I agree with her, but I want her to feel I am giving her what she wants. When you agree with someone they don’t notice you.
Just the basics. That’s what we offer. We use only what people have. Don’t draw or make or add any fancy designs. All that stuff adds to our cost and takes up too much time. We don’t want them here all day. Like I said, we want them in and out.
“What’s wrong with just red?”
“There’s no such thing as just red.”
She stares at me blankly, like we are not speaking the same language.
“There’s apple red,” I insist, “cherry red, pen red, sexy red, demure red, pale red, lipstick red, shy red, hot red, blood red, car-brake red, swimsuit red, New Year’s red, strawberry red, wet-paint red, gummy red, rose red, flower red—now rose is a flower but it’s not flower red, it’s its own red, rose red. Then there are other shades of red like orange red, purple red, blue red, yellow red …”
I am alone because I want to be. If you want to know—because people like to know stuff like this where I work—I’m not married. And I don’t have kids. I am a family of one. You can be that, you know. A family of one. I could have had what everyone else has, but it didn’t turn out. I am about to turn forty-two. It’s a good age to be. I don’t have to become anything anymore.
I live in a world of Susans. I got name tags for everyone who works at this nail salon, and on every one is printed the name “Susan.” So many girls come and go. I don’t want to bother getting new name tags each time. Besides, you know, it’s never difficult to pronounce a name like Susan.