Page 100 of Dirty Chorus

By the time I started my closing duties, she had fallen asleep on the couch in the record store. She was curled up in the fetal position with her phone on the floor. When I finish counting the deposit, tossing it into the safe, I head over to the leather couch, and place a hand on her shoulder gently shaking her awake. She blinks, and sits herself up with a bit of drool lingering on the side of her mouth.

“Hey you,” I brush a thumb over her cheek and push away a strand of hair that’s caught up in the crease of her lips. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs her shoulders. I take both of her hands, rubbing them and seeing her nails. The nail polish has chipped a bit, and they aren’t as vibrant as they usually are. “I have an idea. My cuticles are hurting anyway.”

“Your cuticles hurt?” Charlie scrunches her brows.

“Yeah, come on.” I pull her off the couch, and hold her hand as we head out the door. I make sure to finish locking up before I dip my head in the direction of a small nail salon down the block. She walks alongside me as the wind picks up and swirls through my hair. Charlie ends up crossing her arms as we stroll down the street next to each other.

It’s only a five-minute walk and I open the door for her. A little bell dings and an employee at the nail salon glances over. I plop down on one of the comfortable sofas with thick throw pillows, and stare at my shredded cuticles since I’ve damn-near picked all the skin off. Charlie glances at the wall filled with different nail polish colors. Water splashes in the tubs of the pedicure massage chairs, nails are clipped, timers are beeping, and there's an overload of herbal lotions in the air.

The receptionist comes over. “Hi, what can I do for you two?”

“Can she get a manicure and pedicure? I just need a manicure.”

“Yeah, yeah, follow me.” She waves us both over. We both sit down, and two nail technicians come over wearing masks and gloves slapping against their hands. They pull out their trolley charts and sit down in unison on black swivel stools.

“What color you like?” They pull out nail swatches on a key ring, and Charlie blinks as she flips through the variety of colors.

“You should go with pink.” I tell her, and her lips perk up.

“What shade?” Charlie asks as she hands over the swatches to me. I tap a finger up against my lip as the technicians smile behind their blue masks.

I find the hottest shade of pink possible and point to it. “This one.” She takes the swatches back, glancing down at it. “Okay. Good choice.” She shows the technician the color, and they beam at her, nodding their head as they stand up to grab the color.

“You want a color, sir?” My technician asks.

“Black.”

“You’re going to get color on your nails?” Charlie asks, lifting her brows.

“Why not, my nails are trash. I’m wanting to get back into playing the guitar and singing, but my cuticles are killing me.” I glance back at them, fighting the urge to pull on my hang nails which will make the pain even worse if I yank off one of those bad boys.

“You’re really cute. Does anyone tell you that?”

“I’ve heard it a few times.” I shrug my shoulders. “What do you think? Should I get them gel nails?”

The technicians come back, speaking to each other in their native language before they begin clipping our nails. I wince watching mine use those strange tweezers to remove my hangnails. The electric drill files down my nails, she even massages my hands a bit, pointing to my tattoos. Charlie seems to be enjoying herself as her chipped nails are removed and cleaned up. Her puffy red cheeks clear up, and she’s wearing a genuine smile.

“Might sound a bit weird, but every once in a while I’d get my nails done when I was touring back in the old teenage days,” I say to Charlie as she turns her attention back to me while her nails are painted.

“Have you ever gotten acrylic nails?” she asks me.

I shake my head, “No, are you nuts?”

“A little. Maybe a little nuts for you,” she says. It’s been a few times now that she’s said something similar, telling me her feelings are deeper than I expected. Those words could be at the tip of my tongue, but if I say them, I might crash. I keep myself in check and change the subject.

“Have you heard anything about your mom?”

“Ryder sent me a message that she’ll be held for a while to make sure she's stable enough to leave.” Her eyes stray back to her nails. One hand lies flat on the tabletop.

“How long will that be?” I ask, watching as cold, slick black polish is spread across mine.

“Three days. He said he’ll message me again when she's released... but he tried talking to me about Payton, said something about her breaking up with him because of my reaction this morning.”

“At some point you're going to have to talk to him about Payton. I didn’t like seeing you that way last night. You shouldn’t have gone over there this morning. You were already so upset.”

“I’m sorry for crashing. I should be able to handle myself,” she says, biting her bottom lip.