House of Beauty: The Colombian crime sensation and bestseller. Melba Escobar

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СКАЧАТЬ she typed in her number, Karen noticed she had the latest iPhone. A tablet was peeking from her handbag.

      ‘Why do you bring that handbag to work, to make them jealous?’ asked Karen.

      ‘Yes, that too.’

      Annie interrupted to tell Karen her next client had arrived.

      ‘Don’t you worry about the minxes,’ said Karen. It was the first time she’d used that word to refer to their House of Beauty colleagues. ‘They’d never have the money for a tablet like that.’

      ‘Oh, gorgeous,’ said Susana, ‘It’s so obvious you’re new. If they had to stop eating they would, if it meant they didn’t have to miss out. Anyway, if you ever need a lend of the handbag, or some clothes, just let me know.’

      Karen went up to the second floor thinking that Susana seemed like a good person. Once in the cubicle, she lit the wax warmer. There were two knocks at the door. Before opening up, she called Annie at reception and asked who to expect.

      ‘You really don’t know?’ she answered on the other end before hanging up.

      Fortunately, Karen remembered her name when the door opened. Even if she hadn’t seen her before, she would have recognised her from the celebrity news, which she presented in the evenings.

      Karen admired the TV presenter. She had put out of her mind that she’d treated her badly on two or three previous occasions. She was even more beautiful in real life than she was on TV. Karen loved her straight hair.

      ‘Doña Karen, how is life treating you?’ Karen asked cheerfully.

      Doña Karen didn’t hear her, or didn’t want to answer.

      ‘You can pop your clothes on this chair, I’ll leave you a moment so you can change. Are you here today for a bikini wax? Do you need the disposable briefs?’

      ‘No, only legs and underarms.’

      ‘All right, Doña Karen, in that case you can leave your underwear on. I’ll be with you in just a moment. Would you like a coffee? Or a herbal tea?’

      ‘A herbal tea would be nice.’

      She requested a herbal tea to cubicle 3, then searched the cupboard for an electric blanket. There it was. If anything from the central closet went missing, everyone’s pay was docked. She returned to the cubicle where Doña Karen was lying on the treatment table. Doña Karen was thirty years old and had been coming to House of Beauty for years. Another worker had always looked after her, until one day Doña Karen’s phone went missing and the worker was dismissed, even though there was no proof or inquiry. That’s how twenty years at House of Beauty had ended for Karen’s predecessor, and how the crown jewel had been placed in Karen’s hands.

      ‘Karen’s your name, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes, Señora.’

      ‘It’s a bit uncomfortable for me, the two of us having the same name, you know?’

      ‘How so, Señora?’

      ‘Drop the “Señora”, I’m not married. Let’s see. How can I get across that we can’t have the same name? Should I draw a diagram? “Hello, Karen, how are you?” “Fine, and you, Karen?” “Fine, Karen.” Get what I’m saying, now?’ said Doña Karen while Karen passed a tissue daubed with cleansing cream over her skin.

      ‘Would you like a numbing cream, or will you be fine just like that?’ asked Karen.

      ‘But are you listening to what I’m saying?’ said Doña Karen, irritated. ‘You’ve got to have a middle name, right? Or can I give you a nickname?’

      ‘If you like, Doña Karen. I don’t have a middle name.’

      ‘Is the concept really so difficult for you to grasp?’

      As she dusted Doña Karen’s calves with talcum powder, Karen took the wooden spatula and tested the temperature of the wax on the back of her left hand. Doing this always reminded her of testing Emiliano’s bottles to make sure they weren’t too hot. She thought Doña Karen must be having a bad day. After all, it couldn’t be easy being famous. No doubt people hounded her on the street asking for autographs, and it had to be tiring being on everyone’s lips. She used the spatula to spread wax over Doña Karen’s legs up to the knees. Then she cut a strip of cloth, which she pressed against her skin before ripping it off in one go. Her client let out a whimper.

      Karen remembered the time a client at another salon filmed Doña Karen making a scene during a pedicure because they’d cut a toenail too short. It was rumoured this was why no one could have phones inside the cubicles, so workers couldn’t take photos or videos of clients that might lead to House of Beauty facing a lawsuit.

      ‘We’ll be finished in a sec. Would you like the blanket?’

      Doña Karen nodded.

      ‘Now we’ll move on to underarms, and then we’ll be done,’ said Karen, softly massaging aloe vera into her legs.

      Karen thought that whoever had secretly filmed the video was a bad person. It wasn’t right to benefit from others’ misfortune, she told herself as she admired the smoothness of Doña Karen’s skin.

      ‘I know,’ said Doña Karen suddenly, pulling Karen out of her musings, ‘Pocahontas!’ She laughed maliciously. ‘Adorable, isn’t it? It suits you perfectly, with your black hair, those eyes and your big lips. You must be part-Indian, are you?’ She started laughing hysterically.

      ‘If you want to call me Pocahontas, that’s fine by me,’ said Karen, as she started over: she cleansed the surface to be waxed, tested the wax temperature, dusted on talcum powder, spread numbing cream, applied the wax with the wooden spatula, ripped it off with a cloth strip and massaged in aloe vera. Doña Karen had her eyes closed most of the time, but there was a faint smile on her face. Karen wondered if the smile was always there or if she was faking it for her. In actual fact, Karen Marcela Ardila – as she did have a middle name – had had a smile stuck to her face since she was crowned Little Miss Colombia at the age of eight. She’d been so persistent with the expression that now it was difficult to control. She smiled all the time, even in sad or dramatic situations, which was another reason she could never present anything but the celebrity news.

      Doña Karen’s implants looked like they were threatening to burst. She had a curvaceous body and liked to show it off, not only in the underwear catalogues. She was wearing a lace thong and a size 30G black silk bra. She had a caramel skin tone, her hair was a reddish champagne and she had a tiny nose. It was as if the features of a Walt Disney princess had been superimposed onto the body of a Playboy bunny.

      ‘We’re done,’ said Karen in relief.

      Doña Karen got down off the treatment table, her smile fixed firmly in place. She swayed her huge backside from one side to the other like a peacock in courtship. Karen was handing her a bathrobe when the cubicle phone sounded.

      ‘Your next appointment has arrived, this time don’t ask who,’ Annie said and hung up.

      Karen didn’t remember.

      ‘You can get changed while I go downstairs to get your receipt ready,’ she said.

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