Sunshine Nails, page 10
She turned around to look at her parents’ salon down the street. The knockoff Patrick Nagel decals were yellowing on the edges. The “Walk-Ins Welcome” neon sign was crooked. And the last word on “Nails Nails Nails” had burned out. Smack-dab between a fancy French bakery and a high-end baby furniture store, Sunshine Nails looked tacky and outdated, like the overly airbrushed square nails once popular in the mid-nineties. Their salon did not complement the vibrancy and newness of the stores around it. It was like the glum person standing in the corner, minding his own business but still managing to put a damper on the party.
“Excuse me?” came a voice behind her.
Jessica turned around. A man wearing sunglasses and a Blue Jays baseball cap beamed at her from ear to ear. He was tall and lanky with a noticeable dimple on the right side of his mouth, like a period at the end of a sentence.
“Sorry, I don’t have any money,” she said instinctively, turning to walk away.
“Wait!” he said. “Do you live around here?”
“Um… yes… why?” Jessica said hesitantly.
“My name’s Hamza. I’m collecting signatures for a petition,” he said, pulling out a clipboard from his backpack. “You might have heard? There’s rumors the historic Henderson building could be destroyed and turned into a large commercial building.”
“I’m sorry, which building?”
“The bank at Dundas and Keele,” he said, pointing towards the intersection.
Jessica nodded and let him continue.
“We want to preserve this iconic building. It’s an important part of this neighborhood and without it, the Junction will lose a piece of the architectural beauty that makes this area so special.” He paused to lift his sunglasses up off his face.
“Some members of the community, including myself, are concerned it will further strip the neighborhood of its unique characteristics and turn it into another bland commercial district.” They stepped aside to let a woman with an overpriced stroller go by. “If the rumors are true, this new building could have upwards of nine hundred employees and a parking lot big enough to accommodate at least two hundred cars. It will bring a lot of traffic to the neighborhood and disrupt our residential streets.”
It was clear he’d made this speech dozens of times before. He seemed very driven, very passionate, in a way that made Jessica feel like she had a moral obligation to do something. He pulled a pen out from his pocket. “Would you care to sign the petition to stop this demolition from proceeding?”
There was a long list of signatures on the page. The guy had a point. Somebody needed to do something about all the changes happening in the Junction. The city was already riddled with too many cranes. The last thing they needed was another whitewashed neighborhood. She took his pen and signed. The man handed her a bright green leaflet before walking away.
The salon was packed when she got back. She could hear the girls discussing the ethnicity of one of the customers.
“Her nose says Filipino but her jaw says Japanese,” said Kiera.
“What if she’s Vietnamese and she can understand everything you’re saying? That would be so embarrassing for you,” Thuy whispered.
“Vietnamese? No way she can be with those monolids.”
“My cousin has monolids. Not all Vietnamese people have double eyelids, you know?”
“Didn’t your cousin get the surgery recently?”
“She told everyone she got it to look that way with just eyelid tape. But we all know her parents paid for that surgery as a birthday gift. She looks so different now. I’ll show you a picture after I’m done here.”
Jessica never understood the power of gossip until she worked at the nail salon. It gave people who had nothing to talk about a reason to engage with one another, to create closeness through the exchange of closely guarded information.
“Jessica, for today.”
Debbie handed her a piece of paper. It was a list of tasks that needed to be done: Disinfect the pedicure basins; refill the containers with cotton balls; call customers to remind them of their appointments tomorrow; order two dozen cuticle nippers, ten buffers, and three gallons of pure acetone.
These were the types of tasks her parents trusted her with. She wasn’t allowed to do anyone’s nails, nor handle any vendor payments, but most of all she was not allowed to throw anything out. Not even old gossip magazines from 2009, when Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart were still a thing. Her father kept receipts, expired coupons, and grocery flyers, while her mother had a penchant for take-out containers, plastic bags, and disposable cutlery.
“Do not throw anything out without telling me first,” her mother said on her first day. “I don’t want to end up like that family that died of beriberi because all they had to eat was white rice. They had so little in their home that the communists stole everything they had in just twenty seconds.”
Jessica didn’t protest. Their breed of hoarding was steeped in trauma, as if they were stuck in the 1970s and the Vietnam War had never ended. No way was she going to mess with that.
She walked straight to the back of the salon towards the break room, a small seven-by-eight-foot room lit with hot fluorescent fixtures that made everyone look their worst. She slipped her arms through her white spa jacket, the sunshine logo emblazoned on the right breast pocket. With her hair tied up, she started with the pedicure basins.
Getting down on her knees, she swept up yellowed nail clippings and dead skin shavings from people’s feet. She’d done it dozens of times by now, but it did not get any less humiliating. Last season she sat in meetings with agents of A-list actors where fresh flowers and chocolate-dipped croissants were artfully presented in the center of the table. Now here she was, collecting a pile of human sheddings on the cold tile floor. It was not the big “fuck you” to L.A. she was hoping for, but at least she was no longer unemployed.
“ ’Scuse me, miss,” said a customer. She stretched her neck up to see an older woman wearing a white T-shirt tucked inside a lilac skirt. “Just letting you know I used the last of the toilet paper.”
Jessica stayed on her hands and knees and nodded to the customer. This is better than no job. This is better than no job. She muttered it over and over again until those six words became one.
“Is that a new employee over there?” she heard a customer asking.
“Who? Jessica? That’s my daughter!” her father replied.
“Your daughter?!”
Phil got up to point to the dust-covered baby picture that had been taped to the wall since the salon first opened. “That’s her!”
“That’s Jessica? That’s the little girl that used to run around here back in the day? It can’t be!”
“Jessica!” her father said. “Come meet Allegra. She’s one of our oldest clients.”
“I beg your pardon? Old?” said Allegra.
Her father laughed uproariously.
Jessica took off her sopping-wet latex gloves and walked towards them.
“I remember you when you were this tall,” said Allegra, putting her palm to her knees. “You used to have these cute little barrettes in your hair.”
Jessica smiled back. The barrettes she remembered. Allegra, not so much.
“Do you remember I let you choose my designs one time? And you chose this bright orange color with black airbrushed palm trees?”
Still nothing was ringing a bell. It was scary how strangers like Văn and Allegra held more memories of her than she did of herself.
“Phil, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now that this is your daughter. Debbie’s daughter maybe. But yours? She is waa-aa-y too pretty to be yours.”
The entire salon bellowed in a chorus of laughter. Her father bitterly brushed off the comment.
“So what brings you back to Tronnuh? It can’t be this muggy heat wave, I know that for sure,” said Allegra.
Jessica shuffled her feet. “I was sick of L.A.,” she lied. “Thought I’d come back here and help out my parents.”
Her father let out a low guttural sound.
“That is so sweet of you. Phil, your daughter is an angel! Who’d she learn that from? Certainly not you!”
More laughter erupted, even from customers in the waiting area who were furiously fanning themselves with flimsy magazines.
“Hot tip,” said Allegra, covering one side of her mouth with her hand, “if you ever get tired of your parents, you can always hop over and work at that new salon across the street.” She winked and turned her attention back to her nails.
Debbie, who’d been steadily concentrating on painting her customer’s nails, stopped and raised her head. The existence of Take Ten had been a sore spot for her mother. Any mention of it would send her into a fit of two things: anger or anxiousness. And who did she blame it all on? Her father of course. He may not have summoned the salon, but he knew about it and did not tell her the minute he found out. That was a betrayal, as far as she was concerned. So for everyone’s sake, Jessica prayed Allegra would change the subject.
“What did you think of the article in the Globe, Phil? The one I showed you? Sure does look beautiful inside. Never thought a salon like that would ever set up shop here but here we are—”
Phil stepped on the grinding drill, making it rev up even louder and faster.
“Ouch! That’s hot,” Allegra shouted, pulling her hand away.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Debbie was about to say something, but she put her head back down and continued with a second coat of polish on her customer. An awkward tension settled in the salon.
Sunshine Nails was no stranger to competition. In 2001, there was Amazing Nails, which opened near Willard Avenue and was run by the Nguyễns for four years before a heart attack forced the owner to retire early. Then, in 2009, there was Tips 2 Toes Nails, managed for two years by the Trươngs until a failed health inspection tarnished their reputation so badly that they had to relocate their salon to North York and rebrand it to Five Star Nails. But Take Ten was different. It was a Goliath and they were barely a David.
“Speaking of the devil, look over there!” Allegra pointed out the window.
Everybody stood up and turned to look outside. A construction crew had started mounting Take Ten’s name against the pink brick storefront. The “T” and the “A” were installed. Now they were on to “K.” It was like watching your enemy prepare for battle while you could do nothing but stand there paralyzed.
Jessica took one huge gulp. It wouldn’t be long now before they opened.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Dustin
While the rest of the city was going to church or brunch or a combination of the two, Dustin was going to work. This was the third Sunday in a row he was in the office. Not because anyone had asked him to come in but because he liked working in a quiet space. No unnecessary meetings. No distracting conversations that had nothing to do with work. No obnoxious air horn that set off every time the sales department scored another contract. He wondered how anyone got any work done in that tyranny.
To his surprise, there was someone else in the building.
Chase was in his glass office, pacing the room as he talked on the phone. He was supposed to be in San Diego (or was it San Juan?) until Wednesday. What was he doing back so soon? Dustin suddenly felt like an intruder.
Or maybe not. Maybe being seen in the office on a Sunday was a good thing. Maybe it would finally convince Chase that he was wrong, that Dustin was the hardest worker in the office and that he should have gotten that raise after all.
He walked to a random door and slammed it so hard that his presence could not be ignored, then fake coughed a few times for good measure.
“Who’s there?” Chase popped his head out, the phone still in his hands. “Dustin? Is that you?”
“Hey, good morning, boss,” he said casually with a wave of his hand. “Don’t mind me. Just coming in to get some work done. I won’t be too loud.”
“But it’s Sunday.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal. I like working in the office when it’s quiet. More productive, you know?”
Chase paused and put his ear to the phone, then turned his attention back to Dustin. “Could you wait a moment, actually? Once I get off this call I want to talk to you.” Chase closed his office door and did not wait for Dustin to answer.
Holy shit. Was this it? Was Chase finally going to give him the recognition he deserved?
Forty-five minutes later, Dustin was seated across from Chase. Turned out he had just come off a red-eye from San Antonio, yet the man looked as impeccable as ever. The Texan sun made his freckles more pronounced and the high points of his face a little sunkissed. It had the effect of making his teeth look brighter than they already were.
“I came back a few days early because I need to make an important announcement tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Dustin said, confused by where this conversation was going.
“And since you’re here I might as well tell you. You’ve been one of the most loyal employees I’ve ever had. Did you know you’ve been here the longest out of anybody here?”
Yes, Dustin was quite aware of this, especially that time Chase overlooked him for a managerial position because, like everyone he’d encountered in his life, Chase mistook his introversion for incapability.
“You can’t run a business without loyalty, and these next few months are really going to test just how loyal people are to this company. I know I can count on you to stick around during the rough patches.”
Dustin nodded and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He couldn’t count the number of times he got to know every new intrepid employee, only to never see them again after they suddenly quit. Retention was not something the company was very good at, but according to Chase’s book, high turnover was a good thing. He called it “liver management,” a natural purging of toxins that were bound to disrupt the ecosystem. The sooner people quit, the sooner he could bring in better talent.
“Tomorrow I’m going to make an announcement and I want you to know first.” Chase paused for effect. “We’re moving our offices. We’ve secured an entire floor to ourselves in a building on the west end. Top floor, sixteen stories high, unobstructed views. It’s going to look sleek as hell. Huge meeting rooms, wraparound balconies, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, you name it. Our team is growing, and we need a space that can accommodate all these new people. We need a space that reflects the awesome things we’re doing here.” Chase leaned as far back as he could on his chair. An inscrutable smile stretched across his face. “Exciting, yeah?”
It took Dustin a moment to figure out where he fell on the spectrum of reactions. It wasn’t the news he wanted to hear. But still, a new office meant private cubicles, wider hallways, a bigger kitchen, anything that would nix the need for small talk, which he went to great lengths to avoid. It could even mean he’d never have to hear those raucous salespeople ever again.
“Where did you say it was again?”
“The corner of Dundas and Keele. Are you familiar with the area?”
Dustin was familiar with it all right. It was only a few blocks from the nail salon. But he couldn’t pinpoint the exact building Chase was describing. There was nothing taller than three stories in that section. “And which building is it again?”
“That’s the best part. It doesn’t exist yet. They’re tearing down an old building right at that corner and in its place will be the tallest, most epic office tower you’ve ever seen in the neighborhood. We’re moving on to bigger and better things, mate. Bigger and better things.”
Dustin was certain he was talking about the Henderson building beside the parking lot, a beaux arts relic with intricate stone molding and balustrades perched on the roof like soldiers standing guard. An architectural gem over a hundred years old, it was an institutional reminder that so much history had come before him. Call him sentimental, but without these buildings, there would be nothing tethering the city to its past. It would be no different from tearing down the family altar. Severing his one and only tie to his ancestors.
“I think I know the building you’re talking about. The one with the arched doorway, right?” Dustin said.
“Sure.” Chase shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever it is, it won’t be around much longer once they demolish it.”
“Really? They’re allowed to just… tear that whole place down?”
“You seem disappointed.”
“No, no, that’s not it. I just thought heritage buildings were protected.”
“I know, right? Worked out so well for us! The city gave the owners the demolition permit a few days ago. Soon it’ll be a pile of rubble. Then it’ll be our new home.”
“Mm-hmm,” Dustin responded. “You’re not worried about the backlash?”
“Not my problem.” Chase raised both palms in the air. “We’re just the tenants. Besides, what are they going to do once it’s ripped down? Hot-glue it all back in place?” Chase slapped his knees and laughed obnoxiously at his own joke. Dustin went along with it, letting out a halfhearted chuckle.
“You know, my parents work right around there,” said Dustin.
“Oh, that’s right. Don’t they own a Laundromat or something?”
“Nail salon.”
“Of course, of course.” Chase’s eyes wandered down to his phone.
Dustin had mentioned the nail salon a handful of times in the past. Chase had even promised he’d come in for a pedicure, unironically at that, but it never happened. He should’ve known, though. It was Chase after all, not exactly the best at remembering the names of his employees’ partners or pets or kids, or even the employees for that matter. The man was constantly doing something or going somewhere so that it felt indisputably trivial to expect him to remember every single detail of your life.
“Well,” continued Chase. “You know better than me how ratty that neighborhood can get. But our real estate agent said this development was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and we should take advantage of the low rent right now while we still can. For what we’re getting, it’s a steal! Fuck, I’m just so fucking excited we got into this development. Once you see mock-ups of the new office, you’ll be shitting your pants.”
