“Ouuuuch!” I bite my tongue as Natalie, a plump young woman with hazel eyes and hair the color of honey, yanks a piece of cloth strip from my right thigh, uprooting precious hair with it.
“Sorry that hurts, but the inner thigh is the most sensitive, once I get to the back of your leg you won’t feel a thing, “ she says with the sweetest of smiles. One can’t imagine such a sweet woman inflicting so much pain on another human being. I have to remind myself that I am here by choice, and not only that, but I am also going to pay for this service.
“What do you do to have legs as hard as rock?” asks Natalie while yanking yet another strip of wax, tearing out more hair with it.
“Oh… thanks. I’m a dancer.” Now I’m self-conscious about my legs. I wonder if she says this to all her clients to make them feel more at ease. In my case it has the opposite effect given that I am stark naked from the waist down in preparation for a most dreaded bikini wax.
“But I also like to run a couple of times a week. That’s kind of my cardio, ” I say.
“Dancing is not cardio? Just watching Dancing with the Stars makes me tired,” says Natalie as she spreads a strip of hot wax on my left calf.
“Well, it can be if you’re training for a competition or some big show. But for me, dancing doesn’t make me sweat that much. Anyway, what about you, what do you do? I mean, besides being a beauty technician here at the salon,” I ask, hoping not to sound nosy.
Natalie gives me a mischievous grin. “I’m too embarrassed to tell you,” she says. But I can sense that she wants me to keep prodding for the thing she won’t dare say.
“Oh no, now you have to tell me, Natalie, come on, please? What is it?” I say with my chin propped atop my hands, my body faced down on the table, as if at the beach reading a book. Except this is nothing like being at the beach. It’s more like getting your skin ripped open a dozen times per leg.
“It’s just something I do when I’m alone,” she continues. I immediately discard the option of she being a stripper. Good. That would have been embarrassing.
“You play an instrument?” I take a guess. Now I’m really curious.
“Actually, I do, I play the piano, but that’s not it. I sing,” she says with the same vigor she applies when stripping those cloth strips from my skin.
“I’ve always wanted to be a singer. I especially love singing songs in Spanish. Do you know that song, Amor Eterno?” Natalie’s face lits up when she says these last two words with almost perfect Spanish accent.
“Yes, of course, I know that song by Rocío Durcal. It makes me cry every time I hear it, so sad. Do you sing that?”
Natalie’s hands stop working for a second as she looks at me and says, “yes, I actually sang that song during my audition for American Idol,” then she turns around for more wax and adds, “okay, done with your legs. We have to do your bikini now, turn around.”
I do as she instructs. Now it’s just laying down with my back on the table and knees toward the ceiling. I should be feeling embarrassed or some sense of decorum as I lay here half-naked in front of a woman I barely know. But the fact that she does this everyday, wax half-naked women from head to toe, relieves me of the pressure of looking in any way different from the way I already look. It’s more like visiting the gynecologist than anything else, except that by the time Natalie is done, I’ll feel more like a plucked bird ready for roasting.
“Wait, did you say American Idol? Really? You auditioned for American Idol?!” I ask with my arms interlaced behind my head.
“That was last year. I sang that song, Amor Eterno. I didn’t get selected though,” says Natalie, as she takes a good look at my bikini area, surveying the terrain that needs to be mown.
“That’s a shame. I bet you sing beautifully, Natalie. Would you sing for me? Would you sing that song?” I say, sounding more like a child asking mom for candy.
“You’re kidding? No way, I’d be too embarrased,” she says. This time she doesn’t sound that convincing. I have an inkling that if I keep prodding, she will.
“I promise not to look. I’d love to hear you sing that song. Please?!?” I plead.
“Mmhm, okay, but first, let me get this side. Ready? It’s going to hurt a little,” she says. I nod while I grit my teeth and hold on to the edges of the table. “Riiiipp!”
“Do you ever do this on men?” I ask curiously. I cannot imagine any guy being on this table half-naked waiting to be plucked like a bird.
“No way. We only do this on women, salon’s policy,” she says with a stern expression on her face. “Can you imagine? It just wouldn’t go very well. Women doing this on men, forget it. Men doing this on men, no clients will ever show up. From whatever angle you look at it, it just wouldn’t work,” she says decisively.
“Okay, let me hear it, Amor Eterno,” I say, my voice sounding a bit too commanding.
“Gosh, you’re really going to make me sing, aren’t you? Okay, but I have to dim the lights, you can’t see me while I sing. I’m really shy when it comes to singing in front of people” says Natalie. Funny that she’s the one embarrased and I’m not, under the circumstances.
“I won’t, I promise,” I say. This is surreal. Here I am on the table half-waxed, half-naked, and about to hear Natalie sing a cappella. She reminds me of a little child showing off her talents in front of her family. She reminds me of me.
Natalie dims the lights in the small room that only fits the massage table, two chairs, a chest of drawers, and equipment for facials. Under the candle-like light, she begins to sing. Her voice is angelical and velvety in texture. And even though she’s shy and holds back in certain notes, I can tell she’s got potential. I try to encourage her, “Natalie your voice is beautiful.” She keeps singing:
Tu eres la tristeza de mis ojos
Que lloran en silencio por tu amor
Me miro en el espejo y veo en mi rostro
El tiempo que he sufrido por tu adios…
This is one of the saddest songs I’ve ever heard. Composed for Rocío Durcal by Juan Gabriel, when one of her sons drowned in a beach in Acapulco. By the time she finishes the song, I sit up and applaud excitedly, elated by her sweet voice.
“Wow, Natalie, you really have talent!” I say sincerely.
“You think?” she asks with a timid smile. “Yes, of course, absolutely girl, you have to keep singing,” I say. “I’m always singing. I know that about me, I’ll always sing. It makes me feel happy,” says Natalie as she grabs the tweezers to remove any last trace of hair.
“If it makes you feel happy, then you have a treasure inside you that no one can tamper with or take away from you. Do you think you’ll want to audition again?” I say.
“Mhm, I don’t know. That was demoralizing. There were so many people there, so much talent. I felt like I had no chance by the time I got on stage,” says Natalie as she plucks and plucks away, and everytime she does, it feels like a needle puncturing my skin.
“So what? Do it anyway. We fall, we get up, we try again. That’s just the way it is. I once read that all professionals started as amateurs. So we have to keep honing our craft, keep getting better. Don’t you think?” I say.
“I suppose so,” Natalie says. “Okay, missy, you are set, check it out.”
I prop myself up on my elbows to take a look. My skin feels tingly and bare.
“Yeap, that should do it,” I say.
“All righty then, that should last about 3 to 4 weeks depending on how fast your hair grows back, then it’s just maintenance every month,” says Natalie.
“Thanks Natalie, and thank you for singing that song for me. That was special,” I say with a big smile. We share a conspiratorial smile and part ways. Who would have thought I’d get my own personal concert during a bikini wax?
