Wrong Way Renee (3 page)

When the microwave dinged, she headed for the kitchen to eat like one of Pavlov's famous dogs. She peeled back the plastic cover and mixed the congealed cream sauce, the dry turkey chunks and the steaming noodles. Her first bite was half cold, half burning hot.

This was all Dan's fault. If he hadn't cheated on her with the underage nymph at his office, she'd be eating great food at a fine restaurant now, wearing a fabulous dress, sporting flawless makeup that didn't let
any
dark spots
in her complexion
show through.

Dan had been so in love with her when they first started living together. He'd bought her flowers every week, cooked gourmet dinners and brought her stupid, sweet Hallmark cards for no particular reason. When had it all changed?

Sometime after New Year's he'd started acting differently. He and the nymph mu
st have hooked up at that damn
office Christmas party where spouses and significant others weren't welcome.

Younger, cuter girls
were ruining her life. It hit her like an epiphany. It was a silent conspiracy.

She pictured herself on stage, preening under colored spotlights in a beauty pageant. Only the judges at this event didn't find tall, thin
nymphs
the standard of beauty. No. They ranked
older ladies
with
a little extra meat on their bones as the most beautiful. She walked the runway wearing a slimming black gown and a tiara, waving to her adoring fans.

The guy in the front row looked familiar. That adorable cop from the bank.

Reality sucker punched her right in the gut. Who was she kidding? She'd never see him again. She'd wake up tomorrow morning in the same pathetic life with the same extra
fifteen
pounds and the same mountain of debt.

No! She pushed away from the table and stood. She was not a loser. First thing in the morning she'd begin her new non-pathetic life. A hot guy would ask her out—maybe two, even three.

Renee Wright was no loser. At least, not anymore.

* * * * *

Renee booted up the computer
at her salon the next morning
then turned on the stereo. Soft jazz filled the room.

The back door flew open seconds later and her partner, Becky, lumbered in, carrying a laundry basket full of towels. She
huffed as she
dropped the burden next to her station.

“Morning.
No coffee yet,
huh
?
”
She headed to the kitchenette area in the back of the shop. Her clothes looked disheveled, as always and her curly brown hair flew in every direction. Renee wondered why Becky didn't apply some of her very capable hairdressing skills to her own locks. She never seemed to care much about things like t
hat. She hardly wore any makeup—
only mascara and
sometimes
lipstick.

“
Sorry. I just got here,
”
Renee said from behind the desk.
“How's your schedule today?
”

“Pretty full, as usual.
”
Becky switched on the coffee maker, returned to her station, and sat in her service chair.
“D
o anything fun yesterday?
”

“You wouldn't even believe it.
”
She wasn't ready to recount the details of the bank robbery yet. She'd probably tell the story twenty-five times before the end of the day, so she'd wait until the rest of the crew arrived.
“I'll fill you in about it later. I've got a new client coming in a minute. Why don't you tell me about yo
ur days off while I get ready?”

“I had dinner with Charles yesterday.
”
Becky stretched her arms over her head.
“We're going out again on Friday night.
”
She squeezed her eyes shut, yawning.
“You'll
have to meet him. He's great.”

“I'm happy for you, Beck.
”
And she was. But she couldn't help but wonder why Becky always had a man in her life. Becky was six years older than her and at least twenty pounds more overweight.

Maybe white women just dated more. Or maybe
Becky was more fun. After all, she was one of Renee's favorite people, with her take-me-as-I-am attitude. Maybe it was the fact that her
mother
was president of a temple and insisted on fixing up her only single daughter with every unattached Jewish man within fifty miles. Just by sheer volume, she was bound to find a good one every now and then.

Sh
e wondered if she was somehow turning off prospective dates. Did she have bad breath? She didn't think so. She always carried mints.
Did she come on too strong?
Was she bitchy? Did she give a bad first impression? She shrugged. No time to psychoanalyze herself now.
“I was thinking of a makeover and lunch on Sunday. I'm gonna see
Toy
this afternoon. I know she'll be up for it. Are you game?
”

Becky shifted on her
enviably
large derriere.
“Hmm. I'll let you know. I'd love to join you guys for lunch, but I'm trying to watch my budget.
I can't afford any makeup now.”

Renee pushed the notion of not spending money to the back of her mind. You had to spend some money on shedding your pathetic loser persona.
“I need the lift.
How can I get a date if I don’t look a hundred percent?
”

Becky narrowed her eyes at her. “
H
ave you heard from Dan lately?”

Sh
e scowled.
“He called a few weeks ago to ask if he'd left behind his thermal underwear when he moved out. Seems the nymph's family has a vacation home in Aspen so they're planning a Thanksgiving ski trip.
What the hell kind of black folks ski? It’s not natural.
I tried to be all nice and sweet to show him I didn't give a rat's ass about his new rich
girlfriend and him.”

“I can see you hide it well.
”

“He really should have been named Damien. I told him if I had my way he'd be going south to a much hotter place. Then I laughed like I was kidding
. But I don't think he got it.”

“You weren't dating him for his sense of humor, obviously.
”
Becky headed toward the coffee maker.
“Want a cup?”

“No, thanks.”

The door chimed and a tall, thirtyish brunette entered the shop. She stopped at the front desk, resting her brown designer purse on it. Renee stepped behind the counter and glanced at the screen for the day's schedule.
“May I help you?
”

“My name is Melissa Mayweather. I have an appointment with Renee for a manicure.
”
Her long brown hair was shiny and straight and her
green
eyes looked kind.

“I'm Renee. Come on over.
”
She led the client to her station, nearly swooning over the woman's Jimmy Choo pumps.

“French manicure today,
please.
”
Melissa
placed
her hands on the towel covering most of the surface of
the
table. She slipped off a massive diamond ring and set it on the ring holder.

Renee examined the woman's hands. Slightly tan, a little too wrinkled for someone her age. She spent too much time in the sun. The nails were short and neat and had traces of beige polish around the edges.
“You like neutrals.
”
She ringed the nails on the right hand with cuticle softener then searched in her drawer for a metal nail file.

“Yes I do. What do you like?”

“Kittens, puppies, pin
k frilly things and old disco songs.”

The woman's smile faded. Renee looked up at her, laughing.
“I'm joking. Well, I do like disco music. Way better than rap.”

Melissa
grinned
.
“So I have a fu
nny manicurist.”

“Yes, you do. Let's see
…
I like hot pink, electric purple and emerald green. I like cats, I'm afraid of dogs and I love being my own boss. I like Florida winters, North Carolina summers and in my college days, I liked boys who were a little bit bad.
”

Sh
e shaped her client's nails into squared ovals, or squovals, as she liked to call them.
“Oh, yesterday at the bank, I was a bank robber's hostage for a few fleeting moments. My
mama
is bossy and controlling, my dad is only bossy and controlling on the job—he's a personal injury attorney. At home, he's a pussycat. My boyfriend dumped me six months ago, I'm half-owner of this place and I think all skinny
women must die. Well, not you. You seem sweet, unlike the rest of them.
”
She pointed over her shoulder.
“Becky over there is the other half. Now you know everything about me. Now your turn.
”

Sh
e loved to play this game with her new clients. It broke the ice right away so they would feel instantly comfortable and want to come back. Most did. They also confided their deepest, darkest secrets.
She’d
learned when she started in this business seven years ago that the key to success was thirty percent doing great nails, seventy percent being a great listener. Now it was a
challenge
to see how quickly she could win over new clients.

Melissa stared at her hands and shrugged.
“Where do I begin? Were you r
eally a bank robber's hostage?”

“I really was. It all happened so quick
ly I forgot to get frightened.”

“Wow. So
, where did you go to college?”

“No, no, no. It's your turn. Questions later.
”
Sh
e squirted a blob of peach-scented lotion onto Melissa's right hand and began massaging.

“Okay. I'm thirty-two years old. I own a little jewelry store up the road, my husband is an allergist, my sister is prettier and skinnier than I, but I'm younger. I once dated a guy with a tattoo and if you ever tell anyone, I'll kill you.
”
Melissa's gaze locked onto Renee's. Both women smiled.

“Your secret's safe with me.
”
She considered the conversations she had with her clients as privileged as if she were a psychologist.

“Now, where did you go to college and wh
y did your boyfriend dump you?”

“University of Florida. He started fooling around with a bimbo at the insurance agency where they both work. Turned out she was the owner's daughter. Her family is filthy rich. Apparently he's a gold digger as well as a cheat. Thankfully, I'm almost at the point where I can laugh about it. Almost. Where did you go to school?
”

“Auburn. I met Rich, my husband there. We graduated together, then moved to Miami where he went to medical school. He
did his residency there, too.”

“
I feel like we're old friends already.
We know all about each other.”

“I like you, Renee. Do you have an opening every Tuesda
y at this time for a manicure?”

“I do. I'll mark you down.
”
She polished her new client's nails, then led her to the drying station and turned on the fan to speed the process. Melissa waved her hands in front of the fan for thirty seconds before hurrying out the door.

After two fills and another manicure, Renee washed her hands and set up for a pedicure in the tiny room next to the kitchenette. She was checking her supplies when
Toy
walked in and gave her a hug. Hugging
Toy
was like wrapping yourself around a twig. She was so thin and tall, it made Renee feel like a fat dwarf. But the friend time recharged her batteries like nothing else.

“You have like no makeup on but you're still gorgeous.
”
Renee
pointed
to the seat.
“You make me sick, girlfriend.
”

Toy
slipped off her sandals and climbed up to the throne, pulling her
sleek,
shiny chestnut-colored hair into a ponytail with her fingers.
“I am totally plain and blotchy. What are you talking about?
”
Toy
only took up half the seat.

Renee
crinkled her nose at the thought. Disgusting.
“I'm glad you think you're plain, even though it's not true and you're absolutely stunning, because I need a makeover. Becky and I are going to the mall Sunday for new makeup, if I can talk her into the splurge. What do you say? We'll h
ave lunch after.”