Page 43 of Hell's Kitten

I laugh as well as we push our way through the doors and into the twilight. Fall is coming in fast these days, but the weather hasn’t quite turned yet.

“Hey,” I say, a sudden thought occurring to me. “Nim gave me this voucher thingy for a local salon. I think he wants to encourage me to stop chewing my nails.” I chuckle ruefully because he’s right. But there’s warmth in my heart because what he actually said was that beautiful kitties should have beautiful claws. It’s crazy how treasured he’s made me feel in such a short time. “Do you want to come with me?”

Alannah might be a rock chick, but she does tend to paint her nails. She raises her eyebrows at me, then looks down at her chipped polish. “Oh. Uh…yeah. That sounds lovely. But it’s your present from your boyfriend. I can pay for myself.”

I shake my head and sidestep the boyfriend comment. We still haven’t officially labeled anything yet. I tell myself that’sfine, but it might be nice to have the assurance that Nim sees this as something real enough to have words for it.

“We can use the voucher for both of us, then split whatever it doesn’t cover,” I insist. “Then maybe we can go for ice cream after.”

“Or Creams!” she suggests enthusiastically.

I laugh along with her, glad she’s on board. “Hell yeah.”

It’s almost a shame that I have a car and a reserved parking spot right in the middle of town. Paddle Creek has a rickety old tram system like something out of Europe. I’ve never seen anything like it in real life. Sure, it looks like I’d be putting my life on the line just by riding it. But it also looks kind of fun.

Today, though, I take myself and Alannah from the gym into town where we can walk from the back of Toe Beans to a place called Butterflies. Like everything around here, it looks like it might have once been pretty slick. Perhaps back in the eighties. Unfortunately, the ‘f’ on the pink sign has broken so it now reads ‘Butter-lies’ which is kind of funny.

What’s more evident as we approach, though, is that there’s a young guy washing the front windows, and it’s not just regular maintenance. They’ve been egged.

Alannah and I stop outside, both staring sadly at the damage some little shits have done. There are wet piles of toilet paper on the sidewalk that I assume the guy has already pulled down. But worse than that is the word he’s halfway through scrubbing off. All I can see is -ore. I assume that the missing letters are a ‘w’ and an ‘h.’

“Oh, man,” Alannah says, getting the guy’s attention. “Do you need a hand?”

His head snaps around from where he’s perched on the ladder. I’d guess he was in his late teens and probably doesn’t really know how cute he is yet. He’s still got that gangly uglyduckling air about him. But with his square jaw and sparkling eyes, he’ll probably be breaking hearts in no time.

“Hey, there!” he says brightly. “That’s kind of you, but I’m okay. You here to see my mom?”

I frown. “Uhh…?”

He laughs. “She runs the salon. Are you here for some pampering?”

“Oh!” I say with a grin. “Yeah, for sure.”

The guy indicates the front door with the hand still holding his sponge, flicking water through the air. The bucket of water is perched precariously on top of the steps, and I pray it won’t topple down onto his sneakers.

“Head right on in,” he says cheerfully. “We haven’t had many customers today on account of…well…” He looks glumly back at the window.

“People are such dicks,” I tell him. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs and smiles, clearly trying not to let the bastards get him down. “I’ll have it right again in no time. I just hope they don’t come back tonight.”

He sighs before dunking his sponge into the bucket and continuing with his scrubbing.

“Good luck,” Alannah says as we head for the door.

“Catch you later,” I add, and we share a nod.

Inside Butterflies is a riot. Zebra print walls, mirror balls hanging from the ceiling, and about a hundred plastic orchids in various colors greet us. An eighties power ballad is playing softly over the sound system. The only lighting comes from lamps with stands in the shape of sparkly pink legs wearing black stilettos, fringe hanging from the bottom of the black lamps.

A woman in her forties jumps up from behind the desk. Half her poodle perm is tied in a scrunchie, and her dark eyeliner is about half an inch thick all around. She wears sparkly pink pumps that fit in well with the décor, along with black leatherpants and a faded Blondie T-shirt. Tattoos cover her arms, mostly of sunken ships and mermaids.

“Hi, there!” she cries. “You looking to get your nails fixed?”

I glance around at the empty shop. There aren’t any other customers, and she’s the only employee out here.

I glance at Alannah, thinking of the voucher I’ve got on my phone. Alannah gives me two thumbs-up. “Fingersandtoes,” I say cheerfully.

The woman clutches her hands to her chest. “God bless you. Let’s get you settled. In fact, since it’s just us gals, let’s have a VIP day, hmm? You kids old enough for some bubbles?”

---