Love and Grooming 6

            She was waving a large junk mail postcard, of the type that cuts your hand when you’re digging in your mailbox for anything worthwhile.

            “The gall! The sheer, fucking gall!” She shouted, and forced the mail upon me.

            “Sorry about rushing you out yesterday,” she said. “Those hair-patches just gave me the willies. Read it!”

            I’d already glanced at it, and could see that there was more hair-shaming there.

            “I came across the same things on the instructions,” I told her, pointing at the pack on the desk.

            “You opened it!” Clarissa was downcast and despondent. “You shouldn’t have opened it. I told you it could be dangerous! Read it!”

            “It’s the same stuff.”

            “But it’s newer!”

            So, I read the card, sotto voce, for Clarissa’s benefit. It read:

            “WEEDEATER SPA

            For the discriminating client desiring depilation.

            Mustache when there shouldn’t be? Pronounced hair-on-arms? Nostril haycock?

            Walk-in sessions available. Discreet location. Licensed, bonded and insured.

            Experienced cosmetologists on call. Don’t worry, they’ve seen everything.”

            I stopped.

            “This isn’t so bad,” I told Clarissa.

            She pointed, wide-eyed exasperated, at the back of the card I held. There was a glamour head-shot of the owner there, and smaller print. I read it to myself this time.

            “After three sessions with our Industrial Diamond Nuclear Laser Patent-Pending process, you can look just like our director Navinia Higglesbotham, who isn’t afraid to appear on television, as she has several times. There are many benefits to be had through our process, namely, your never having to go out in public looking like two-thirds of ZZ Top again. Come in soon and take advantage of our Summer sale, before it’s too late.”

           

            I looked from up the card to Clarissa, who was all wide-eyed and intense.

            “Scathing! And untrue! Lookit my ear. Just lookit.”

            She turned, and I looked at her ear. Then she swung her head.

            “Well?”

            “It looks like a little shell,” I said. I’m no poet.

            “Okay. Now the nostrils.”

            “No.”

            She’d taken the card. She jabbed at it.

            “It’s all lies! Lies, rumor and innuendo. Lookit!”

            She pushed her face toward me like an angry crane who ate with her nose. I had to look. So, I did. The inside of Clarissa’s nose was sans-wall-hangings. There wasn’t even peach-fuzz. It looked like a teeny-tiny candle boutique; all pink inside. I finished the examination and stepped back. She assumed that I was impressed. The assumption was correct.

            “I’m going to Peato.”

            “Peato won’t be able to do anything about it.”

            “The tribe across the river used to taunt us with a song, back in the old country. My grandmother told me about it. My ancestors adopted it for themselves, with pride. She taught me it.”

            And, Clarissa sang.

            “A flea can find no purchase, our brother is the seal. We face the sunrise, shining like the moon…” And she had just provided one stanza, obviously. It seemed to come with hand motions. Clarissa was doing something else as she sang it. “Peato has to see this.” She fluttered the mailing and began walking back.

            “I can’t see how that would help.”

            I walked with her.

            “I’m not even sure if it’s worth the trip. And I am on the clock…”

            “Oh, you can’t go.” Clarissa said. “That would only complicate things. I have to work alone. It’s a dangerous mission.”

            “I wouldn’t say it’s dangerous… Are you going to the boiler room?”

            She had passed the swinging doors.

            “I’m going to the other dimension, silly. What?” She stopped and turned. “You think all this is from here?”

            “It’s likely to be from here. It’s the US Mail.” I tried to talk her down, even as she mounted the stairs. She went up, fluttering the card back to me.

            “US mail in another dimension. Sixth and Rockingham, it says. I looked it up. It’s a tobacco shop that’s been closed for years. Just sitting there empty.”

            “I’m going with, then.”

            “You can’t.” We stopped on the landing, hidden in the shadows. “Who knows what’s out there. You may pass out.”

            “I didn’t pass out!”

            “Or whatever. I go my own way. By doing this, I’ll stop this for myself, and others who are wrongfully accused of having excess body hair. You don’t have a dog in this fight, babe. You’re fuzzy already.”

            I looked up to her. The ventilation system hummed about us. Clarissa had her past, and some regrets. Perhaps she would regret not taking me along. She kissed me on the cheek, turned and opened the door to the boiler room. I followed. She pushed me back. I followed against the hand. The door closed behind us. Like before, we had to shout to be heard. I led off.

            “WHAT AN EX-ER,” I told her. “YOU THINK IF YOU DON’T DO IT ALL YOURSELF, PEOPLE’LL THINK YOU’RE HALF A PERSON!’”

            She turned.

            “GOING GENERATIONAL AGAIN! YOU BITCH!”        

            “‘OH! IT’S THE TRIMMER’S FAULT, IT’S PEATO’S FAULT, IT’S THE SPA’S FAULT! I THINK I’LL TAKE A PILL!’”

            She grabbed the front of my shirt.

            “THAT’S NOT FAIR! BOOMERS INVENTED PILLS!”

            “LOOKIT! I’M AN EX-ER!” I said, and released myself; spinning about. “WHERE SHALL I PUT MY NEXT TATTOO?”

            I had to stop her. Or at least slow her down, somehow.

            “OH! OH! LOOKIT ME! LOOKIT, I’M A BOOMER!” She began to walk in circles, lashing her leg back, kicking herself in the ass with her heel with every step.

            “ARE MY FLARES TOO NARROW? ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE! I CAN STILL DO THINGS MYSELF.” Then, she stepped forward with a wry look. “AND, BY THE WAY, THIS ISN’T A ‘BOILER ROOM’.”

            She pressed against my chest with a finger. I lost my balance and stumbled back against the door, since she’d put her foot on mine. Then she leapt toward the machine. I couldn’t follow. I shouted,

            “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT!” 

            And, she was gone.