After a terrible accident, Gemma is left with no memory of the first twenty years of her life and nobody to turn to who can help her remember. When she loses her job, Gemma sets out on an adventure to find something worth living for. What she doesn'...
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"WHAT DO YOU think about this shade?" Jewel, one of the aestheticians at Blushing Beauty Salon, asks her coworker.
Lydia, the store's owner and, from what I can tell, eldest beautician stops her work on my toes and dips my foot back into the tray of warm water to look at Jewel's choice. She doesn't hesitate shaking her head, turning down the bright orange lacquer the purple-haired employee is waving in the air. "No. We were given the strict instructions that 'Gemma's makeup, hair style, and nails are to be classic, timeless, and elegant.'" Resuming work on my neglected toenails, the older aesthetician nods toward the door leading back to the store part of the salon. "There are some neutral shades by the cashier. 'Pink Champagne' should work nicely."
Jewel huffs out a breath as she places the bottle of orange polish onto its shelf, and I watch as she slips out of the private room I've been confined to for the past hour and a half while getting my nails done.
The car Audrick sent for me, a sleek navy blue Audi sedan, rolled up outside my apartment at exactly ten o' clock this morning, as per Audrick's instructions. It had taken just less than an hour to get to the uptown salon, where I was scheduled to spend the remainder of the morning and a good part of the afternoon.
Even though I'd been pampered for the past hour, it had still passed by surprisingly slowly. I was so used to doing things like working or, nowadays, studying or cleaning up around my apartment that sitting still felt so foreign, so unnatural. I almost wish Jewel or Lydia would pepper me with questions. Maybe that would help the time pass quicker.
"Would you like a magazine, Dear?" Lydia asks, apparently noticing my bored state.
Magazines were never my reading material of choice, and I'm not feeling confident in my ability to keep my nails pristine while flipping through the pages (the reason I didn't bring a book in the first place), so I decline her offer, choosing instead to close my eyes and try to relax while listening to the nature-themed music playing in the salon.
Despite the comfortable setting, I've never been one to relax. Needless to say, I'm relieved when, after having three coats of polish applied to my finger and toenails, Lydia announces they're finished with my nails and that it's time to move onto the next treatment on the schedule.
"Have you ever gotten waxed before?" she asks, and I feel my heart begin to pick up pace.
"No," I reply.
"Okay," she says, motioning for me to follow her. "Be careful with your nails, Dear," she warns as I climb off the chair. "They won't be fully dry for another few hours."
Lydia leads me into a room adjacent to the first, instructing me to lay down on a very soft, beige chair. I do as I'm told and, as the chair reclines backward, surprising me, Lydia starts up again. "You may be sensitive the first few times, but when you wax regularly it gets better. We also have laser treatments available," she suggests.
