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.
With the shitty situation our pa had left us in on my mind, I numbly did as the woman said and lay on top of the small bed. She proceeded to prepare something in a pot that had a lid.
“We’ll start by waxing your eyebrows,” she announced.
“Whatever,” I grumbled and let her do her thing.
I closed my eyes and imagined I was back home on the ranch. A few thousand cattle roaming the acreage. My sister sitting on the old tire swing our grandaddy hung for us. Her boyfriend Jarod pushing her on the swing, as he teased her with a kissing peck each time she swung his way. They were true high school sweethearts and deeply in love. And now what were they?
Broken apart by my father’s selfish deeds.
I hated him.
With every fiber of my being, I hated Pa more than those greedy, nasty Goodalls who wanted to get their grubby hands on our land.
The attendant placed something hot and sticky above and below my eyebrows as well as in between. She then placed a long strip over my upper lip. Why? I didn’t know, but I figured there was a lot I didn’t know about current beauty practices. I worked a ranch alongside men. Wore jeans, boots, plaid long-sleeve shirts, and a cowboy hat every day. I didn’t worry about things such as perfect eyebrows or girlie clothing.
Savannah, though, seemed to be having a grand ol’ time. With each new treatment she giggled and swooned.
When our hair was complete, mine came out a bright, healthy, golden strawberry-blonde with natural waves that fell to my shoulders. Savvy told me I looked exactly like Rachel McAdams from some movie called Doctor Strange. I hadn’t seen it. I didn’t have time for movies. There was always too much to do on the ranch for movie watching. Though I dreamed of the day that things were running smoothly again, like they were back when my grandaddy was alive and my father had no say in the daily business of the ranch.