girl smiled knowingly, setting Maggie’s hands back on the tabletop and glancing over the items laid neatly off to one side of the station. She shook her head, “Someone’s got my clippers, I’ll be right back,” she said, rising and making her way along the rows of tables, in an effort to locate the tool she needed. Sitting alone, Maggie watched the other women, talking and laughing as the music played. Just across from her the well-dressed woman from the lobby took her place at a station, settling in as if it were her favorite easy chair. She was smiling at something one of the others had been saying before turning to the attentive Lisa and her own hands. Smooth and flawless, her nails were not over-long, but perfectly shaped, a fabulous backdrop for her distinctive diamond wedding set. She must be a regular, Maggie decided, glancing ruefully at her own cracked and battered hands.
“So you’re a mom?” Trina was back, settling Maggie’s hands into a bowl of warm, soapy water. It felt good.
She nodded, “I have three children.”
“What ages?”
“Ten, seven and three.”
“Wow, you must be busy. No wonder your hands look like this.”
Maggie smiled, a bit sheepish, “I used to get manicures more often, but… well, you know how it is. I’m just so busy with the kids and all… ” She paused, letting her voice trail off as she glanced about the nearly full salon, “Although it seems like no one else has got that problem — it’s just me who can’t seem to find the time.”
(Charlestown, Rhode Island) - Welcome to AILEEN’S GUESTHOUSE where locals and lodgers have more in common than first meets the eye. And, there's plenty of blame to go around.
