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Yesterday's mishaps began with my appointment at Claudia's.

Claudia was disappointed when I abstained from a total bikini waxing -- it's her specialty, after all. "Could we leave my hair neat but natural?" I asked anxiously. "I'm kind of sensitive today."

As I stepped out of my panties, Claudia philosophized -- and empathized -- about the delicate science of intimate grooming. "I know what you mean," she cooed. "Sometimes, I feel too vulnerable for a complete bikini. When your mind talks to your body, you listen."

She smeared hot wax on my inner thigh. "Next time, try taking Motrin 20 minutes before you come in," she suggested, pulling briskly. Then, an application of the hot green wax just to the right side of my lower lips. "You know who I saw last week?" she added. I exhaled slowly, to reduce the sensation. "That girl you sent here in the summer ... the blond from California. She was asking about you and Matt -- she said you might be getting married."

I sat up, horrified -- how did April find out my boyfriend's name?

"April?" I demanded. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"Honey! You're -- you're all glued together now!" Claudia had dropped her wooden applicator on the floor. She bent over to retrieve it, then stood, shakily readjusting her spectacles. I looked down at my thighs and tried to open them.

"Nancy, what's going on?" she asked me. "Warn you about what? I thought you two were good friends."

I was staring at Claudia in despair, wondering if she had seen April's picture in the Post or -- worse yet -- the National Enquirer. No, it wasn't that, it was worse: Claudia was simply April's vehicle -- April knew a lot more about me than I had ever known about her, more than I realized. And now she was warning me -- blackmail at a vicious remove!

Looking down at my thighs, I discovered that I was now joined to myself, and the aftermath was ... excruciating.

As I left, Claudia told me, with an embarrassed look on her face, "I'm sorry -- I don't know what I got in the middle of, but April knows you have an appointment here today." I flinched, as my panties rubbed against the tender spot on my right lip, and sighed.

"Please don't tell anyone about this," I begged her. "I'll -- I'll explain it to you sometime, but please ... don't ruin my life, Claudia!"

I looked around on the street as I left Claudia's but April was nowhere to be seen. I realized I had told Claudia way too much. What else, I wondered, had April said to her? God, how did April find out my boyfriend's name? "Getting married -- might be." Or not, if April gets to him first, spilling all my secrets. Well, what else could that possibly mean?

On my way home, I picked up some cortisone cream and some aloe vera gel, hoping to get my agonized equipment back into some kind of working order.

Then, as I turned the corner, I saw a tall, skirted figure with short blond hair coming out of my building. If not for Claudia's blundering revelation, I would never have recognized her. Without the puffed-up mane, hair pared down to her face, she looked a lot harder. In other circumstances, April's attempt at the pixie look would be a tragic mistake.

Praying she had not seen me, I numbly crossed the street. A speeding bike messenger screamed, "Watch out!" causing me to freeze. One inch closer and we would have collided -- badly. As he sailed away with a grateful wave, I knew it was too late. Everyone on the sidewalk, including April, had noticed.

"There you are!" she said, rushing toward me. "Wow, you almost got hit by that bike, huh?" Her voice was forceful and sugary.

I was still trembling from my near-encounter with what might have been. "Jesus Christ!" I screamed. "What do you want from me?"

"Hey," she said, in a low, belligerent voice. "Calm down, OK? I have every fucking RIGHT to be here. How come your friend Allison's not returning my calls?" Her eyes were colder and meaner than I had ever known them to be.

"She wanted to --" give you back your money I almost said. Then I remembered Barry's theory: Wired. April was probably wired in July and could easily be wired now. My panties were bruising the sore spot between my lip and my thigh. I squeezed my eyes shut in pain, anxious to get upstairs and lie down with my legs open. It was the only position I could imagine being comfortable in.

"I'm ... oh, God," I moaned. "I'm having the worst period of my life, April. You startled me!"

I knew I couldn't risk taking her upstairs to my apartment -- but she showed no sign of moving from where she stood.
salon.com | Dec. 9, 1999

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