Retail Therapy by Roz Bailey

always marveled at the easy job those perfume sprayers have. Don’t you think I could wax that? How hard could it be to say, ‘Endeavor? Endeavor? Endeavor?’ like, twenty-five times a day?”
    She had a point.
    â€œAnd now that we’ve bonded with Marcella, I figure I’ve got an in at Bon Nuit,” Alana went on. “I’m going to call her in the morning, first thing tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I’ve got an appointment for a hot-stone massage, and then there’s all that merchandise to return. But eventually, I am going to get myself a new job spritzing elegant ladies.”
    â€œBeen there, done that. It was kind of fun, too, but after the Christmas season they let all of us go.” Talk of my spritzing experience reminded me of the lean days before I had gotten acting work. No health insurance, no spending money. I lived in a creepy basement apartment with two roommates who eventually became a couple. I waited tables in a diner, which didn’t help when I sneaked out to auditions smelling of grease. I saved up my change for a cup of designer coffee in the morning, going to Starbucks a little later so I could read someone else’s leftover newspaper. It was not a pretty life.
    Those were the days before I’d been adopted by Alana, who let me move into her spare bedroom for a fraction of the Madison Avenue rent. Before I could afford to have my hair set and cut by a stylist. Before I could afford manicures and facials and fabuloso dinners at places like Zarela’s where the little granny makes you guacamole.
    If you’ve even been to Zarela’s, you know the woman. It’s her job to go to each incoming party and offer up her fine avocado-smashing services. I have watched her do her thing over businessmen trying to best each other, over the argument of a couple, over a rather lurid conversation I once had with my girlfriends about the hazards of giving blow jobs to uncircumcised men. And no matter what’s going on at the table, the little granny smiles and smashes away. I love the little granny.
    â€œThank you,” I told her as she finished up. I handed her a few singles and Alana slipped her a twenty-dollar bill. Granny bowed as if we’d both handed her gold bullion, then moved to another table.
    â€œDid I just hand that lady twenty dollars?” Alana asked me. When I nodded she smacked her forehead. “What an idiot I am! I’m poor myself and I’m giving away hefty tips. I wish I could call her back.”
    â€œConsider it a parting gift. Besides, you’re not poor until tomorrow, Cinderella, and the night is young.”
    â€œExactly what I was thinking, Hailey. Dinner is on me, then after that let’s go bar hopping or out to a club or something. You’ve got your contract coming up and I’ve got my parental problems and I say we deserve a little treat. If this is our last chance for a while, let’s go for it!”
    â€œThat sounds more like the Alana I know.” I lifted my margarita glass in a toast, knowing this was a bonding moment. Not that we hadn’t bonded a million times over shopping, but to date, we had not been down and out and broke at the same time. “And thank you. For everything. You’re such a giver, Alana. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
    â€œDon’t start! You’re going to get me choked up.” She waved a petite hand, rapidly fanning her eyes. “And you’re too sweet to be living without a fairy godmother in New York. Just remember me when you’re up on stage at Radio City, accepting your Emmy Award.”
    â€œRemember you? You’d better be there.” We clinked glasses and some slopped over my hand. We both sipped, then I dabbed at the spill with a napkin.
    But Alana, having latched onto something transpiring behind me, slammed her hand on the table. “Damn them!”
    â€œWhat happened? Who?” I looked