The black towels worried me. What sort of dirty staining was the color choice designed to hide?
I stared at the ceiling and counted the spotlights, then looked from side to side.
Despite the dim lighting, I could see scuff marks on the pale walls.
Kayla knocked and entered, all breezy cheerfulness. “Now then,” she said, “what are we doing today?”
“As I said, a bikini wax, please.” She laughed. “Yes, sorry, I meant what kind of wax would you like?”
I thought about this. “Just the usual kind... the candle kind?” I said.
“What shape?” she said tersely, then noticed my expression.
“So,” she said patiently, counting them off on her fingers, “you’ve got your French, your Brazilian or your Hollywood.”
I pondered. I ran the words through my mind again, over and over,
the same technique I used for solving crossword anagrams, waiting for the letters to settle into a pattern.
French, Brazilian, Hollywood... French, Brazilian, Hollywood... “Hollywood,” I said, finally.
“Holly would, and so would Eleanor.” She ignored my wordplay, and lifted up the towel.
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