Sunshine Nails, page 5
Debbie tightened her jaw. How dare this woman insult her livelihood? It was bad enough to hear it from the media, but to hear it from a woman who sold weight loss shakes full of crap? She’d rather have her toenails ripped out one by one than listen to this.
“—and the coughs that went ignored for years turned out to be lung disease!” Angel carried on. “Did you know that was even possible? That the acrylic you are inhaling could cause micro tears in your lung tissue? I hope you’re being careful, Debbie. Didn’t I tell you it was not a healthy job? I’m sure I told you. Good money or not, it’s simply not worth the risk to your health.”
Debbie couldn’t believe her. Yes, it was terrible what happened to those nail techs. But Debbie couldn’t stand there and let Angel act all superior. She pulled away and pretended to check her phone. Where the hell was Jessica?
“I hear de Blasio is already raiding those people in Harlem,” Angel continued. “It’s about time they put a stop to this. Anyway, I’ll send you a link. Fascinating read. There are translations in Spanish, Mandarin, and Korean… but no Vietnamese! What a mistake. We practically own the market!”
What do you care, you probably can’t even read it anyway, Debbie thought. Was Angel always this infuriating? This must be what happens when people marry outside of their race and disassociate themselves from their culture and community. They sever their ties to their identity, then claim it back whenever it was convenient for them.
“Oh, I meant to ask about that new nail salon,” said Angel. “It’s right by you, right?”
“New salon?”
“Yeah, I’m certain it was in the Junction.”
“I don’t think so. You sure you’re not thinking of someplace else?”
“Hmm, maybe you’re right. I’ve been such a scatterbrain lately.”
Debbie smiled weakly. This was the second time she’d heard of a new nail salon in the neighborhood. First that one-star review. Now this. Was there something she didn’t know? Surely Phil would have told her. He knew everything that went on in the Junction.
“Hey!” Jessica finally appeared. Debbie considered making her escape right then, but of course Angel’s attention was fully on Jessica now. For the next fifteen minutes, Debbie twisted the ring on her finger as she listened to them talk.
“Los Angeles! Wow! Can you believe I’ve never been there, like even once? What’s it like?”
“It’s all right. The weather is always nice.”
“We’re thinking of taking a family vacation there. You must tell us where to go. Now, do you think it’s better to fly into Los Angeles first, or land in San Francisco and rent a car and make our way down? And do you think the scenic route is worth the longer drive? Oh, I hear that trip is breathtaking.”
“There are tons of places you should check out. I can tell you more about it at the party this Satur—”
“Shoot!” Debbie interrupted, looking at her watch. “We have an appointment to get to.”
The corners of Angel’s mouth turned down. “Oh, that’s too bad. Well, it was so good to run into you two.” She beamed, revealing her gummy smile. “Oh, I almost forgot. Make sure you keep an eye out for an invitation in your mail.”
“Invitation?” Debbie asked slowly.
Angel pressed her hands into her flowy shirt to reveal a slight protrusion of her belly.
“That’s… great!” Debbie forced a toothy smile. “Congratulations!”
“I’m four months along! It’s supposed to show much more with the second pregnancy, but my bump is not as noticeable this time around. Lucky me.”
That explained the bigger lips and bloated face.
“Seriously? I couldn’t even tell,” said Jessica.
Angel beamed. “We’ve been trying for so long. We’re just so happy!” Her eyes started to look glossy. “We hope you’ll get to meet her when she’s here. Both of you!”
“Of course.” Debbie feigned a quick smile. “We’d be happy to attend. We really do have to get going though.” Debbie pulled Jessica in the other direction. They walked and walked until they were a secure distance away from Angel.
“She seemed nice,” said Jessica. “Did you invite her to the party?”
Debbie rolled her eyes as far back as she physically could. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
CHAPTER EIGHT Phil
Phil had been dreading opening this bill, but the payment deadline was coming up and he could not put it off any longer. He grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen and cut open the envelope.
Just as he expected.
The car insurance premiums were still $4,300 a year. Dear god, even after a year of using the ignition interlock? Debbie was going to be so angry. His DUI conviction might have been two years ago, but the guilt and shame still followed him like a hungry animal. How could he be so stupid and get in the car after that party? He should’ve slept over like his friend told him to, but no, he had to be stubborn and get in the car anyway. Luckily no one got hurt. And yet, it was the biggest regret of his life.
He warmed up a bowl of minced beef congee and poured a dash of soy sauce and vinegar until the white soup turned a muddy color. With the bill tucked away in the drawer, Phil read the newspaper article again.
Take Ten has flourished following the New York Times’s exposé in 2015, which revealed widespread labor abuses and health violations in New York’s nail salon industry. The investigation prompted Governor Andrew M. Cuomo to crack down on salons, most of which employed immigrant women from South Korea and China.
He skipped down to a quote from a patron. “I used to shop around for the cheapest manicure. Now I’m going to have to think twice before I step inside a mom-and-pop salon.”
Dustin entered the kitchen. His hair was parted down the side and his eyes were crusted from sleep. It was striking how much his son looked like him in the mornings. But when Dustin stretched his long arms up in the air to reveal his defined abs, that was where the family resemblance stopped.
“Check out this article, child. I can’t believe they’re opening soon!” Phil slapped the news sheet on the kitchen counter. “How could that be? The For Lease sign is still up and for god’s sake they haven’t even removed the name of the previous store. The corpse is still warm.”
“What are you talking about?” said Dustin, rubbing his eyes. “Holy mama, who is that?”
“Are you even reading the story?”
“Right. Give me a second.” Dustin shook his moppy head and focused. Phil hovered over him.
Take Ten saw an opportunity to capitalize on the crackdowns, preaching a mani-pedi experience centered around wellness for their clients and promises of employees being decently treated and fairly compensated for their work. Each station is even equipped with noise-canceling headphones so clients can listen to soothing sounds of nature as they get their nails done.
“Does Má know?” Dustin asked.
“No, how am I supposed to tell her? You know how worried she gets about these things. A small dip in revenue and she goes into full-on panic mode.”
Dustin shrugged. “Well, this is what happens when nail salons are run like sweat factories. It leaves the door open for competitors to swoop in and then BAM! They get mauled by the competition.”
“But that’s not us! I’m not running no sweat factory.”
“Don’t you see, Ba? It doesn’t matter. People are afraid of going to salons like yours now. They see an Asian person behind the table and they automatically think, ‘Are they here against their free will? Do they get treated well?’ You could be the most ethical salon in the world, but the white guilt will still be there. It’s bullshit, I know. But that’s just how it is.”
Phil rubbed the loose skin at his temples. “These stupid Americans. They always ruin everything for us.”
“They just got a whole lot stupider after nominating that imbecile for president.”
“The Apprentice man? He won’t make it far,” Phil scoffed.
“Anyway, all I’m saying is salons like yours have a… reputation.”
“And what reputation is that?” Phil snapped.
“Hey, old man. Don’t get worked up over this. It’s just a societal shift. Look, it happens in every industry. One day people want X. The next day they want Y. As a businessman, you’ve got to know how to change with the times and the tastes of your clientele. Or else—”
“Or else what?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t. You’re always telling me to speak more eloquently so please, my son, complete that sentence of yours.”
Dustin released a deep breath. “Or else you’ll go out of business. Kaput. Done-zo. I’m not saying this will happen to you. But it happens all the time. Remember Peter Abato and his barbershop? Or the Chantharas down the street? Remember that time I called to make an order but all I got was an answering machine saying they were closed indefinitely? No warning sign whatsoever. Just like that. And the place was filled with people the night before!”
“Ah, I remember the Chantharas. They were such a polite family. What was the owner’s name? Parker? Patrick. Yes, that’s right, it was Patrick. He dropped by the salon one night and gave us some leftover curry. We had green curry for dinner three nights in a row, that’s how much he gave us!”
Phil sighed and thought about that short man with the pleated pants that were always belted too high. “Whatever happened to them?”
“I could have sworn I saw Mr. Chanthara scanning items at Costco.”
“I hope not. It would be such a shame if he stopped making that delicious crispy snapper. That new restaurant that took over is absolutely awful. Twenty-five dollars for a burger that tastes just like a Big Mac? I can’t believe people actually line up for those things.”
Dustin sat down beside him, placing the gold chain of his jade Buddha necklace in his mouth.
“Stop that, it’s disrespectful,” Phil barked, slapping his son on the leg. “And please don’t tell me you’re wasting your money on that junk.”
“If you had a bite of that burger, you’d see it’s totally worth standing in a blizzard for thirty minutes.”
“For a greasy hamburger that will clog your arteries? No thanks.”
“I’ve seen you put away a box of Popeyes, old man. Don’t act all holier-than-thou on me!”
“Is that what you do with your hard-earned salary? You waste it away on overpriced takeout instead of saving for your future?”
“Of course not. I also waste it away on drugs and hookers and lap dances and…”
Phil could feel his eyes bulging out of his forehead as Dustin laughed uproariously.
“Do not tell your mother about this,” said Phil as he folded up the newspaper.
“Yeah, whatever. I better get in the shower before work.”
“You’re going to work? But it’s a Sunday.”
“We’re working on a huge project right now and it’s going to launch in—actually, you know what, no time to explain. Everyone’s working overtime and I don’t want to look like the slacker when everyone’s pulling their weight. Boss said we don’t have to come into the office, but we all know he’s keeping tabs.”
“And you kids think your mother and I are clogs in a machine. Look at yourselves!”
“Cogs, not clogs!” Dustin said with a mouth full of bread. “Besides, you guys are always working. What does it matter to you?”
“It’s different for us. We didn’t have a formal education. We don’t have the luxury of taking a break. That’s why your mother and I always wanted you and your sister to have a proper job, the kind that gives you sick days and vacation days. The kind of job that lets you come home by dinner. The kind of job that gives you weekends off. And now you tell me they’re making you work on Sundays? What kind of job is that? You might as well work for me. At least you’ll get Christmas off!”
“It wasn’t so bad, Ba. They had a delicious turkey in the office.”
Phil buried his face in his hands. “You know, I’ve never been prouder of you kids for having such a hard work ethic, but I never wanted you to work as hard as we do. What is the point of everything we’ve done?”
“Ba, you’re being melodramatic. I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later?” Dustin ruffled his hair before double-stepping up the stairs.
Phil turned his attention back to the newspaper, locking eyes with the crinkly image of Savannah Shaw. What was he going to tell Debbie? She was stressed out enough as it was. Business was steady, but it was nowhere near as busy as it was the previous year, or the year before that.
He used to think the salon could survive anything. But for the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Besides, the party was coming up and his wife had enough to worry about. She did not need one more thing looming over her head and this article would surely put her in a mood for weeks, the kind of mood that made her lose all interest in intimacy and recoil at his every touch. When you’re married to someone for thirty-eight years, you know what makes them tick and untick. Phil had been a very patient man, rubbing his wife’s feet before she even had to ask and getting up early to make a fluffy batch of jasmine rice, since she loved waking up to the sweet, buttery smell in the morning. He knew she appreciated his gestures by the way she let her good-night kisses linger a little longer than normal and the way she looked in his eyes as she tamed the flyaway hairs on his head. Phil treasured those quiet, unspoken moments with his wife, but it had been three long, hot months and it was not the show of appreciation he was after.
Phil shoved the newspaper in the trash and rinsed the ink off his hands.
CHAPTER NINE Jessica
The first Saturday of the month had arrived and the Tran party would be in full swing by sundown. It had been years since Jessica attended one of these and yet she remembered exactly how they went. Clusters of people gambling in different rooms of the house. Karaoke blasting from the basement. Children running around upstairs. The unholy marriage of cigarettes and Eagle Brand eucalyptus oil that stuck on every piece of fabric and strand of hair long after the party was over.
Her mother had been busy orchestrating every aspect of the party, down to the pattern of the table linens. She even divvied up the duties accordingly. Her father was in charge of marinating, skewering, and barbecuing all the meat: beef, chicken, pork, quail, shrimp, and squid. Thuy was responsible for washing the dishes and plating the food. Dustin was tasked with picking up the alcohol, cigarettes, and fresh decks of cards.
Lucky for her, her job was easy: Find the three dice that went with Squash-Crab-Fish-Tiger, a game based on pure luck that the elders went wild for.
Never in her life had Jessica wished so fervently to get out of a party. She was in no mood to be judged by her mother’s nosy friends, and certainly in no mood to put up with drunk uncles who stared at your cleavage way too long.
She blamed Brett for all this, for stamping her with the indignity of being a dumped woman, for forcing her out of L.A., for putting her in close proximity to this party. Her body tensed up just thinking about how magnificently he had screwed up her life.
She wondered what he was doing right now. It would be so easy to find out. His number was still saved in her favorites. Just one tap.
She pulled out her phone and hovered over his name. Countless times she called him without giving it a second thought. He was the first person she called when anything good or bad happened. When she got the promotion at the agency. When she found out her grandmother had died. When the pregnancy test came up positive. Then a few days later when the test turned into a negative. This phone number was central to so many important moments in her life. And now, it sat in her phone like a relic from another dimension.
Dammit.
Tears streamed down her face. She fantasized about bailing on her parents’ party and drinking an entire bottle of wine alone in the park. But she couldn’t do that to her mother. Not after she laid on some classic guilt-tripping earlier.
“We’re going to be very busy at the salon on Monday,” said Debbie. “Poor Thuy has back-to-back appointments. Won’t you please consider coming in and helping out?”
“Má, I told you I’m looking for a job. I’m supposed to hear back any day now from this agency and if I do, they’re going to want me to come in for a second interview.”
“Even just for a few hours?” Her mother sat on her bed.
Jessica gave her a definitive look. It was a no.
“Fine, if you won’t help us out at the salon, then can you at least come to the party? I bought this for you.” She held up a jade Buddha necklace with a dainty gold chain.
“Why?”
“I just thought you could use some luck in your life.”
“No thanks. I have my own necklace. See?” she said, pulling it out from under her shirt.
“What, that cheap-looking thing?” she said. “It’s got no mystical properties.”
“And that thing does?”
“Can you please just wear it for the party?”
“Fine,” Jessica relented.
It was obvious what her mother was trying to do. She had done this kind of thing in the past. When she was ten, her mother enrolled her in dance classes to improve her posture after noticing how she hunched during dinners. At thirteen, when Jessica refused to clean her dirty Chuck Taylors because they were part of the look, Debbie washed them in the middle of the night while she was sleeping. Her mother treated her like some kind of dented medallion that needed to be dusted and shined to presentability.
