Lost Angel (The List #1) (8 page)

Marcella hands me a super soft fluffy white
towel, cleansing wipes and a disposable G-string. She tells me to strip from
the waist down, use the wipes and lie on the bed on my back when I’m ready.
Then she turns her attention straight back to Wills. I’m not sure if this is
because she’s being rude and is just interested in fucking Willow or if it’s
just her feisty Italian professionalism. I step behind the screen to undress,
whilst half listening to their conversation and decide it’s the latter.

Marcella’s sexy accent just sounds flirtatious but
her friendly laugh tells me she’s genuine. Thank God for that. I really don’t
want a bitch in between my legs armed with a pot of hot wax. I wince at the
thought and now I just want to get this over with. I pop the wipes in the
hygiene bin provided and reappear in the unflattering G-string covered by the
fluffy towel. I slide onto the bed, which is covered with a paper sheet,
leaving the towel over my crotch area. Wills is positioned beside me so she’s
not at the business end.

Marcella seamlessly involves me in the
conversation about some guy she’s apparently been “screwing like a dog on heat”.
I love how she just talks freely, similarly to Wills. I almost blush as some of
her comments, even though I’m not in the slightest bit offended or uncomfortable.
She is so at ease with herself it helps me to try and feel the same. Pulling on
her rubber gloves she checks everything’s prepared on her trolley.

Wills mentions that I’m newly single.

“Oh darling, your pussy is in the best hands
possible. I will make sure that she impresses anybody that comes into contact
with her, including myself... So what will it be?” She rubs her hands together
as though she’s about to rustle us up some cocktails.

“Erm… well I’m not sure anybody is going to see
her
anytime soon but I’ve decided on the French waxing please… if that’s
ok with you? If it’s not possible… then um… perhaps just a tidy up—” I shift
about under the towel not liking the spotlight on me. Not that Marcella isn’t
lovely, she is and this place is great too but how is having my pubic hair
pampered going to make me feel any different?

“Nonsense, nonsense, I own this salon for a
reason. I am capable of making even the most
disgraceful
looking vaginas
look desirable. Nothing is
impossibile!
” She lifts up the towel. “Can
we lose this?” Then pulls the G to one side. “And this? If you don’t mind
please darling. I know it’s the rules but I work so much better when I can see
my entire canvas.” I nod and shrug, mesmerised by her accent once again. I’m
not sure if it’s because I’m at ease with Marcella or I’m petrified of her, but
either way – fuck It. Glancing at Wills she raises her eyebrows and smiles.
Marcella folds the towel and places it on her lap then tears away the G with an
experts touch, disposing of it in the bin on her trolley.

“Right then—” She is studying my pubic hair in
the exact same way my hairdresser looks at my hair when I haven’t been in a
while. “Well, this is definitely a neatly pruned
married
pussy darling.
She is screaming for me to release her potential. With a body and a face like
yours, you will be fighting the men off so let’s make sure you’re looking
incredibile
everywhere.” Marcella indicates for me to put my left leg in the frog position
and then applies cleanser and powder. Then comes the familiar pleasure and
pain; pleasure of the feeling when the spatula spreads warm wax over my skin
and pain when the inevitable strips are ripped away.

I hold my leg up from under my knee so she can
tackle underneath and I’m surprisingly unfazed when usually I’d be cringing to
death, waffling on about the weather. I dig my nails into my leg a few times
when the more sensitive areas are done. The easy conversation keeps me
distracted, Marcella keeps trying to persuade me to have some pubic crystals. I
swear she takes so much pride in her work that I wouldn’t be surprised if she
gets a permanent marker out to autograph me.

Marcella’s professional work makes the session
fly by and soon enough my right side is done too. She applies soothing balm all
over and inspects me closely, using tweezers to pluck me to a perfectly formed
thin landing strip “worthy of the red carpet” apparently.

“Finito, sei bellissima! Bella Bethany!”
Marcella shows me her handy work with pride via a handheld mirror. Impressive
stuff, I think I may go for the pubic crystals next time. She encourages Wills
to critique as though it’s an art exhibition. “I now pronounce this pussy officially
divorced.” At least she doesn’t have to wait for two years! “Congratulations! She
looks good enough to eat.” Laughter erupts once more, drowning out the
speakers. I slip off the bed and get dressed, without bothering with the screen
this time, rendering it a pointless formality now after all that.

Before we say our goodbyes I find out that the
enchanting piano piece that’s been playing in the background the entire time is
by an Italian pianist called Ludovico Einaudi. It’s a must have for my car.

6:34pm

Wills is working tonight so we plan for me to
go over to Stryders later, after I’ve been to see Mike.
When we get home we both disappear to get ready. I’ve already text Mike to
remind him that I’ll be popping over at some point tonight. I even asked him if
there’s anything he needs picking up from the shops on the way. Not quite sure
if this is a friendly gesture or an old habit of wanting to take care of him.
I’m hoping the former but I guess I’ll only know when I see him in a bit.
I find myself rifling through my drawers and flicking through the clothes in
the wardrobe indecisively. I have a burning, perhaps irrational, desire to want
to make him lust after me. What the hell? Miss Sensible is calmly stating that
‘it may blur the boundaries and cause confusion for both of us.’ But it’s no
good because Miss Fierce is too busy finger snapping saying ‘let’s show this dude
what he’s missing out on biatches’. I think Miss Fierce has developed a
don’t-mess-with-me
American accent, which suits her down to the ground.
First things first, I house my new French wax in a cute lemon lace thong that
comes with matching lacy racy bra. Not that anybody will be seeing my underwear
but it does help to warm-up Miss Seductive. I was wrong earlier. Having my
pubic hair pampered has made a difference to how I feel. Although nobody is
going to be landing on my strip anytime soon, it’s boosted my esteem just
knowing I look good naked. I feel sexy.
I pull on a short floaty floral maxi dress that hits mid-thigh
at a push
.
It’s clear to see Miss Fierce won the battle, otherwise I’d have a lot less
skin on show! I opt for knee-high tan leather lace up heeled boots and a short
blue denim jacket that just covers my ribcage. I brush my hair, leaving it down
– Mikes favourite – I slide in a pretty hairgrip at the side. Smearing on soft
pink lipstick to match my nails, which still haven’t chipped and I add a flick
of mascara. A quick spray of deodorant and a spritz of perfume and I’m good to go!
8:04pm

In the car I had to drown out my apprehension via a reggae remix, which I’d
cranked up way too loud but it forced me to chill out – I defy anybody not to
relax to the sounds of the legendary Bob Marley.

As I pull up outside my house, his house, a
flurry of fluttering butterflies take unwelcome refuge in the pit of my stomach.
I’ve parked on the road rather than pulling onto the driveway, wanting to avoid
too much familiarity. My mind has been working overtime since Saturday and I can’t
shake the feeling that this bubble is about to burst. I guess I’m nervous that
when I see Mike I’m going to feel an unwanted pang of regret. If I start to
doubt our decision then I’m fucked because the fact that I
don’t
feel
regretful, is what’s making this transition so much less complicated for me.

I kill the engine and the silence feels somehow
louder than the music. Here goes…
I knock on the front door, which feels bizarre, then Mike answers a few seconds
later with a big smile and a simple “Hello you”. He is still wearing his work
clothes, a black suit with pale blue shirt. He’s typically removed his tie and
undone the first few buttons on his shirt revealing some coarse black chest
hair. I step forward smiling and we hug. The moment of truth—

It just feels
normal
. Thank heavens for
that. It’s the best
normal
I’ve ever felt in my life. I needed normal
and the trespassing butterflies get the message and fly away realising they’re
not needed anymore. A platonic friendship. Relief washes over me, there’s no
sexual sparks or yearning to slip back into the comfort of old habits and I’m so
so grateful. I breathe a
mahooosive
sigh of
relief as I follow him to the sofa in the sitting room.

I’m too relieved to let being a guest in my own
home bother me. In actual fact, I never truly felt this was my home so
detaching myself emotionally hasn’t been a difficult ride for me. I know that I
felt that way because the house used to belong to his parents. So even though
financially I own half of it, I’ve cleaned every inch of it, decorated it and
treated it as ours, I never admitted until now that I would’ve preferred to
have started afresh in a home that held no memories except the ones Mike and I
made together.
After some general chitchat about what we’ve been up to over the last few days,
Mike goes to make us a drink. I wander around the room that once was ours and
the only thing that stands out is that he’s removed our wedding photo that was
in an antique frame on the side unit. I think I would have done the same if it
were me living here instead of him. I’ve housed all my material marital
memories, like photos and keepsakes in a couple of boxes labelled ‘memories’.
It’ll probably end up in storage when I eventually buy a place. My mind drifts
off, wondering what frame of mind I will be in when I next decide to dust off
those boxes and delve in, reminiscing—

As I contemplate, I idly take my jacket off and
drape it over the back of the sofa. Mike reappears with our drinks just as I’m
flicking my hair back into place and I catch him looking me up and down. He
reverts back to my face after lingering on my thighs and Miss Fierce is trying
to high-five Miss Innocent who’s blushing shyly. “Beth, I’m sorry if this
crossing any sort of line but you look lovely! Not that I expected you to have
let yourself go or anything but yeah, something is… different… Are you happy? I
mean, you do look happy… Are you?”
I’m pleasantly surprised and take a cheeky second to enjoy the rare occasion of
witnessing Mike getting uncharacteristically flustered, especially considering
I caused it. He is not one for dishing out compliments, always leaving me to
draw my own conclusions. I didn’t mind because it just made me want to try
harder for his affection. But after harnessing the confidence boost last night’s
male attention has given me, I realised something. It’s super important that
the person you love tells you
and
shows you how you make them feel. I
haven’t seen Mike react like this to me for years and it gives me a warm buzz.

“Yes Mike, I am happy. I strangely feel like this is my second chance, you
know? I’m gonna take some time out to enjoy life… Not that I didn’t enjoy my life
with you… I didn’t mean
that
. I just mean I’m going to concentrate on me
for bit.” I hope that didn’t sound hurtful. “How about you, how are you
feeling? I was thinking that it’d be harder living here, with all our history—”
I drift off, aware that I’ve started waffling.
“Yeah, it’s been tough at times but I bought a new bed… That helped!” Grinning
widely he sips his cup of tea.
“New bed? Gosh I didn’t even think about that, yeah I would have totally done
the same thing.” I feel quite inconsiderate for not taking a little more time
to imagine things from his perspective. Although, Mike is so self-assured and
there’s not an ounce of regret written on his face, which I find comfort in.
“Beth, those memories we made here were all happy ones so it’s not difficult to
be around them, honestly.” What a lovely thing to say. His words appear
heartfelt and I feel lighter by the minute. “Plus you know what my schedule is
like; I’m hardly here anyway.”

Once I finish my coffee Mike brings in a small boxes he’s filled with things
he’d come across like CDs and books. There’s also a bag of clothes from the
laundry that he’d washed. We briefly discussed the separation and the fact that
we need to be separated for two years before we can file our petition for
divorce. Then it’ll be based on the grounds of ‘The parties to the marriage
have lived apart for a continuous period of a least two years immediately
preceding the presentation of the petition and the Respondent consents to a
decree/order being granted.’

I joke that it’d be easier for one of us to
admit adultery or unreasonable behaviour and he almost chokes on his chewing
gum. After reassuring him that it was just a joke in poor taste – somebody
needs a chill pill – he scoffs something about me being in such a hurry to get
rid of him.