Authors: Whitney Boyd
Be still and the earth will speak to you.
—Navajo Proverb
Chapter Twelve
W
e enter the lobby, carefully wheeling our suitcases past the doors, and I hesitate once inside. It is a beautiful lobby with dark wood and marble tiles. The check-in desk is in the center and we approach it. There are two tills open and we wait in line for a blonde woman wearing the dark blue uniform of the hotel.
“Reservation for Josh Mahoney,” Josh tells her when the line ahead of us has melted away. The clerk welcomes us with a huge smile, very friendly for such a ritzy hotel.
“The room has two double beds,” she states, clicking on a few things with her mouse. “Would you like me to move you to one with a queen?”
“No, the twins are fine,” Josh replies easily and the woman shoots us a puzzled look. She must think we’re married too, and for what feels like the millionth time today I feel decidedly uncomfortable.
After Josh pays the deposit, she hands him a set of two key cards. “How many nights are you planning on staying?” she asks.
Josh raises an eyebrow at me and I hesitate. “Um, probably at least three. Maybe four.” I have never done this before . . . I have no clue how long it is going to take.
“All right, I’ll let you pay for three now, and you can add an extra day if you need to.” She types that into the computer and asks if we need help getting up to our rooms. Josh thanks her and says no, so she bids us to have a great day and then answers a blinking telephone. Josh and I grab our bags, take the elevator to our floor and enter the room.
It’s a standard hotel room, twin beds, a nice television, everything clean and neat. I remember, suddenly, an episode of
The Ellen Show
where Ellen talked about how filthy hotel rooms are. She had mentioned that the cleanest parts of a hotel are the toilet, probably because it’s cleaned with disinfectant, and that pretty much everything else is crawling with filth and disease, or something like that.
I repress a shudder and sit on the bed nearest the window. “Mine,” I claim and Josh obediently takes the other one. I don’t feel like unpacking things into the closet (seriously, does anybody ever actually do that in hotels?) but do decide to hang my dress to keep it from wrinkling.
I unzip my suitcase and see a wrapped package on the very top of my clothes.
Just because I knew you’d forget . . .
it says in Heather’s girly writing.
“What’s that?” Josh asks, looking up from his phone where he’s checking emails and replying to work texts.
“I don’t know.” I shake it and then peel off the wrapper and burst into laughter. “Of course Heather would give me this!”
It’s a do-it-yourself waxing kit, complete with a wax warmer that will heat it up in minutes. “I have never waxed my legs before,” I admit to Josh who is staring at the kit with a mixture of fascination and horror.
“Me neither,” he proclaims and I laugh again.
“Do you think I should?” I mean, technically I haven’t shaved my legs yet, but I brought my razor along for this very purpose and was planning on doing it tomorrow morning before I meet Drew. However, on the other hand, Heather usually is right when it comes to beauty products. Maybe waxing my legs will make them smooth and lovely and perfect and so much better than shaving.
I grin at Josh mischievously. “I know you wanted to wander around downtown, but what say we have a little waxing party first.”
“If by waxing party you are implying that I will be taking part in it, then no,” Josh replies. He turns back to his phone, but I see his eyes flick over toward the kit again.
“You have to do it with me. Please?”
“Not a chance. I’m a guy! Men don’t wax their legs. It’s not manly.”
“Sure it is. Lance Armstrong is one of the manliest men out there and he does it. It helps keep him streamlined.” I’m fairly sure I read that somewhere. Maybe. “But whatever. Do what you want. Be manly all by yourself.” I look away and pretend that I don’t care. I know that Josh will cave. I
know
him. His curiosity always gets the better of him.
A year ago, at a friend’s Christmas Party, the two of us were dared to try on their dog’s shock collars. And he leapt at the chance. Surprisingly the collars didn’t hurt as much as I was anticipating. Although every time Josh squawked the collar shocked him and then he would yelp and it would shock him again. It was hilarious.
And then there was that one time in our law lecture when the professor had students volunteer to try a
Fear Factor
-esque taste challenge where they would be blindfolded and have to eat whatever was placed in front of them. I can’t remember what the point of the demonstration was, but Josh was the first to throw his hand in the air to volunteer.
Point is, I know he’s going to come around.
I enter the bathroom and am pleased to see plush bathrobes hanging on the door. I take one off the hook and close the bathroom door. After reading the very complicated instructions, I plug the wax warmer into an outlet so it can begin heating the wax, and then I jump in the shower. That’s always what Heather does before waxing. She claims the hot water makes her pores open so the hairs come out easier. I’m all about the easy way for this.
After a lovely shower, where I make good use of the bathroom amenities by Gilchrist & Soames, I step out and put on the soft robe. I check on the wax, which is melted and oozy; I unplug it and open the bathroom door. Steam wafts out of the bathroom as I poke my head out.
“I’m done with the shower, so you can use it if you need to,” I inform Josh, who is still seated on the bed. “I’ll be waxing my legs in here, just little, old me, waxing away by my lonesome.”
“Go for it.” Josh hasn’t looked up. Maybe I was wrong about him this time.
I go back in and read the instructions again and take the spatula from the kit. I apply a thin line of wax to my leg and then place the strip of cloth onto it. I rub it until I feel it begin to cool and pull at my hairs. Then, with a deep breath, I pull it off.
“Holy mother, crap, freaking fetch, oh my heavens!” The pain is intense and quick. Really? People do this on a continual basis? This is insanity!
Josh runs into the bathroom at the sound of my screams. “You wimp! It can’t be that bad.”
I hold out the cloth strip with the tiny little leg hairs stuck to it and wave it at him. “Look at this. This is disgusting and holy crap, it hurts so bad!”
Josh shakes his head. “You are such a wuss! It can’t be that bad.” He grabs the second bathrobe, disappears around the corner and returns a minute later, legs bare and the robe tied tight around his waist. “Let me show you how a man does it.”
“You might want to shower first to loosen up your hairs,” I suggest.
Josh shakes his head. “I’ll shower after. I don’t need any help with this. I’m going to show you just how manly I can be.”
I apply another strip of the wax to my leg and then hand the spatula to Josh. He grabs a good amount and places it on his calf. “This feels nice. So warm.” He rubs the cloth into the wax and then looks at me expectantly. “Okay, so when do I pull it off?”
I test my own strip. “Well, mine is ready to go, so yours probably is too. Just pull it off super fast or it will hurt more.”
Josh nods and yanks at the strip. A white strip of hairless skin appears on his jungle of a leg. He grunts a little in the pain and then throws his shoulders back. “Nothing to it. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”
I shriek again as I pull my own strip off and say with a grimace, “Well, fine, you win the tough guy award.”
“No way, I haven’t won the tough guy award yet.” Josh pulls the robe off and displays his underwear, brief style. “This is the true test.” He dips the spatula in the wax and spreads a large amount on his inner thigh, just inches down from the leg band of his underwear.
I wince in anticipation. “That’s going to hurt. You’re putting too much wax on.”
“Nope, this is exactly the right amount to crown myself Waxing King.” Josh puts his leg up on the vanity and braces himself. He rubs the cloth strip up and down until it appears to be ready.
“Do it before it cools too much,” I suggest. He nods and I count for him. “One. Two. Three.”
He yanks at it and instantly doubles over in agony. “Too tender! Too tender!” he howls, falling to the floor. “That is intense!”
“Did you get it?” I eye his hands but don’t see the strip of cloth. “It did come off, right?”
Josh looks down at his leg and groans. “No! It’s still there.”
We both stare at the strip of cloth, now firmly imbedded on his upper leg. “That’s too close to your groin. You should have realized it would be super sensitive there.” My lecture falls on deaf ears.
“How am I going to get this off?” Josh is beginning to panic. “Will water rinse it off?”
“How should I know?” I manage to choke out amid laughter. “This is my first time too.”
“You’re a girl. You’re supposed to know these things.”
“Do you want me to text Heather? She’ll know exactly what to do.”
Josh lunges for my phone and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. No Heather! Don’t you know how bad she’ll mock me for this? It’ll be on Facebook. It’ll be on Twitter. She’ll tell the mayor at her next photo shoot. Heather can’t keep a secret and you know it.”
“Okay, but I have no other ideas. We could leave it.”
“No, it has to come off. It’s just wax. Why don’t you pull it off?” Josh says. “I’ll look away and brace myself while you tug. Deal?” He holds onto the counter. “I’m ready.”
I get a grip on the strip and with all my strength give it a pull. Josh yelps and jumps and the strip doesn’t move. “I think you have too much hair there. You’re kind of like a hobbit. It’s got quite the hold,” I say, but I don’t think Josh appreciates my wit.
“How do we get it off?”
“Maybe cut it off?”
I dig through my luggage and pull out my makeup and toiletry bag. I have a tiny pair of scissors that I use for my eyebrows. I take them out and slowly, painfully, cut at the cloth. Soon the scissors are covered in wax and refuse to open more than a centimeter. The strip is still hanging on for dear life.
“My grammy always said that if you pull out a grey hair, it will cause ten more to grow in its place. So it’s a good thing your hair is so dark.” My second attempt at humor falls on deaf ears.
Josh is growing more agitated. “What do we do? This is ridiculous! Can we reheat the wax and make it pliable again?”
“That might work.” I think for a second. “Maybe if you jump in a hot shower,” I suggest. I leave the room and Josh gets in. “Crank it way up,” I holler through the door. “The hotter it is, the more likely the wax will get malleable again.”
Waxing is overrated. Why cause yourself pain if you can get essentially the same result with a razor? The shower turns off and after a brief pause, I hear a squeal of pain and then a cry of triumph.
“I got it!” Josh wraps a towel around his waist and steps out, waving the now-soaking strip above his head. It drips with wax, water and a few thousand hairs.
I applaud and he takes a bow. When he straightens, I feel something strange. I stare at Josh wearing nothing but a towel and realize that we’ve never been alone like this before. I mean, he’s always been such a fixture in my life that I never . . . I don’t know, I never recognized him as a very attractive man. His bare chest with hundreds of water droplets clinging to it makes me feel flushed and uncomfortable. I try not to think about the honeymoon comments from earlier today, but they rise unbidden to my mind. Does he feel the electricity, too?
Josh is my friend, I tell myself firmly. It’s been too long since I had a date, that’s all. When I see Drew tomorrow, thoughts of Josh in this new, attractive light will be gone.
“Ready to go explore?” Josh watches me with delight. “We’ve had our wax party, which for the record is a once in a lifetime experience, and also which we will never speak of again. What happens in the hotel bathroom stays in the hotel bathroom.”
I flush a second time at that comment.
Josh continues without noticing my discomfort. “And now, my friend, I’m hungry. You up for it?”
“Of course,” I reply. See? Nothing more. He doesn’t feel anything for me other than friendship, and I fully reciprocate.
Josh grabs his clothes and closes the bathroom door to get changed. I hear a moan and then he pokes his head out. “Uh, so it looks like I, uh, might need a Band-Aid or two. Any chance you have something in your purse?”
“A Band-Aid? Why? Are you bleeding?”
Josh flushes and lowers his eyes. “Well, uh, seems like I might have done a little damage when I finally got that wax strip off.” He coughs awkwardly and a peal of laughter escapes from my lips.
“Are you for real? Mr. Tough Guy ends up bleeding?”
Josh attempts to glare but ends up laughing himself. “Stop mocking, it hurts.”
“Well, don’t put a Band-Aid on,” I offer. “You don’t want anything else sticky down there or it’ll hurt even more when it comes off. Maybe get a clump of toilet paper and hold it on for a minute.”
Josh agrees and the door closes once more. I get dressed and five minutes later Josh emerges, ready to go.
“Bleeding stopped?” I ask innocently.
“Not a word,” he commands, avoiding eye contact.
I obey and we are out the door in no time. Downtown Victoria is incredible, with bushes cut into the shape of killer whales, the glorious and majestic Empress Hotel with thick ivy climbing up the walls, and all the little bakeries, shops and boutiques. It is also packed with tourists, snapping pictures and crossing the street way after the lights have turned red.
We turn the corner and it is instantly quieter; apparently the tourists typically stay on the waterfront. It’s nice having some time to ourselves. We window shop, peering in an art store with sculptures and breathtaking paintings depicting a sunrise over a lone fishing boat. The next store contains ceramics; plates and cups and vases, all handmade right here on the island, according to a little note card placed front and center in the window.
The next window makes me stop. Chocolate! Sweet, delicious looking chocolates of every kind: mint cream, strawberry, dark chocolate, white chocolate, chocolate whales and starfish and even little packs of flavored hot chocolate powder.
“Do you want some?” Josh isn’t gazing at the chocolate but instead watching at me.
“No.” I lick my lips.
“Sure you do.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out some coins. “Go in and grab a few pieces.”
I can’t turn down chocolate. “You rock!” I tell him. Once in the store I am hit with colossal indecisiveness. Which ones? After vacillating for a while, I finally decide on two mint chocolate squares and four butter cream centers. They place them in a little brown paper baggy and I rejoin Josh.
I pop one into my mouth and close my eyes. “This is delicious.” I offer one to Josh and he accepts. We polish off the bag then go find something for dinner.