House of Beauty: The Colombian crime sensation and bestseller. Melba Escobar
want to call me Pocahontas, that’s fine by me,’ said Karen, as she started over: she cleansed the surface to be waxed, tested the wax temperature, dusted on talcum powder, spread numbing cream, applied the wax with the wooden spatula, ripped it off with a cloth strip and massaged in aloe vera. Doña Karen had her eyes closed most of the time, but there was a faint smile on her face. Karen wondered if the smile was always there or if she was faking it for her. In actual fact, Karen Marcela Ardila – as she did have a middle name – had had a smile stuck to her face since she was crowned Little Miss Colombia at the age of eight. She’d been so persistent with the expression that now it was difficult to control. She smiled all the time, even in sad or dramatic situations, which was another reason she could never present anything but the celebrity news.
Doña Karen’s implants looked like they were threatening to burst. She had a curvaceous body and liked to show it off, not only in the underwear catalogues. She was wearing a lace thong and a size 30G black silk bra. She had a caramel skin tone, her hair was a reddish champagne and she had a tiny nose. It was as if the features of a Walt Disney princess had been superimposed onto the body of a Playboy bunny.
‘We’re done,’ said Karen in relief.
Doña Karen got down off the treatment table, her smile fixed firmly in place. She swayed her huge backside from one side to the other like a peacock in courtship. Karen was handing her a bathrobe when the cubicle phone sounded.
‘Your next appointment has arrived, this time don’t ask who,’ Annie said and hung up.
Karen didn’t remember.
‘You can get changed while I go downstairs to get your receipt ready,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Pocahontas,’ Doña Karen said, not looking at her, still smiling. ‘Your beauty’s so savage, you know. You’re like a little Indian girl in a loincloth.’ She let out a childlike, shrill laugh. ‘Though that hair of yours has been straightened, hasn’t it?’
Karen didn’t answer.
Doña Karen gave her a 1,000-peso tip, not enough for even a bus fare. She also paid 1.5 million pesos – double Karen’s monthly earnings until a few weeks ago – to buy herself a couple of creams, a Sisley and an Olay. Out of everything that happened, the thing Karen found most offensive was that 1,000-peso note.
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