Free All That Was Happy by M.M. Wilshire Page A

is
the time to ask yourself--is there another way of seeing things?
I’m no cockeyed optimist, but here in my salon, I can tell you that
we can move you from where you are now, which is living in one
dimension, into another world entirely--and it all starts with the
way we decide to cut your hair. Now, we’re going to get you into
your bath, and we’re going to get some tacos for your dog, and
we’re going to make everything all right, okay?”
    Beckie nodded. As she followed Scotia towards
the bath, she realized how miserable and worried she must have
appeared to Vito, how lonely and depressed she must have seemed.
He’d read her perfectly, was probably an expert on communicating
with rich women such as herself who had too much time on their
hands and too many problems to solve. She’d have walked out, but
she lacked the courage, and there was one thing they’d forgotten to
mention, and by that omission had thus secured her loyalty and
allegiance.
    Neither Scotia or Vito had remarked on the
fact that she’d showed up in her bathrobe.
     
    Chapter
14
     
    “ Every woman on the verge of
discovering her true self is a diamond in the rough,” Scotia said.
“Or in your case, we might say she’s a white chrysanthemum about to
bloom.”
    “ But who am I?” Beckie said. “What does
that mean, exactly?”
    “ If you think of life as money,” Scotia
said, “Finding out who you are means being able to spend your life
the way you want to, instead of the way somebody else wants you to.
Look around you--how many people do you see living their lives the
way they really want to? Are you?”
    Beckie, inside the tub room, submerged deep
in the whirling suds of Vito’s marble bath, and feeling herself
relaxing fully for the first time in the past 48 hours, found
herself surprisingly open to Scotia’s philosophical ramblings,
enjoying a sense of sisterhood with the girl who, as she talked,
massaged Beckie’s long blonde hair with a rich shampoo, the
strawberry scent of which mingled nicely with the heady nose
ambrosia of aromatic soaps and lit vanilla candles upon her
olfactory palette, the experience as a whole promoting a feeling of
security which allowed her to explore some of the raw edges of
recent events without incurring further pain. The tub room had a
peace to it.
    “ The guy I met last night,” Beckie
said. “His name was Huntington--he’d been a big time Wall Streeter,
but he abandoned it to buy a nightclub near the beach--if you ask
me, he’s doing what he wants to do.”
    “ That’s not it,” Scotia said. “It’s not
a matter of what you’re doing, it’s a matter of how you’re doing
it--if Huntington were truly free, it wouldn’t matter to him if he
stayed on Wall Street or worked in a bar--he’s not free yet, if
such a thing still matters.”
    “ You’re saying as long as I want my
broken marriage to be healed, I’ll never be free,” Beckie
said.
    “ I’m saying,” Scotia said, “as long as
it matters to you one way or the other, you’ll never be free--it
shouldn’t matter whether it’s repaired or let go.”
    “ I’m not there yet,” Beckie said. “I
may never be. I have made some progress, though. I’m no longer
suicidal. I learned that much about myself.”
    “ That’s a beautiful discovery,” Scotia
said. “Sometimes, I think it’s kind of nice what we discover about
ourselves when life is shaky.”
    “ I discovered I’m not suicidal,” Beckie
said. “But I am homicidal--I’m going to kill my husband for taking
my car.”
    There was a pause, then an eerie quiet as
Scotia shut the tub jets off and handed Beckie a large, thick
towel.
    “ Why?” Scotia finally said.
    “ Why what?” Beckie said.
    “ Why are you talking about killing your
husband? It scares me when you say that--I don’t know if you’re
speaking literally or just letting out your
frustrations.”
    “ Let me put it this way,” Beckie said.
“Tomorrow we’re meeting at his lawyer’s