Page 23 of The Alibi Club

My daughter Jamie will be getting her severely neglected nails done at Angel’s Salon in Hermosa Beach tomorrow at 11am. All systems go.

She added the appointment to her calendar and mused that she’d made stranger matches before, but nothing quite like this. Might border on brilliant.

She walked faster, and the rising excitement had her almost at a skip as she talked herself through next steps.

Lorna checked her Rolex, which kept perfect time again after all these years.

Everything was working precisely as it should.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bestie to the Rescue

JAMIE

Jamie found herself elbows-deep in paraffin wax, as suggested by her Vietnamese nail technician at Angel’s Nail Salon & Spa, who had informed her of her condition.

“Your hands like construction worker. Feet like caveman. We fix.” She patted Jamie’s shoulder and walked away.

Jamie grimaced and looked over to the next massage chair where Derick Hampton was nodding along in agreement with the nail tech. “It’s obviously time for a little self-care,” he said.

“Self-care has never been my thing,” Jamie protested. Pedicures, massages, and facials all made her uncomfortable. She never wanted her looks to matter so much that it re-prioritized her attributes. She wanted people to respect her for her mind, not get distracted by perfect nails or glowing skin. Every time she indulged in these practices, she felt appallingly out of place, as if she was betraying her own core values. Plus, she was hopelessly unsure of what to tip. “I’m not a ‘lady who lunches.’ I work for a living.”

“Spare me your sanctimonious working-class bullshit, Jamie,” Derick said in a sing-song manner. He added an eye roll. “Self-care is about a lot more than looking pretty. For God’s sake, it’s about feeling worthy enough to put yourself first for an hour. An affliction from which I clearly do not suffer,” Derick said. He put one hand in a little bowl of soapy liquid. “Besides, you’ve tasked me with getting you back into the dating pool. I would be derelict in my duty if I did not force this mini-makeover of your nails, hair, face. Not to get all Deepak Chopra on you, but you also need to do a little housekeeping of your soul. We need to revamp your self-confidence as much as your adult acne situation.”

Jamie touched her cheek where an adult zit had indeed appeared. She had tried to cover it up with concealer, obviously to no avail.

Derick continued, “That reminds me, we need to get you a better bra. Enough with the workout bras. The sporty charm of your uni-boob has worn off.”

Jamie made a weak sound in protest, but gave up.

It occurred to her, as she warmed up to the idea, that no one made her feel more loved while simultaneously insulting her than Derick Hampton. Insults were his love language. Especially if he could offer advice on improvements.

Derick was completely at home in a spa. He gave off the vibe of a man accustomed to the more civilized things in life, as if he should be surrounded by fresh-cut flowers and a butler at his disposal with perfectly chilled champagne at the ready. Derick was lean, with an immaculately trimmed beard, clad in a Vineyard Vines button-down and upscale denim. His skin was blemish-free and slightly bronzed; he constantly looked effortlessly stylish. He sat comfortably in his chair while another nail tech buffed his toenails to a high shine. She had to admit as she looked down at her chest, he was right about the sports bra.

“Your mother’s latest bombshell is a doozie,” Derick said with a hint of empathy in his voice, which quickly dissipated. “Although if I’m perfectly honest, it is time. You’ve wasted a whole child-bearing half a year on that dipshit Chaz. Have you thought about freezing your eggs?”

Jamie shuddered. Good God, is this how far gone she was? Not even eligible for conventional child-bearing? Was egg-freezing Defcon Two on the Spinster Scale? She started sweating. “Ease up, ease up. No talking of freezing anything. I’m not that far gone yet.”

“You’re forty-one years old. The tests they give on pregnant women your age are terrifying. It’s time.”

“I need a minute to regroup.”

“Regroup from what? Chaz?”

Jamie grew silent. Derick looked over at her, as if suddenly realizing.

“Ah, Nathan and his load of bullshit has reared his ugly British head in your direction again, hasn’t he?”

“I saw a post. He’s with a new woman and she’s pregnant.”

Derick reached over and touched her arm and gently said, “Wanker.”

Jamie nodded.

“You’ll get there, honey. You will. Day by day. Tell me about the dates.”

Jamie thought back to the last two weeks in which she’d gone on three first dates in fourteen days. Swipe right. Quick chat. Meet for a drink. It was her version of online speed dating. This excluded Theo the Pet Embalmer, her incredibly unfortunate creepy first date. At Derick’s prodding she shared the details with a low-grade level of agony.