Stripped - By Brenda Rothert Page 0,14
curling iron.
“Does this beauty salon do nails, too?” Sara asked. Her favorite Saturday morning game was “beauty salon”, something all three of them enjoyed.
“Of course,” Abby said.
“I want blue!” Sara grinned. “No, rainbow – a different color on every nail.”
“Do we get to do your hair, too?” Audrey asked Abby as she braided Sara’s hair.
“If you want. Do you guys want to get lunch first?”
“What the hell is this?” Kathy asked as she came into the kitchen. She had just woken up, still wearing her wrinkled t-shirt and sweats from the day before. Her hair was matted and in need of washing.
“Beauty salon!” Sara said happily.
“Beauty salon?” Kathy said, disgusted. “Abby, what are you doing to them?”
“We’re having fun. They like getting their hair and nails done.” Abby didn’t meet her mother’s eyes, sensing her anger.
“What, they’re not good enough for that high-dollar salon you go to every week?”
Abby said nothing. She had to go to the salon to keep up her hair and waxing for the club, but if she pointed that out, Kathy would pounce on the opportunity to comment on her being a stripper.
“We could do your hair, Mom,” Audrey offered.
“Hell, no,” Kathy scoffed. “My hair’s fine like it is. And yours is, too. I don’t want you two becoming whores like your sister.”
“What’s a whore?” Sara asked innocently. Abby shot her mother a look.
“It’s a woman who sells herself to men,” Kathy said. “They’re too stupid to make money any other way.”
Audrey’s face dropped as she sighed, and Abby hated her mother in that moment. She didn’t care what she thought of her, but influencing Sara and Audrey to think less of her hurt.
“Abby’s not stupid,” Sara said. “She helps me with my homework, and I always get all the answers right when she does.”
“You’ll see,” Kathy said, shaking her head as she reached for a soda in the refrigerator and left the room.
The girls’ happiness went with her, and Abby and Audrey braided in silence. Abby wondered, as she often did, how it was possible the three of them were Kathy’s daughters. They were different from her in every way.
Abby craned to look out the edge of the living room curtains as she waited for Chris to pick her up. It wasn’t a date, but it felt like one, and she had never been on the sort of date someone picked her up for.
“Why do you keep looking out the window?” Audrey asked.
“Just looking for my ride.”
“I want to see him.”
“Am I supposed to let him walk up to the door?” Abby wondered out loud.
“Yes. That’s what everyone on TV does,” Audrey said authoritatively.
“Hmm.”
“I think that’s him! It’s a dark car,” Audrey said, looking out the front window.
“Don’t pull the curtains back! Just answer the door for me, okay?” Abby said, walking toward the bathroom to look herself over one more time.
She was concerned her jeans, tall brown leather boots and sweater wrap were too casual. What if they were going to a fancy place? She should have asked Chris, she thought again as she touched up her lipstick. Her hair was loose past her shoulders in big waves, and she pushed her fingers into the roots to make it look bigger.
“Abby!” Audrey called in a singsong tone. “Your date is here!”
Abby rolled her eyes at the mirror as she pushed her hair back down again. She took a deep breath as she left the bathroom.
“Hey,” Chris said, smiling. Abby couldn’t believe he was standing in her living room. The Greek God was right next to her old, worn out flowered sofa.
“Hi,” she said, relieved to see his faded jeans and casual, button-down shirt. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure. Nice to meet you, Audrey,” he said, raising his hand high on the doorframe so Abby could duck under it as he held it open.
“In bed by nine,” Abby turned around and told Audrey.
Chris opened the passenger door to his car and Abby smelled his cologne as she got in. She didn’t recognize the woodsy, masculine scent, which surprised her. She smelled so many different colognes when giving lap dances that she thought she knew them all.
“Do you like Italian food?” Chris asked.
“Sure, I can find something I like just about anywhere.”
“I made us a reservation at a new place I heard was good.”
“Dave Matthews?” Abby said, smiling at the song playing low from Chris’ iPod on the car’s stereo.
“One of my favorites,” he said.
“Me, too.”
Abby watched the houses passing by through her window. She was