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“Betty Johnson looks fantastic. And I mean years younger. Are you holding out on me?”
I laugh as her hand falls to my wrist, and I place a hand over hers and squeeze.
“Mrs. Womble, I promise you, I give you the best treatments available.”
“But now, is she going to that needle doctor of yours?”
Again, I laugh.
My clients create fantastic terminology. Meena visits my Whispering Creek location two days a week and sees clients in my treatment room while I work at my Austin location. She does the injections I’m not certified to offer, such as Botox and filler injections.
“I’m honestly not sure. But Mrs. Womble, you know I don’t treat and tell.” There’s no society governing what aestheticians can and can’t tell, but as a matter of ethics I keep it all close to the vest, giving my clients the confidentiality a therapist would provide.
She leans in after glancing around the space, as if someone might try to hear what she has to say. “I think she had a facelift.”
“Well, if she did, and she looks as good as you say she does, then good for her.”
Mrs. Womble’s spine straightens and her lips purse. But something takes hold within her, and those lips stretch into a cordial smile.
“Well, if you could find out who she used, I’d be in your debt.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
“Well, that might make her feel uncomfortable, don’t you think?”
I pat her arm and shake my head while smiling.
“You sneaky dog.” Mrs. Womble and I both turn our attention to Kara. She stands at her station holding her phone.
“What?” I ask Kara.
“I was just scrolling through my alerts. And it’s someone’s birthday.” Mrs. Womble’s mouth opens slightly, and, resigned, I force a polite smile. “I never go on Facebook, but I do scroll those alerts. Look at you, trying to sneak by without telling us.”
I wave dismissively. “When you get to be my age, it’s not a big deal.”
Mrs. Womble folds her arms over her middle. “Well, when you get to be my age, every year’s big.”
I roll my eyes. She isn’t that old. Maybe sixties or seventies.
“We’re going out!” Kara exclaims and claps her palms together.
“Maybe another night? I’ve already got plans.”
“With who?”
“Just meeting up with some friends.”
“Oh, my god, are you meeting up with Noah?” Dang it. Me and my mouth.
“Oliver and Liam.” I feel Mrs. Womble’s eyes on me. “Just for a drink. Not a big deal”
“You’re still close with that Duke family?” Mrs. Womble asks.
“Yes. I am.”
“I don’t know how you do that. When I got divorced, I cut all ties with his family.”
Kara’s client joins in on the conversation. “Me too. I never keep in touch with my exes. The day we split is the day we say goodbye.”
