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 focus on myself. Put me first for a change. I couldn’t rescue everyone.
‘Any chance you could swing me an appointment with your mum?’ said Gemma. ‘I’ve tried to get in, but she’s booked out for months.’
‘What? Not you too! What is this fascination with my loopy mother lately? Everyone’s on the bandwagon.’
‘You mean, you don’t know? She’s fantastic! Everyone is raving about her. Her Reiki is second to none. I’ve never felt better.’
‘God, Reiki schmaki, it’s all a crock. I mean, really, holding her hands ten centimetres above your body is meant to heal everything?’
Gemma narrowed her eyes at me and said, ‘You can be kind of hard on people, you know that? I think you need to see your mum yourself for some kind of therapy. She has this thing called “Bach flower treatment” that’s great for depression, anxiety and stress.’
‘Are you implying I have some kind of medical condition?’
‘I’m just saying, it’s a natural alternative for relaxation.
Everyone needs an escape now and then when life gets hard. A few bottles of red wine and a packet of ciggies is really not the answer.’
Can you believe this blue-haired monster? Seriously, was she giving me a lecture?
‘Gemma, I hardly ever drink red wine and I definitely don’t smoke, so whoever you’re getting your information from is totally barking up the wrong tree.’
‘Kylie told me she had an emergency call from you last night to fix your hair, because it caught on fire when you tried to light a smoke off the stove while you were plastered.’
‘Wow, who are you suddenly? Oprah? Is Dr Phil gonna run in with a film crew and do an intervention? My mother, too? Clutching a handwritten letter I can take off to rehab with me for my darkest moments?’
I know what you’re thinking. And you’re probably right. She has multiple personalities. I mean, where the hell did that come from? I remember now why we didn’t stay friends long in high school.
I lowered my voice, not wanting to make a spectacle out of myself and said, ‘I’ll have you know that Kylie is one of the worst exaggerators I’ve ever met. We aren’t talking at the moment, so I guess she has to make up these ridiculous lies to feel better about herself or something.’
‘She has photos of last night. You, totally wild-eyed, smoking, your hair a charred mess on one side.’ She had the nerve at this point to start laughing. ‘Oh, and your apartment! What a pigsty! How can you live like that?’
Well,
