Epilogue #2
Okay, don’t think about that or she’ll notice you’ve been thinking dirty thoughts while she makes you wait for her. And where the hell is she anyway? I’m on the verge of getting up to find her when she knocks on the door.
“All set?”
“Yep.” I grit my teeth and hope I’m not making a huge mistake here. What if it hurts so bad that I can’t “perform” during the vacation we’ve been counting down to with growing anticipation? That would truly suck.
Joanna comes breezing in and goes right over to check the vat of wax she plugged in when she first arrived. “Looking good,” she declares. “This house is amazing! I love how spacious it is.”
“It’s a double-sized town house. My husband knocked down some walls when he bought the two units.”
“What a smart idea.”
This conversation is taking place as if we’re old friends and as if my coochie is not about to be on full display for a woman I’d never met until ten minutes ago.
“All righty. Are you ready?”
“Let me ask you one thing.”
“Sure. Anything you want.”
“How long will I be out of commission after this?”
Her dark brows furrow. “Five, maybe ten minutes?”
“Seriously? That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“Huh. I thought it would be longer.”
“Nope. Anything else?”
“On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad does it hurt? Tell me the truth.” I feel a cold sweat coming on.
“The first time? Probably around a seven.”
“That’s not a one.”
“No,” she says, laughing. “It isn’t. But I promise you’ll survive. A tough gal like you? You got this.”
I bite back a whimper and the strong desire to beat the shit out of my sister for convincing me to do this in the first place. Spencer was down there for hours, Angela had said.
The thought of Nick being “down there” for hours had brought me to this momentous occasion in which a strange woman was about to smear hot wax on my pubes and rip them out. Sure. I got this. No problem. Then why do I suddenly want my mommy?
Joanna is nonplussed as she removes the tiny towel that barely covered me.
This reminds me all too much of being at the gyno, or worse, the many infertility treatments that had people of all sorts crawling around in my plumbing.
She places a hand on my thigh and silently compels me to spread my legs for her inspection of the forest.
Did I seriously refer to it as a forest? The thought nearly makes me laugh until I hear her say, “Hmmm.”
“What?”
“So you don’t do any routine maintenance down there, huh?”
“Define routine?” Now I’m actively sweating as I begin to wonder what it looks like from her point of view.
I mean, this is a woman who has her face in a lot of va-jay-jays.
Is mine so different? And dear God, will she talk about it afterward?
I can imagine that exclusive for sale to the highest bidder and plastered across every website in America. “Wait.”
She looks up at me, brown eyes inquisitive.
“You won’t talk about this with anyone will you?”
“Of course not! Oh my God! Never. That would put me out of business, and besides, it’s such an honor to have you for a client.
I admire you and your husband more than just about anyone.
Besides, your sister made me sign a nondisclosure agreement before she told me who the VIP client was. Although, I suspected it might be you.”
Good old Ang is nothing if not thorough. “Okay, then. Sorry I had to ask. It’s just that—”
Joanna pats my thigh. “No need to apologize. I totally get it.”
I relax ever so slightly until she spreads my legs farther apart, encouraging me to put the bottoms of my feet together so she can get at the “full landscape.” And yes, she uses those words.
It’s a masterpiece, if I do say so my own self.
At least Nick thinks so, and I’m doing this for him.
Imagining the shocked, aroused expression on his face is all the motivation I need to go through with this.
The hot wax is smeared all over me, followed by something that feels like cloth pressed gently against it. So far, not so bad.
“Okay, are you ready?”
Before I can answer or prepare myself or hold my breath, she pulls that motherfucker off so fast that I don’t even see it coming. For a second, I think it might be okay until a savage, burning pain erupts that has me howling. “That. Was. Not. A. Seven. That. Was. A. Fucking. Twenty!”
“Nah, no biggie.”
“Stop. I can’t do this.”
“Um, well, you’re going to be bald on one side and hairy on the other. That’s kind of weird.”
“Trust me,” I say, beginning to sit up as the fire below burns unabated, “he won’t care.”
“You’ve come this far. Why not see it through to the big finish?”
“Stop being so fucking perky! This is no time for that!”
I can see she’s trying her best not to laugh.
A pounding sound on the door has us looking at each other.
“Mrs. Cappuano, are you all right?” one of the Secret Service agents asks.
Please. Shoot me right now. Put me out of my misery.
“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’d like to see that with my own eyes.”
“That is not happening. Go away.”
“But—”
There’s a disturbance outside the door, which then, to my horror, opens to admit my sister.
She slams the door in the face of the agent.
“Don’t worry. I took care of him.” Angela takes a good look at the real estate between my legs and blanches.
“Fuck, Sam, you don’t shave that beast or anything?
And he still goes at you every goddamned day? ”
I’d almost rather have the agent in here than her.
“Shut up, Angela. Joanna was just leaving.”
“Oh no way. You’re finishing this.”
“No, I’m not. It hurts like a motherfucker.”
“Of course it does! You’re having your pubes ripped out of your pussy. Did you think it would feel like ice cream and sunshine?”
“I didn’t think it would hurt that bad!”
“Joanna, finish her,” Angela says. “I’ll hold her down.”
“As if you could.”
She comes at me with steely-eyed determination that freaks me out. She slams me back onto the table. “Go to it, girlfriend.”
“Um, are you sure?” Joanna asks hesitantly.
Angela answers for both of us. “We’re sure.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you for this.”
“Whatever.”
The second time is worse than the first, and after the third one, I start to go a little numb, which is a blessed relief until I remember that numbness wears off, and I’m definitely going to kill Angela when that happens.
“See?” Joanna says after about ten more minutes of wax and rip. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I think maybe I growl at her, and she laughs along with Angela, who is a dead woman after this.
“Hours, Sam,” Angela says as if she knows she’s in big trouble. “Hours and hours. Think about that.”
“We’re almost done,” perky Joanna says. “I need you to roll your knees to your chest for me.”
“Wha-what?”
“So she can do the back,” Angela says. Apparently she’s an expert on these things.
“The back?”
“The back. Unless you want to have a hairy a-hole.”
“She is not waxing my a-hole.”
“Yes, she is. It’s part of the Brazilian, and trust me, you’ll like the way it feels.”
“I like the way it feels now.”
“All sweaty and hairy and stinky?”
“It is not!” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in front of a perfect stranger. I’m the fucking Second Lady, and this conversation could easily ruin my husband’s political career, not to mention my reputation as a badass cop.
“If he only stays down there for ten minutes, you’ll know why, and you don’t know what you’re missing not letting him, you know, do you there.”
“I’m going to murder you.” I say this even though letting him “do me there” is on my agenda for the trip. I can’t stand that he’s done that with other women but not me. I intend to fix that while we’re away, and that’s the only reason I’m even considering further waxing.
“No, you aren’t, because if you do, then you’ll have to work the case and do tons of paperwork, and that will mess up your vacation. Do what she says and get it over with. Stop being such a baby and roll your ass.”
I do it more to shut her up than anything and am treated to the sublime misery of having hot wax smeared on my ass and more hair pulled from places I didn’t even know I had hair.
“Such a brave baby girl,” Angela coos when it’s over.
“Most humiliating thing I’ve ever done.”
“Then you need to get out more.”
Joanna snickers at our banter. “I do this every day, Sam, so please don’t be humiliated on my account. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ve seen much hairier bums than yours.”
“Gee, that makes it all better.”
“Last step is some lotion to take away the sting.”
The lotion feels good on my tortured skin, and when she’s finished, I sit up and reach for the scrap of towel she gave me at the beginning. “Now both of you get out of here so I can scrub this entire incident from my brain. And P.S., Angela, if you want to live, give her a good tip.”
“Already taken care of,” Angela retorts. “I knew you’d be too cranky to deal with it afterward. But you won’t be cranky in Bora Bora. No, you won’t.”
“May I please say you’re a lucky bitch to be going to Bora Bora with that man,” Joanna says, “and I guarantee he’ll enjoy the fruits of my labor.”
“He’ll enjoy the juicy fruit all right,” Angela says with a snort.
“Get. Out!”
My sister is still laughing as she follows Joanna out the door, leaving me to deal with my stinging flesh in private. If Nick doesn’t love the hell out of this, I will kill Angela, even if it creates a ton of paperwork. That’s a promise.
Okay, he freaking loves it. He loves it so much, we’ve done nothing but fuck like bunnies since we arrived in Bora Bora. We’ve done it so much I’m sore for the first time since our honeymoon.
He can’t stop touching my smooth skin, running his fingers over every part of me and marveling at how soft and sweet I am.
I’ll never give Angela the satisfaction of telling her she was right, but… She was right.