WAITING
by Amy Ralston Seife
Five minutes already I'm waiting; what's the matter, they don't see me? It's not like I don't come here regular, once a week. Okay, so today's not Tuesday. Do I look so different on a Friday?
Change of polish only, I tell Nicole. A French manicure she's giving. Usually she's behind the cash register, and greets me special: Hello, Helen. Pick a color. It's a little joke we have. Two years I'm coming here -- have I ever chosen anything but 'Hot Tamales?' But today, it's so busy, the salon, like Grand Central Station. Nicole waves her cuticle pusher at me and says, Please, Helen, go back up front and take a seat. Jessica will be with you in a minute.
It's okay, I'll stand, I say. I don't like sitting in the love seat up front. It's upholstered it should look fancy, but it looks just like the one in the doctor's waiting room. I find a bottle of 'Hot Tamales' in the display case and wait next to the cash register.
Nicole rings up her customer and helps her into her coat.
I'm ready, I tell her.
It's not your turn yet, Helen, she says.
I was at the doctor's on Tuesday, I explain, but she just says, Helen, there's two ladies in front of you. Sit down. Please.
I'll stand, I say.
All morning, my stomach is feeling not so good. I take the 'Hot Tamales' with me to the ladies room, it shouldn't disappear. I jiggle the knob, but it's locked, the door. Is someone in there? I call. Somebody yells something in that language of theirs, Korean or Chinese or whatever it is they talk. So again I'm waiting. I have to go to the ladies' room very often these days. The doctor says I should mention every little thing to him, but this isn't related so I don't think so. Some things, they're private.
The bathroom door opens and it's Jessica. There you are. You ready for me? I say. Soon, Helen. Please, she says. In the bathroom, I do my business. Nothing is wrong with my fingers, thank you very much, but since the second surgery, I'm feeling shaky sometimes and when I pull up my stockings I poke my finger right through the nylon. But I know how to fix it, the stocking. I paint nail polish around the hole, it shouldn't run. I sit on the toilet seat while the 'Hot Tamales' dries.
Ever since we were little girls, Annie and I used to paint each other's nails. (Fingers only, never toes. Who wants anyone touching their feet?) But one day, near the end, we were walking home from the grocery store, a bag of Stella D'Oro and a jar of Coffee Mate I'm carrying, because Annie was feeling not so good. We stop in front of the little nail salon on the corner, so Annie can catch her breath and one of the little Oriental girls comes running out. Manicure, pedicure? she says. Annie was curious, she wanted to try it. What do you need with a professional manicure? I said. It probably costs an arm and a leg. I made a little joke. But Annie, she insisted. A little pampering, it's not such a crime, she said. So we went in. We sat next to each other and the girls patted our hands with the oil and the cream and a little massage to the fingers. Annie chose the colors -- 'I'm Not a Waitress' for her and 'Hot Tamales' for me. The girls talked to each other in their language while they did our nails and soon we were gabbing away too, about Papa and Mama -- may they rest in peace -- and Leo. Like two teenagers we were. Annie was exhausted afterwards, I could have told her she'd be. She lay down on her bed when we got back to the apartment and slept till it was dark. I sat on my bed and watched her and wished I had gotten to the bedroom first, I would have turned down the bedspread for her. So uncomfortable she looked, lying in her clothes. I unlaced her shoes and pulled them off, one by one, but she didn't budge even.
I pat the circle of nail polish on my stocking, it should be dry and then I check myself in the mirror. Annie and I used to look like two peas in a pod, but then she lost her hair and bought a red wig. What do you want with red hair? I said. I remember word for word her answer: Maybe it's time for something a little different. It was just one of the little things she started doing after the doctor told her she wasn't going to get better. Like having a glass of wine with her dinner or taking a nap in the middle of the day. Some things I could have done without. Like making conversation with that Victor the butcher. Why should he know our business? I asked her, but she just said she thought he was nice and he told her jokes. Jokes? What do you want with jokes? I asked her. He makes me laugh, she said and I told her, He's a butcher, you want a comedian you can watch television.
When I come out of the bathroom, Jessica is finishing up a pregnant lady, a top coat she's putting on. Next to her, Betty is massaging the hands of a lady with blonde hair, I don't think it's natural. Betty is so pretty. Like a doll, she looks. A very pretty necklace she's wearing today, a pear shaped drop on a delicate gold chain. Such a beautiful necklace, I say. I lift it up and turn it over to see if both sides are jade or if it is backed with gold, maybe. She pulls away and jabbers something. Nicole comes over. Please sit down, Helen. Please, she says. Jessica's almost ready for you. Then she pats Betty's arm and says something to her in their language. They both laugh.
Now the pregnant lady gets up with her hands in the air they shouldn't smudge and Jessica says, Okay, Helen, take a seat! She waves to me to sit down.
Finally. Twenty minutes I'm waiting, I say. I tuck my handbag against the wall where it is out of the way. I never leave my bag on the back of a chair, it's asking for someone to steal it.
Just a change of polish, I tell her.
Yes, Helen, I know. You already said.
Jessica pats my hand and says, like she always does, Helen, how do you keep your hands looking so young? I shrug, what can I say? I've been using the same hand cream for 60 years, Nivea. Rubber gloves I use when I wash the dishes. When I was younger I took care I didn't get paper cuts or break a nail opening a file cabinet. Is it such a crime I should take care of my hands? I worked hard, I'm entitled. Still sometimes Annie said, Helen, why don't you come down off that throne of yours? And I would tell her that if she was suggesting that I wasn't doing my part to carry expenses or take care of the apartment, then she should have thought of that when she invited me to live with her after Leo passed. We would say things to each other that I don't care to remember. Then I would get the metal step stool from the bedroom closet and pull my suitcase down from the top shelf and start packing my things. That's when Annie would come in and sit on her bed and apologize. She'd reach across the space between our beds and take my hands in hers and tell me how soft they were and how much she needed me. We'd make peace over a hot cup of tea, an anise toast, and a couple of games of rummy. Almost always, I won.
Jessica takes a cotton ball and rubs the old polish off each fingernail. Without the polish on, they're yellow, my nails. She holds my hand with one of hers and with the other she starts painting my nails. First the base coat, then the 'Hot Tamales.' It's so cheerful, the red polish. I like to think about Annie having her nails done that day, how excited like a girl she was, how pretty her nails looked. But a week later she went into the hospital and then she passed. She went to her final resting place with her fingers like ten little chili peppers. I let them do that -- leave her nails like that -- because I thought she'd like it.
The fake blonde next to me takes one of those small telephones out of her pocketbook. She punches in a number and sticks it under her chin. Now that everyone carries their phones with them, it's talk talk talk. I raise my eyebrows at her. I don't come to Joy Nail to listen to other people's conversations.
Hello, it's me, she says into the telephone. I give a big sigh, she shouldn't talk so loud. But she doesn't pay attention, she is looking down at her right hand. Betty is putting on the first coat of something, 'Sheer Bliss,' I think.
I just talked to Scott, she says into the phone. No, I don't know any more than I did this morning.
They'll get the full results back next week. Such a horror.
Scott says she's not handling it well.
Well, I can't help it, I'm very upset too. The lady is talking very loudly.
They're saying chemo and probably radiation.
I do not enjoy having to listen to other people's conversations. Especially when I'm trying to relax. A manicure, it should be pleasant. I lean over.
Excuse me, miss, could you not talk on the phone while I am having a manicure, I say to her.
She gives me a look.
Hold on a second will you, she says into the phone.
Are you talking to me? she says to me.
Yes, I am talking to you. I don't like to make trouble, but can you please not have your conversation right next to me. This is not a phone booth, I say.
Look lady, I'm not talking to you, she says.
I know that. But it's upsetting to me, your conversation, I tell her.
Upsetting you? Upsetting YOU? The blonde pushes herself away from Betty's station. I'm going to have to call you back, she says into the phone and then she points the telephone at me and says very loud, Who IS this lady?
My name is Helen Gold and I am a regular customer here. I come to Joy Nail to relax, not listen to other people's conversations. Why don't you use a regular phone like a regular person? I say.
The blonde, she gets up and stands in the middle of the salon. One hand, it's polished, but the other one isn't and she sticks it into her handbag. Two five dollar bills she pulls out. She slams the money down next to the cash register. Next time keep that crazy lady away from me, she yells and then she stomps out the door. Betty closes the door after her. She has the strangest expression on her face, like a smile, only not pleasant, not pleasant at all.
Nicole comes over and says, Helen, please.
That woman called me crazy, I tell her. Is it crazy to want some peace and quiet?
Just sit down, Helen. She puts her hand on my shoulder and presses down, and not so gently either. What is this? She knows I don't like to be touched above the elbow.
Excuse me, I cannot stay in this place! I say to Nicole. I will just have to leave! I say. My heart it's pounding and my head, I'm so upset. I grab my handbag and get up from my chair. I walk to the door of the salon and then I turn around and I leave. Yes, I do. Just like that, I leave. I walk the two blocks to my apartment building, very fast I'm walking and by the time I get to my building I'm winded. A sharp pain I have in my chest. Five minutes I have to sit in the lobby to catch my breath before going upstairs.
I unlock the apartment and go straight into the bedroom. I still have the bottle of 'Hot Tamales' in my hand. I'll return it, I promise -- I'm no thief. I put it next to the alarm clock on the night table, I shouldn't forget it. Without the television on, it is very loud, the alarm clock. I do something I've never done in all the twenty six months since Annie passed and that is, I lie down on her bed. Of course, there is nothing underneath her bedspread -- no sheets or blankets or linens, just a pale blue mattress -- but when I make my bed in the morning I make sure her bedspread is nice too. It should look nice, the bedroom, both beds covered with the matching chenille covers we bought together on sale at Alexander's in the city.
So here I am. I'm looking up at the crack in the ceiling that runs from the light fixture in the middle of the room to the window. It's there three years now. How many times did I call the super he should fix it? So this was how the room looked from Annie's side. My heart, it isn't pounding so crazy any more. I start to calm down. My shoes, they're still on, so I sit up and take them off, one by one. Then I pull the bedspread off the bed and fold it several times over till it is just a fat square. I lie my head on it. It's cold and a little damp against my skin, the mattress. I start to relax. But then I look down at my hands. And I don't like what I see. The girls at Joy Nail, they lie. My hands look like an old lady's hands. Curled, with red claws. I close my eyes and think about Annie lying in this bed all the time she knew she was dying. I think about how she knew she was dying and about all the little ways in which she said good bye to her world. I unbutton my blue dress and look down at the parts of my body that are still there and then I fold my hands with their red fingernails like ten little chili peppers on top of my chest and try to get some sleep.
