The Marriage Auction: Book One(10)
“Do your best, Beatrice.”
“With a canvas like this, it will be a snap!” she gushed and gestured to her chair. “First step—let’s refresh this color. Your blonde is looking a little tired. Let’s spruce it up, give your ends a trim, and maybe add a few wispy layers to frame your face. How’s that sound?”
“Like Heaven. Thank you, Ms. Beatrice.” I sat my ass in the leather chair, and she raised it up by pumping a pedal with her foot .
“After this you’ll be getting everything waxed, scrubbed, and shined. A couple facial treatments to plump and moisten your skin, and then we move to styling. And by the looks of your outfit, we’re gonna have some fun.”
I grinned widely and bit down on my bottom lip. “Bring it on, Ms. Beatrice!”
Before I knew it, my hair was colored, cut, and blown dry to perfection. My facial was the bomb. I’d never had one before, and to say I liked it would have been an understatement. I had no idea it was so relaxing, not to mention what it actually did to the surface of the skin. My face now felt as soft as a baby’s bottom, and it glowed as though I’d spent hours in the sun. So far, the makeover experience had been awesome.
I followed the other girls who were all like me, naked though covered up with fluffy white robes. I wondered if we could take the robes with us and made a mental note to ask Beatrice when we were done with our waxing.
The six of us, Memphis our solo man included, all traipsed into a new, more private space. There were massage beds in a long line, each separated by a wall which I assumed was for privacy. I’d been waxed a million times, so I knew what to expect.
Faith nudged my shoulder. “You been waxed before?”
I nodded. “All the time.”
“How bad does it hurt?”
“Probably worse than you think,” I warned.
She bit down into her plump, pink bottom lip. “That bad, eh?”
I shrugged. “I’m used to it. The legs and face hurt the least so maybe start there? Then underarms, and then pelvis and ass.”
Her eyes about bugged out of her head. “The ass? They’re going to wax my ass hairs. I don’t even know if I have ass hairs. This is crazy. Who does this?”
I grinned. “In my experience, rich people, the Kardashians, and strippers.”
She inhaled sharply. “I’m scared.”
I put my arm around her and gave her a little hug. It was awkward but still felt good. “You can do it. I have faith in you. Ah-ha! Did you see what I did just then? Faith!” I said with all the cheesiness while nudging her.
She chuckled and rolled her eyes playfully. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“Well good luck to you, and everyone!” I laughed as my gal led me to my waxing lady.
Things were going just fine. The waxer gave me a pair of headphones that played some kick-ass indie rock artists when I told her what kind of tunes I listened to.
I was humming along with “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish when I heard a commotion. The waxer had just pulled a strip off my underarm, and I hissed at the fiery pain but held back any sound. Being a veteran waxing chick, I considered myself a tough girl.
I tugged down my headphones. “What happened?”
A blood-curdling scream tore through the air, and I sat up straight and looked around my private cubby as my gal went to go check it out.
Not wanting to be caught unawares, I hopped off the bed and peeked around the wall to find out what was happening. Faith and her waxer were also peeking around their stall. Our gazes caught just as the scuffle got louder and we saw a metal bowl fly across the room and smash into the opposite wall.
Then the sound of skin hitting skin bounced off the walls, and I knew fists were flying.
Episode 7
Waxing Poetic
DAKOTA
I’d never had so many people touch me in my life! Between getting my hair done, then the two facials that included treating what she called my “décolletage” which sounded French or Greek or some crapola, but turned out to be my neck, shoulders, and upper part of my boobs, I was done. Then we were dragged to a seamstress who took all of our measurements, while I was standing in my underwear with her hands all over me. And I’d had enough. More than enough.
Why the hell we had to get made up was a mystery to me. If the man buying me didn’t like me the way I came, what the hell difference would slathering on a bunch of makeup and body lotion and fancy duds do for me in the long run? I was a cowgirl. I worked on a farm. My hands carried calluses on top of calluses. There was no softer side, even though my “beauty attendant,” which I couldn’t even believe that’s what they called themselves, thought I had in spades.
Following along with Savannah’s constant chiding, I did as the beauty people bade. Then out of nowhere, we were transferred in a line to a big room that had several massage beds and stalls. For a minute I thought we were going to get massages. Now that plan I could get behind. Savannah was taken to the last spot just past mine.
At least I could keep an eye on my baby sister this way. For a little while longer, I reminded myself sadly. It sucked knowing that Savannah was giving up everything. Sure, I was too, and that was her argument, but it wasn’t the same. The big sister was supposed to take on the bulk of the responsibilities. We made things easier for our siblings. It’s why we were born first. Naturally, I wanted to take care of her, like I had our entire lives.