voice cracked, and I noticed the moisture collecting in her eyes.
“You’re my friend, Charley. I want you to have something extra special and nice.”
Shoving the box back at me, she said, “I can’t take this.”
She couldn’t take it? I wasn’t sure how much of her stubbornness I could take. Here I was, talking to her as if we had all the time in the world. I had a job to do, had to get her moving, convince her to follow me somehow. My insides hurt, a pain I didn’t recall experiencing with any of my charges to-date. In an unexpected move, for I felt awkward the moment I did it, I pulled Charley into my arms, crushing the box of clothing between us. “I love you,” I told her.
With a start, she backed out of my embrace. “T-thank you,” she managed on a whisper but looked away as she continued, “I’m not accepting these, Zag…I can’t.”
Though I knew her like no one else in her life ever had, I was at a loss to her resistance. I could tell her that sometimes it’s all right to let others do things for you, that one small show of gratitude may mean more than…oh hell, I didn’t want to preach. Think. Think. Think . “At least let me treat you to a facial.”
With her palm, she scrubbed over her whiskered chin. “I believe I’ll take you up on that one.”
I tucked the box and shoes up under my arm and we set off along the sidewalk, heading to the west side of town. I purposely passed up two barbershops, instead opting for a fancy salon. Charley paused at the door. “They’ll never let me in here. What’s wrong with the shop two blocks back?”
“My treat. I pick the place.”
Charley stared, her eyes wide, her hands trembling. I lifted my chin, straightened my thin tie. “Let the bastards tell me, no,” I said and dragged open the plate glass, motioned for her to enter first.
When she declined, I went on ahead, hoping she’d follow. In three strides, I was at the counter. A young Asian woman greeted me, her tasteless eye makeup as distracting as her broken language. “Good afternoon. How may we help?”
It would’ve suited me if she’d spoken her native tongue, but she didn’t know, and I wasn’t here to explain. Took me all of a minute to find my voice, rarely did I appear or have the need to act human. “How much do you require for the works? You know, hair, shave, facial, wax, manicure, pedicure?”
She smiled with a glint in her eyes. “Two hundred fifty dollar—forty extra if you need shampoo and style, but for you, two hundred should cover it.” She took a breath.
I deposited seven fifty dollar bills on the counter, then fished out Charley from behind me. “I’m buying this young lady the works.”
“Oh.” That one word was all that escaped, as her eyebrows arched high, and she eyed Charley from the Gene Wilder-gone-wilder hairdo to the gnarly fingernails. Forcing a smile, she took a tentative step from behind the counter and took Charley by the arm. “This way, ma’am.”
“Don’t touch my hair,” Charley warned as she was led toward the sinks in the back.
The woman seated Charley and stepped on the lever, releasing the chair to recline. “Just shampoo. No problem.”
“It’s one of my better features, wouldn’t you say?” Charley looked up at the confused salon attendant, who appeared agitated slipping on a pair of rubber gloves.
I partook of an offered bottle of water and found a seat where I could keep Charley in sight, no matter which area of the salon she happened to be. After two shampoos, a major conditioning, a stylish cut, and a perfect shave, the woman ushered Charley to and helped her into a seat with a heated vat of water at the base to soak her feet.
Charley shied away when her shoes were removed and again, when the woman attempted to lower Charley’s feet into the warm water. Another attendant joined the first to help, and the two set about scrubbing, massaging, filing, buffing, and much to Charley’s dismay, chatting.
It took
“You’re my friend, Charley. I want you to have something extra special and nice.”
Shoving the box back at me, she said, “I can’t take this.”
She couldn’t take it? I wasn’t sure how much of her stubbornness I could take. Here I was, talking to her as if we had all the time in the world. I had a job to do, had to get her moving, convince her to follow me somehow. My insides hurt, a pain I didn’t recall experiencing with any of my charges to-date. In an unexpected move, for I felt awkward the moment I did it, I pulled Charley into my arms, crushing the box of clothing between us. “I love you,” I told her.
With a start, she backed out of my embrace. “T-thank you,” she managed on a whisper but looked away as she continued, “I’m not accepting these, Zag…I can’t.”
Though I knew her like no one else in her life ever had, I was at a loss to her resistance. I could tell her that sometimes it’s all right to let others do things for you, that one small show of gratitude may mean more than…oh hell, I didn’t want to preach. Think. Think. Think . “At least let me treat you to a facial.”
With her palm, she scrubbed over her whiskered chin. “I believe I’ll take you up on that one.”
I tucked the box and shoes up under my arm and we set off along the sidewalk, heading to the west side of town. I purposely passed up two barbershops, instead opting for a fancy salon. Charley paused at the door. “They’ll never let me in here. What’s wrong with the shop two blocks back?”
“My treat. I pick the place.”
Charley stared, her eyes wide, her hands trembling. I lifted my chin, straightened my thin tie. “Let the bastards tell me, no,” I said and dragged open the plate glass, motioned for her to enter first.
When she declined, I went on ahead, hoping she’d follow. In three strides, I was at the counter. A young Asian woman greeted me, her tasteless eye makeup as distracting as her broken language. “Good afternoon. How may we help?”
It would’ve suited me if she’d spoken her native tongue, but she didn’t know, and I wasn’t here to explain. Took me all of a minute to find my voice, rarely did I appear or have the need to act human. “How much do you require for the works? You know, hair, shave, facial, wax, manicure, pedicure?”
She smiled with a glint in her eyes. “Two hundred fifty dollar—forty extra if you need shampoo and style, but for you, two hundred should cover it.” She took a breath.
I deposited seven fifty dollar bills on the counter, then fished out Charley from behind me. “I’m buying this young lady the works.”
“Oh.” That one word was all that escaped, as her eyebrows arched high, and she eyed Charley from the Gene Wilder-gone-wilder hairdo to the gnarly fingernails. Forcing a smile, she took a tentative step from behind the counter and took Charley by the arm. “This way, ma’am.”
“Don’t touch my hair,” Charley warned as she was led toward the sinks in the back.
The woman seated Charley and stepped on the lever, releasing the chair to recline. “Just shampoo. No problem.”
“It’s one of my better features, wouldn’t you say?” Charley looked up at the confused salon attendant, who appeared agitated slipping on a pair of rubber gloves.
I partook of an offered bottle of water and found a seat where I could keep Charley in sight, no matter which area of the salon she happened to be. After two shampoos, a major conditioning, a stylish cut, and a perfect shave, the woman ushered Charley to and helped her into a seat with a heated vat of water at the base to soak her feet.
Charley shied away when her shoes were removed and again, when the woman attempted to lower Charley’s feet into the warm water. Another attendant joined the first to help, and the two set about scrubbing, massaging, filing, buffing, and much to Charley’s dismay, chatting.
It took
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