Sisterchicks on the Loose (26 page)

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

“Yeah, I’m good. Really, really good.”

I smiled.

Penny added, “I’m sure I’ll think about all this for a long time before I find a place to put all the feelings I have right now. But I’m good.”

“Do you suppose,” Elina said, looking around, “that our beauticians felt left out of our conversation? They seem to have vanished.”

“We probably scared them away,” Penny said.

“What if they don’t come back?” Elina asked. “Do you think we will have to complete the treatments ourselves?”

“Sure. Why not?” Penny said with a definite spring to her voice. “We could work on each other. Come on, Elina. I’ll goop up your face for you.”

“Penny!” I protested, ever the diligent follower of the rules.

“What? We’re paying for these services. Did you happen to
notice where they keep the cucumbers?”

“Usually you’ll find cucumbers in the teatime sandwiches,” Elina said with a laugh. She had returned to the facial chair.

“That’s what we need in here. Some teatime sandwiches. Lean back, Elina. I’ve got the goop ready to go. Upward strokes,” Penny said in a high-pitched voice, as if she were teaching a class while she applied the pale blue paste to Elina’s face. “One must always work against gravity.”

Memories of Lisa Bachman’s slumber party loomed before me, that defining night when I decided I was destined to be a facilitator. A fresh tingle tickled my psyche. I didn’t have to spend the second half of my life on the sidelines, watching all the girls celebrate being free spirited. I could be just as cool as they were.

Grabbing my camera, I entered into the craziness of the moment and clicked off shots of Penny dotting her own face with blue spots while she was beautifying her laughing cousin. To each blue spot, Penny stuck a cucumber slice.

“Here,” Penny said. “You need to be dotted.” She touched the middle of my forehead and the end of my nose with a glob of her thick, blue paste. “And cuked,” she added, sticking a cucumber slice to the middle of my forehead.

I laughed as Penny took the camera from me. I struck a pose, and she snapped my picture. Then holding the camera out, she snapped a picture of herself.

Elina sat up. “What are you two laughing about? I can’t see anything with these cucumbers on my eyes. I’m missing all the fun.” She popped out the center of each of her cucumber slices and placed the hollowed-out green rims over her eyes.

Penny busted up and took a bite out of the center of two
more cucumber slices, spitting the seeds into the trash can. Then she placed the hollowed green rims over her eyes and posed with Elina so I could take their picture.

“Do I look like you?” Elina asked.

I knew Elina was referring to the look achieved by the green vegetable glasses. But when I took their picture, cheek to cheek, I realized the similiarities between the two women were striking, even camouflaged by the blue goo.

“Here.” Penny tossed me a cucumber. “For your nose.”

I wasn’t ready to catch the flying vegetable slice, and it fell to the floor.

“Wait. There’s plenty here. Let me toss you another one.”

This time Penny’s throw overshot me, and the cucumber slice flew past my head.

“Again.” Penny tossed four slices at me at once.

I caught one and spontaneously spun it back at her like a mini flying saucer.

Elina picked up a handful. Penny did the same. Without a countdown, the like-minded cousins threw them at the same time. I ducked to avoid the onslaught of flying cucumber slices.

Just then, Penny and Elina stopped all sound and motion. They were looking past me to the door. I slowly turned to see our two young beauticians taking in the spectacle of our cucumber war. They stood speechless for a moment, and then one of them said, “Sorry ’bout steppin’ out like that. But you should know the hotel manager is headin’ this way.”

I pulled the cucumber off my forehead and wiped the tip of my nose. I was imagining the worst. We would be kicked out of the hotel and made to pay for all the wasted cucumbers.

The door opened, and a striking woman entered. Even in the dimmed light I recognized her. “Monique!”

Penny crossed the floor in five giant steps, losing her facial cucumbers on the way. “Monique!”

“Hello, Penny.” Monique said with warm surprise. She looked over at me and Elina. “Hello.”

“This is my cousin, Elina. You remember Sharon.”

“Yes, Sharon. The brave one. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“You found your relatives, then, Penny?”

“Yes. It’s been amazing. I tried to call you last night.”

“And now here you are.”

“Yes, here we are. We’ve decided to go to Liverpool tomorrow, but if you don’t have plans for the evening, we’d love to have you join us for dinner. We have reservations for the hotel restaurant at eight.”

I couldn’t believe Penny was standing there, conversing in her steady, professional manner while her face was spotted with a half-dozen blue dots.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Monique turned to the beauticians, and with a calming nod, she said, “Please continue your services for our guests.”

I tucked my camera back into my shoulder bag and returned to the cushy pedicure chair as Monique left. The water had gone cold, but I plunged my feet in the sudsy wet anyway and waited for my pedicure.

“Now I know why I recognized the name Daresbury.” Penny wiped her face with a wet cloth one of the beauticians handed her. “Monique mentioned this hotel on the plane.”

“Yes, well,” Elina said with a grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised
if Monique chooses not to mention it to Americans on her next plane ride.”

“Hey, we didn’t cause any permanent damage,” Penny said. “Besides, life’s too short to …”

Elina and I both looked at Penny.

“Life’s too … precious,” Penny said. “Whether it’s short or long. Life is just too precious not to enjoy every second of it.”

An exquisite peace settled over all of us.

Having gone to such a deep low with Penny, followed by an erratic high, and topped off with Monique’s unexpected appearance, I was content to sit quietly and let the diligent beautician go to work on my long-neglected feet. I liked the massage with the fragrant lotion the best. My manicure was short. I think it was because I have such short nails. I didn’t give the hardworking young woman much to work with.

We talked about a variety of topics during the second half of our beauty treatments. None of our subjects was personal and none of them required much thinking. Penny said she had a headache, and I could see why.

Despite the elevator-like rise and fall of our pampering session, we all agreed that we felt refreshed. We dresssed up for dinner because a placard on the desk in our room told us it was mandatory. At eight o’clock the three of us entered the dining room looking as elegant and refined as any of the other guests who were dining at that respectable hour.

My feet felt happy.

The dining room wasn’t very large. Each table was covered with a pale ivory tablecloth. A large buffet occupied the center of the main area, and to the far right was a grand piano. A man in a tuxedo was playing a classical piece. I didn’t know
Beethoven from Bach, but I wished I did right then. Such knowledge, along with my happy feet and shiny fingernails, would have helped me feel cultured.

Penny led the way to our table. The waiter announced that they were serving beef Wellington that evening.

“Excuse me,” Elina said, as the waiter in his prim white jacket turned to leave. “May we have some menus?”

I was glad she asked because I thought Elina might have some insight into what would be good to order.

The waiter looked perturbed and repeated, “This evening we are serving beef Wellington or the buffet. Those are your choices.”

“Oh.”

He stepped away. Penny leaned closer to Elina. “Was there something particular you were hoping to have for dinner?”

“It was only a whim,” she said with a smile.

“What were you hoping to order?” Penny asked.

“It’s silly, but I like to order dishes in a restaurant that I don’t prepare at home.”

“I’m the same way,” I told her. “I love to try foods I would never attempt to make or that might not be what my family would like.”

“Yes.” Elina pursed her lips together.

“Okay, now I’m curious,” Penny said. “What did you want to order?”

Elina’s eyes twinkled. “Chicken.”

“Yes.” Penny appeared to be trying very hard not to burst out laughing. “I would imagine you don’t eat a lot of chicken around your house.”

I tried to repress my laughter by holding my breath and
biting my lip. I’d been painfully reminded of the infamous Miss Molly when I had my manicure and the bandage was removed so I could get the full lotion massage on my hands.

“It’s been over a year,” Elina said. “I’ve forgotten how chicken tastes.”

“They might have chicken on the buffet,” I suggested.

“Good idea. I’m for the buffet,” Elina said.

“Me, too,” I said.

“Make that three.” Penny looked around. “I hope Monique can join us. Keep an eye out for her.”

“You’ve never met a stranger, have you, Penny?” Elina asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You have a wonderful way of bringing out the best in others. You don’t have a narrow view of strangers, the way most people do.”

Penny shrugged. “Life is too precious.”

I knew that Penny had found a new motto for her life.

P
enny, Elina, and I
followed each other around the buffet, scooping small bits of this and that. Elina recognized many of the dishes, which was helpful. At church potlucks back in Chinook Springs I never had trouble figuring out what everything was. The same people brought the same dishes each time. My children had grown up experiencing every possible combination of Jell-O salads known to humanity.

This buffet, however, seemed to focus on all the possibilities of what could be done with mayonnaise. Eight of the ten salads seemed to have a base that Elina called “salad cream.” It looked like mayonnaise to me.

When we reached the buffet’s meat section, Elina filled a second plate with three chicken dishes. A chef in a white jacket and tall white hat stood guard beside a huge slab of prime rib, ready to slice for us on demand.

I was staring at a meat dish that was garnished with thin orange wedges. “Do you suppose this is another variety of chicken?” I asked Elina.

She bent closer.

The chef said, “ ’at’s dowgk, mum.”

I looked at him and back at Elina. “What did he say?”

“I think he said ‘dog,’ ” Elina whispered. “But that can’t be right. They wouldn’t serve dog at a place like this.”

The chef apparently heard our murmurings because he spoke up with a louder voice. “Dowgk, mum.”

“Pork?” I ventured.

“No!” he spouted just as the pianist ended his piece and a quietness settled over the room. “ ’at’s
dowgk
, ma’am.” Tucking his hands in his armpits and flapping, he demonstrated, “
Dowgk
! Qwak, qwak!”

“Oh, duck!” Elina and I said in unison.

Our chef’s animated description drew the attention of many of the respectable diners. I passed on the “dowgk” and returned to our table with my eyes straight ahead.

“Dowgk,” Penny repeated as she followed behind me. “Quack, quack!” She and Elina spilled their laughter all the way to our table.

Monique was standing beside our table, waiting for us. “You manage to make a party wherever you go, don’t you?” she said with a gracious smile.

“We are having a great time,” Penny said. “You’ll join us, won’t you?”

“For a moment, yes.” She didn’t sit but stood casually and visited with us as if she were out for a stroll rather than in the middle of running a large resort. Her elegant beauty and the warm glow of her dark skin struck me again.

Penny gave Monique one of her business cards and stressed that the next time Monique was in San Francisco, she
should give Penny a call. “I’ll take you to my favorite Chinese restaurant.”

“Sounds lovely. I’ll definitely give you a call. How long are you staying with us here?”

“Just tonight,” Penny said. “We’re going to Liverpool tomorrow and then taking a late train back to London because our plane leaves the next morning at eight.”

“That doesn’t give you much time,” Monique said.

“Enough for us to take a picture at Penny Lane,” Penny observed.

“And buy a few last-minute souvenirs,” I added.

Monique reached into her pale pink blazer pocket and pulled out one of her business cards. She wrote something on the back and handed it to me. “This will allow you to purchase anything in the hotel for a 20 percent discount.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Of course not. I didn’t think you were. I would like you all to be my personal guests for the remainder of your stay. I’ve instructed your waiter to bring your dinner check to me. I’m honored that you decided to stay here.”

“Monique,” Penny protested, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” Monique said with a tone in her voice that reminded me of Penny’s best PR polish. “You are my guests tonight, and when I come again to San Francisco, I am certain that you, Penny, will be the one who insists on paying for the Chinese food.”