Magic Hands (10 page)

Cort’s mouth fel , but he stayed focused on Rachel’s nails.

“But I thought you just did it the other night?” Ticia asked.

“I did.” When Cort’s grip turned hard, she looked at him.

“Easy there.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He couldn’t look at her, not when she was talking about hooking like it was nothing. His churning stomach twisted into a fist.

Rachel went on, “Martin likes the hard stuff.”

“No romance for him, I know,” Ticia said.

“Ouch!” Rachel pul ed back her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Cort reached for her. “I—I’m just tired.”

“I should come another day.”

He gently pul ed her hand over. “No, it’s okay. Real y.”

He started to work again, trying to dismiss the disgust he felt.

“Anyway,” Rachel continued. “Oh, guys, I saw Sunshine today.”

Ticia nodded enthusiastical y. “He said hi to me in the hal .”

“He’s so sweet,” Rachel said.

“He was with Penguin.”

Cort looked up. “Penguin? What, the guy have some sort of funny walk?”

The girls laughed. It helped, but he was stil in turmoil about what he overheard.

“Actual y, he does,” Rachel said. “But it’s not, like, weird or anything—just cute.”

How could girls who did something as crazy as make up funky code names for guys double as hookers in Pleasant View? It didn’t make sense.

“Ouch.” Rachel pul ed her hand away again. “You pinched my finger.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Cort took her hand back. “I’l be gentler, I promise.”

“Something wrong?” Rachel asked.

“No. Sorry. Real y.”

“Do you hurt al your clients?” she teased.

“Uh, no.” He kept his head lowered. With the nails formed, he sanded, buffed and readied them for white-tip paint.

“Think about tomorrow night,” Rachel final y said to Ticia. “We can meet or I can pick you up.”

“If I don’t get my wish and hook up with Carmel, then I wil . What wil you do?”

Rachel shrugged, watching Cort spray a white tip. She made sure he wasn’t looking before she shot a secret look at Ticia, then at Jennifer that spoke of hope. “You have any plans tomorrow night?” she asked him.

He looked up, surprised. “Me? Uh.” If she real y was hooking, Cort didn’t want anything else to do with her. “I might be busy.”

Rachel’s smile faded. “Oh.”

“Sounds like you’re going to be busy anyway,” he said.

“Just for a little while.”

A little while? He swal owed a hard knot. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt whatever it is you have going on. Sounds pretty important,” he said.

“It is, but it’s not going to take the whole night.”

Jeez. Wham bam thank you M’am. Cort was angry and disappointed. She was too beautiful, too intel igent to give herself away. And what kind of mother al owed that, encouraged it even? The idea was too bizarre.

“I don’t know.” His tone was sharper than he intended.

Her smile withered. He took her hands, looked at her nails.

“I’l just do another coat of clear and you’l be done.”

He’d changed like hot water to cold. Rachel glanced at her friends wondering what had happened. Wondering if she’d said something. Ticia shrugged. Jennifer’s face was blank. Any hopes of hinting to hang out tomorrow night after her visit to Countryside were gone.

Maybe it was al the talk about other guys. Maybe he—wel , he wouldn’t be jealous; there wasn’t enough between them to warrant that. Maybe he thought her hands were gross.
Too fat or something. Guys notice stuff just like girls do
.

Was her breath bad? She’d just chewed gum and she stil tasted mint. Whatever it was, he was cool y quiet and she tried not to let it get to her.

After he painted the last coat, Rachel careful y set her nails in front of the fan. He sat back, brows knit tight, eyes dark with something.

“So.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you know the old people?”

“They’re friends.”

“Friends?”

The sarcasm in his voice made her defensive. “Yes, friends. You have a problem with that? What? You don’t you like old people?”

“Of course I like old people.” He sounded just as defensive. “Who doesn’t?”

“Wel I can’t see Bree or Shaylee or Megan hanging with them.”

He sat forward, eyes feisty. “No, I can’t either.” He studied her so intensely; she didn’t know what to say and suddenly wished her nails were dry so she could get out of there.

“They’re friends of yours, though, right?” she asked with a bite.

“Oh, so that means I don’t do wel with old people either, is that what you’re saying?”

Rachel shrugged. She didn’t like him being mean. It hurt, in fact. But she could be mean back. “Birds of a feather.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not like Bree, or Shaylee or any of them.”

“Then why do you hang with them?”

“Why do you do what you do?,” he snapped.

Rachel sat back, confused. “What?”

He stood. “Forget it. You’re done—I mean, you’re dry.”

She met his frustration when she stood. “Great. Thanks.”

Thrusting her purse at Ticia, she didn’t take her eyes from his.

“Get out my wal et, wil you?”

The air thickened. Ticia dove for the wal et. Jennifer scrambled off the pedicure chair and slipped on her shoes.

Rachel opened her wal et and threw two twenties on the table. “Thanks.”

Then she turned and started toward the door, her friends on either side of her.

“You’re welcome!” Cort stared at the money, every muscle draining with disappointment. Had the money come from her…job? The idea sickened him. After a moment, he picked it up and stuffed the bil s in his front pocket.

Cort stil couldn’t believe Rachel had sat there and al but made her appointments while he did her nails. It was despicable and fascinating at the same time.

After the girls left, Miss Chachi locked the front door and turned off the red, electric OPEN sign.

“Busy day,” she said.

Cort had never been so wiped. Hours of listening to girls gossip, complain and bicker was more exhausting than any footbal game he’d ever played. His hands ached. He flexed his fingers, massaged his knuckles as Miss Chachi surveyed the salon, gradual y heading his way.

Quickly he tidied his area setting his brushes, pots and bottles where she had told him to. She stopped at his table, looked at his work place then up at him. For a flash, he caught something dark and unidentifiable in her black eyes. It startled him, but he smiled, and felt better when she did too.

“Good day today, yes?”

He nodded.

“You bring us lots of business. That is good. Keep it up.”

He thought if he worked any harder, his fingers would fal off. Reactively, he flexed them again, and Miss Chachi looked at them. “You soak in ginger like I say?”

He shook his head. “We don’t have any of that stuff.”

She held up a finger indicating he should wait then disappeared behind the beaded curtain hanging in the opening to the back. He looked around; the other girls had gone he guessed, because they weren’t anywhere to be found.

Rubbing his face with his aching hands, he let out a sigh.

He was sick about Rachel. So much for proving he wasn’t a jock like every other jock—she wasn’t like anybody else either, for that matter.

“You soak in this tonight.” Miss Chachi placed a baggie with mixed brown powders in his hand. “You feel better in the morning. I promise.”

He nodded, tucking the bag into his pocket. He felt the money Rachel had given him, and took out the twenty he owed Miss Chachi. “This is for that last job,” he told her. He wished Rachel had never come in. He wished he didn’t know her dirty little secret.

Miss Chachi nodded, taking the bil . “I have something for you.” She scuttled up front, grabbed a smal paper and returned to him. “Your work permit.” She handed it to him.

“Oh.” He looked at it.

“You hang, right there on wal .” She pointed and gave him a thumb tack.

He tacked the paper to the wal , feeling a little surge of pride. “Cool.”

She nodded, looking from the permit to him. “Yes.

Cool.”

“Wel , I guess I’l be off.” He grabbed his keys out of his drawer. “See you tomorrow.”

“We need talk. Come.”

He fol owed her to the front desk with dread. Surely she wasn’t going to make him work more hours. She looked at the large, flat paper that had the schedule on it. “You come in al day tomorrow?”

“But I just worked tonight.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “But the clients al ask for you and look,” she pointed to the paper. Every hour fil ed from nine until nine. “Ful day.

He shifted and let out a sigh. “But the other girls can take—”

“—They can,” she interrupted him and her tone was sharp. “They wil . But some of these come tomorrow because they couldn’t get you today. You see? We must please them.”

The thought of another day like he’d had today tired him.

“How long wil this be like this? I have a life, you know.”

Her black eyes narrowed. “Not much longer, Cort. Trust me.”

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to believe in her words. Maybe it was just that he was so wiped. He wanted to crash.

He drove home, checking the empty, darkened streets for Rachel. Was she working them tonight? The idea was so preposterous, he almost laughed out loud. One look around and he knew the rumor couldn’t be true—there wasn’t a soul in sight but the occasional car.

Once he turned onto Canyon Road there were a few more cars than usual. But then it was Friday night, and that meant kids everywhere. No lone men roamed the streets as his imagination had conjured.

When he got home, he realized he was starving.

Somehow, he hadn’t gotten a break at work what with dozens of clients waiting. He headed right to the refrigerator, opened it. And wanted to cry.

Nothing but fruit and vegetables and something made of tofu and greens he didn’t recognize fil ed the shelves.

“Where have you been?”

He turned; his mother stood in her robe. She peered at him over glasses perched half-way down her nose. In her arms was her usual stack of briefings. She set them on the counter, her face concerned as she came to him.

“You look tired.” She pressed her hands to his face to feel for a temperature.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Wel , you don’t have a fever.” She picked up her papers.

“There’s dinner in there. Tofu Mexican casserole.”

His stomach rol ed. “Sounds great.”

Cocking her head at him she considered. “You might be anemic.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Working hard on the job—that’s good. Keeps the blood flowing. That keeps digestion turned up.”

Wearily, he nodded and looked back into the refrigerator wishing he had the energy to go back into town and grab a burger.

“Get some rest. Your body is stil growing. Sleep, good nutrition, and plenty of exercise.”

Again he nodded.

She left and he shut the fridge door, the grumbling in his stomach loud. Then he heard the unmistakable crunch of chips being chewed.

He whirled. Lizzie stood in the doorway with a grin and a bag of Doritos. He almost lunged for them.

She darted out of his reach, laughing. “Get your own bag.”

“Where did you find that?” he whispered.

“Had one of my friends pick it up for me.” She held out the bag and he reached for it again but she snatched it back.

“Tel me about Rachel.”

That came out of nowhere. “Why do you want to know?”

“She cal ed a minute ago.”

He made another grab for the bag but she twisted away.

“She your new girlfriend?”

Just thinking about Rachel, about that whole sordid story, made him angry and he made another grab for the chips, this time wrapping his sister in a tight squeeze trying to wrestle it from her. “Give me the chips.”

“For – get – it,” she grunted, struggling.

“I’m starving.”

“I – don’t – care!” Her smal er body wiggled free and she danced out of reach with a teasing smile that made him growl.

“Rachel as in Rachel Baxter?”

“No.”

Lizzy dangled the bag in front of his nose and his shoulders drooped on a heavy sigh. “Forget it.” He resigned himself to a night of starvation but she fol owed him back to the fridge.

“Okay, okay.” She held out the bag. Greedily he took it.

“Easy there, pup.”

“If you’d been chained to a chair, forced to listen to girl’s gossip and whine for five hours without a break to take a leak, or eat, or anything else, you’d be a bear too.” The first chip was pure heaven. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Man these are good.”

Lizzie laughed. “They’re just chips. Who’s this slave driver you’re working for?”

“Miss Chachi.” He sat at a barstool and took another chip out, staring at it as if it were gold, before placing it in his mouth.

“And you’re taking it?” Reaching over, Lizzie stole a chip.

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I was broke, Liz. A year without a job wil do that. I’ve gotta save up.”

“Stil ,” she crunched. “This is America.”

“But she’s not from here.”

“So?”

He shrugged. “Her work ethic is more sweat shop, I guess.”

“Boy, have you changed.”

He didn’t like her implication. “What do you mean?”

“The Cort Davies I knew wouldn’t just rol .”

“Wel sometimes you just have to suck it up, and obviously you haven’t figured that out yet.” She reached for another chip but he jerked the bag out of her reach. “It’s a sign of maturity,” he told her.

“Yeah, right.” She stood, wiped her hands on her jeans.

“Whatever. That chick cal ed.”

He paused before taking another bite. “What did she say?”

“Just, ‘tel him that Rachel cal ed.’ It’s Rachel Baxter, isn’t it?”

He wondered if his sister had heard any of the strange rumors. “You had a class with her, right?”

She nodded, taking a soda from where it was hidden in the further most cabinet.

“You sneak,” he condemned.

“A girl’s gotta eat.” She popped off the top. “I know her, yeah.”

“What’s she like?”