Magic Hands (5 page)

“Make?” Lizzie interjected. “You’ve worked there, what,
a
day
? No wonder you smel .”

“Mean girl,” Rachel said, stil highly amused.

“I’ve been working there for two weeks.” Cort’s tone was sharp. Aimed at Lizzie it promised retribution.

“So were you advertising when you told me they did great nails at Miss Chachi’s or being honest?” Rachel asked.

He crossed his heart. “Being honest.”

Rachel looked at Ticia, at Jennifer, then back at Cort.

“We go to La Nails in the mal but we’l give you a try.” She started toward her car. “You’ve got a chance to impress me, Cort.”

“I’l take that chance,” he cal ed after her. “Come this afternoon.”

As she backed away, the breeze mussed her hair, stirring something deep inside of him. “When do you work?” she asked.

“Four to nine.”

She lifted a shoulder demurely. “Maybe.” Then she turned and he watched her hips swing to her car.

“Woohoo. You have it for her, don’t you?” Lizzie asked, rol ing up her window.

The buzz of seeing Rachel and talking to her covered the total frustration he felt at what Lizzie had said. “She’s a cool girl and al .”

“Heavy emphasis on the
and all
.” Liz snickered as they drove.

“Why don’t you keep your mouth shut, anyway?”

“Ashamed of your new employment?”

“No.”

“Then why the big secret?”

“How many guys do you know that do nails, Lizzie?”

“None. Wel , one, now. But it’s pretty cool, actual y.

Think of al the girls you’l meet. I should think that alone would be enough for you to shout about it.”

She was right. It wil be a haven of females if Chachi’s is anything like the other nail salons he’d happened by. Always packed with women. In the two weeks he’d worked there the only business the place had seen was the three girls he knew.

He was shocked enough to stop in the doorway when he saw half a dozen girls from school in the salon, waiting, once he got there.

Miss Chachi and the girls were talking to them, and Miss Chachi lit up like a flashlight when he came in. Bustling over, she was al smiles.

“Cort here, Cort here. Yes. Here he is, girls. Cort.”

She grabbed his sleeve, pul ed him down for a whisper that burned his ear. “You late. These girls been here since three-forty-five. They al ask for you. I can’t have this again. You be here right after school, understand?”

He nodded, took off his jacket and smiled at the grinning girls. “Hey.” They al greeted him and he said, “You know, Tiaki does a great manicure.

And Misu and Jasmine are pros at pedicures. Check it out.”

Two of the girls agreed and Miss Chachi was delighted.

“Who’s first?” he asked. They al raised their hands. He kept himself from breaking into a flattered laugh.

As he worked, he got to know the girls who had been nothing more than smiling, flirty faces at school. He learned that Maria de Silva played a wicked violin. He’d seen her in the orchestra, had never forgotten the way her shiny hair swung when she passionately played her instrument. But he’d never met her.

Kristen Jones was on dril team. He saw her at the games, and knew her brother Paul. But he always thought she was kind of stuck up. He was surprised to find her total y nice.

Bree’s other friend, Morgan was just as superficial and into the gossip scene as Bree, Shaylee and Megan. These girls al looked the same; like teenage Barbie’s with their striped blonde hair worn French fry straight, light glossy lips and skin that looked like it spent too many hours in the tanning booth.

Time flew. He didn’t have a chance to check his watch.

Final y his last client left, a girl by the name of Sharon who promised to tel her mom and al of her friends about him.

He was exhausted, his fingers ached and his nose was fil ed with enough powder residual that he final y let loose a violent sneeze.

He ran his hands through his hair and let out a sigh just as Rachel walked through the door. It was twenty minutes to nine and the other girls had been dismissed by Miss Chachi earlier.

“Welcome, welcome.” Miss Chachi went directly to Rachel with her nod and smile.

“Is it too late?” Rachel asked, looking around for a clock.

“No, no. You are here for Cort, yes? For nails? Manicure?

Pedicure? Massage?”

Rachel looked at Cort, coming to the front of the store.

“He does al of that?”

“He do anything, yes. Cort do anything at al . You want, he do.” Miss Chachi’s smiling eyes slid to his with a glint of something.

“Hey,” Cort said, sticking his aching hands into his back pockets. As much as he wanted to spend time with Rachel, he hoped Miss Chachi wasn’t going to make him do another set of nails.

“She want you,” Miss Chachi said. The statement brought an awkward laugh from both Rachel and Cort.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rachel began. “I had other obligations.”

The mystery of her ate at him. She was conveniently vague, just enough to lure. “No problem, but I’m done for the night.”

“You not done.” Miss Chachi’s smile flipped to a frown.

“You can do one more set. Here.” She took hold of his sleeve and dragged him back to his table but he pul ed free.

“No,” Rachel said, seeing the struggle of wil s. “I’l come back.”

“It’s late,” Cort told Miss Chachi as respectful y as he could. “And I have school tomorrow.”

He strode back, gathered his coat and returned to her.

Something ominous simmered behind her black eyes. He didn’t like it.

He looked at Rachel. “I’l walk you out. See you tomorrow, Miss Chachi.”

Then he held the salon door open for Rachel and as she passed, he smel ed the great shampoo she used. Maybe it was just that his nostrils had been assaulted al day by acetone and nail junk but he took in a long, deep breath and sighed.

“Your employer reminds me of Mrs. Meers.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“You’ve seen
Thoroughly Modern Millie
?” Another point for Cort Davies, Rachel thought, a guy with some culture.

“In New York,” he said.

She could relate to a guy who had traveled like she had.

“I liked it.”

“It was pretty cool, yeah.”

Although her car was parked next to his white truck neither stopped. They continued to walk the emptiness of Main Street at a slow and easy pace.

Inviting, cozy, the street was lined with buildings from the turn of the century, each painted a different, soft shade that, under the moon’s hazy light, looked ghostly now. Most businesses were closed, but their windows were lined with colored lights. Cort and Rachel peered in the various store-front windows as they passed.

“You like New York?” Rachel asked. For her, how a person viewed New York was tel ing. New York was a pivotal place, where fresh ideas sprung, where anything was possible.

Someone who couldn’t appreciate that was not someone she would spend much time with.

He shrugged. “It’s a cool place—kind of crowded.”

Rachel’s heart took a hit. She tried to ignore it. “But you can learn a lot watching crowds.”

“I guess.”

They passed Minerva’s, a little imported gourmet foods shop. The rich scent of coffee snuck out in the air and they stopped under the purple and green awning and looked at the display of Harry Potter chocolates in the window.

“Smel s good,” Rachel said. “I love the smel of coffee.”

“Want some?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He opened the door for her and they went in. The store was warm inside; the cozy air fil ed with the mix of brewing coffee, chocolate and cinnamon.

The petite woman behind the counter greeted them with a grin that deepened a smattering of wrinkles. “What can I get you?”

Cort looked at Rachel, waited for her to give her order.

“I’l take a medium coffee with cream and sugar.”

“Make that two,” Cort said.

They browsed the store, enjoying the odd English biscuit, the beautiful y boxed Belgian chocolates. Final y they sat at a smal , green wrought-iron table in the center of the large front window where the Harry Potter candy was on display.

“You work at Chachi’s, don’t you?” the woman asked Cort as she set down their steaming white mugs.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’ve seen you go in. How’s it doing? Business can be kind of slow in this part of town.”

“It’s picking up.” Cort thought of how he’d increased Miss Chachi’s revenue. He glanced at her nails. “You should come in.”

The woman laughed heartily with a look at her hands.

“Not when I use my hands as much as I do, there’s no point.”

“We do pedicures and stuff too.” Nervously, he picked up his hot mug and sipped. He couldn’t believe he was talking about nail stuff.

“Sounds good. I’m Minerva by the way.”

“Cort. And this is Rachel.”

“Nice to meet you. Maybe I’l drag by aching feet down there one day and let you give me a pedicure.”

“Any time. Great coffee,” he smiled at her.

“You two have a good night.” Minerva went about tending the store.

Rachel sat back with her coffee studying him.

“What?” he final y asked.

She hesitated before she said, “Nothing.” But a guy who could handle himself with adults, she liked. A guy who would even consider rubbing some strange woman’s corny feet and scraping away yucky cal uses was definitely impressive, whether he thought intel ectual y about New York or not.

“I won’t sleep now.” Cort rubbed his hands down his face.

“Why? The caffeine?”

He nodded, rubbing his knuckle joints.

“Me too,” she said. “I should have had hot chocolate. But I love coffee. What do you do when you can’t sleep?”

He shrugged. “Get on the computer, read. If I’m real y wired, I work out.”

“Like what?”

“Weights and stuff.”

That would account for his ripped bod, she thought, skimming her gaze nonchalantly down the length of him as she took another drink. “I check things out on the internet.”

“You on Facebook?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, Cort studied her. She was so mysterious. He’d figured this little encounter would enlighten him but al he knew about her was that she loved coffee, sometimes suffered with insomnia and liked to surf the internet in the late hours of night. “What do you look for?” he asked.

“Anything and everything. There are so many places I want to go, things I want to see and understand. It’s a tool, you know? A kind of computerized binocular.”

“Watching people?” he suggested.

“Not like that, no.” But something al uring colored her eyes.

He leaned forward. “I want your phone number.”

Her hand clasped her purse, opened it. Pul ing out her vibrating cel phone, she smiled. He didn’t know why the motion made him jealous, but it did.

Somebody was cal ing her, some guy no doubt.

“Just a second.” She stood, turning her back to him. He stared at her long, silky hair hanging down her back.

“Hey.” Her tone was altogether too pleased to be speaking to whomever she was addressing. He sat back, eyes firmly on her every move. “No, I was too late…yeah, I know.”

She laughed and the sound made him antsy. “I’m going to be a few minutes longer. Having coffee. Yeah. Okay, see you then. Bye.” She clicked off the phone and turned around, facing him.

“Wel .”

Taking the cue, he stood, and left some change for a tip.

“Yeah, I gotta get going too.” He walked with her to their cars. Lights were stil on in the salon. He saw Miss Chachi talking heatedly into the phone at the front desk.

He stayed in the dark where the street lights didn’t reach, next to Rachel’s car door. As she dug through her purse for keys, the moon, barely a slice of light in the black sky, lit her skin to cream.

She glanced in the salon window. “Looks like Mrs. Meers is plotting.”

Cort nodded. The little woman pounded her fist on the counter as she spoke into the phone.

“She’s…yeah.” He better keep his mouth shut, Cort decided. Gossiping was not his style.

Rachel opened her car and Cort smel ed leather. Money.

She sat inside and looked up at him. “Thanks for the coffee.” When she started the engine it purred. “Facebook me,” she told him with a smile, then shut the door.

Cort couldn’t sleep so he stared at his computer screen, at the Facebook home page. His fingers itched to type in her name address since she stil hadn’t given him her cel phone number. Of course he could look it up in the school phone book, but nobody did that. If they did, they never cal ed without getting a green light first.

Was her Facebook friend invitation a yel ow light?

His fingers touched the keys just as his bedroom door opened and his mother walked in after one knock.

“Cort.” She stayed in the door, knowing how he valued his privacy. “Sorry I got home so late.”

“It’s okay.” He turned, leaning casual y back on the computer desk. “What’s up?”

She’d changed into her pajamas, her reading glasses propped low on her nose and she held a stack of papers in her arms.

“Just going over some files. You and Liz find that Tofu quiche I left in the fridge?”

“I wasn’t here for dinner. I was at work.”

She shifted, smiling. “Liz mentioned you found a job.

But she won’t tel me where, said that needed to come from you.”

“It’s nothing, just a service job.”

“What kind of service?”

“Uh, maintenance.” For some reason he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t tel his mother he was working at Chachi’s nail salon. But he couldn’t lie to her either. He figured truth, even in a roundabout form, was better than a lie.

“Maintenance? Wel , work is work. I’m just glad you final y found something. Now remember what we set up: ten percent goes to charity, twenty-five to your savings account and thirty to your col ege fund. The rest is yours to do what you want with. How much are you making, anyway?”

“Minimum.” Plus tips, he thought, and those would add up nicely.

“Wel , that’s better than nothing.” She turned, ready to leave him alone. “Don’t be up too late. Take a melatonin if you need some help fal ing asleep.