After Hours: Midnight Oil / Midnight Madness / Midnight Touch

She finally took Sylvia into the back and explained that Nicky was experiencing a bad case of PMS and he’d be over it next week. Sylvia rolled her eyes and went to take her next facial appointment.

Peggy shook her head, took a deep breath and went back to the front of the salon, where she opened a tip envelope and stared at the enormous bonus Troy Barrington had left for her. Shirlie and Marly stared, too.

“That’s, like, a thirty percent tip!” Shirl exclaimed.

Marly lifted a dark, winged brow, her expression teasing. “Sea salt scrub, hmm? You must not have missed an inch.”

“Hey! Just what are you implying?” Peggy could feel her face flushing, though she knew her friends were just kidding around. “I do not finish off the clientele sexually, okay?”

“Maybe he wants you to think about it for next time,” Shirlie said, with an evil wink.

Peggy drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much taller than the receptionist sitting down. “There won’t be a next time, ladies. Margaret can do the honors when he returns for his next treatment.”

“I take it his happy-package was disappointing?” Shirlie probed for the information dear to her heart.

“Did I say that?” Peggy asked.

“Well, it must be tiny if you don’t want to do him next time.”

Peggy shrugged. She wanted to do him, all right. She just didn’t think it was healthy for her to be around Troy Barrington in such an intimate setting—not until she’d purged the sexual attraction from her mind and body.

This is my year of self-discovery, she told herself firmly. The year of Peggy Power. I’m not going to cater to anyone else, especially not a man. I’m not going to try to fix anyone’s ego or gambling habit. I’m going to recover who I am and figure out how I got so out of balance last year.

“Girls, I hate to disappoint you, but the size of Mr. Barrington’s tip probably has more to do with the fact that I coach his nieces’ powder-puff football team. He was just being nice.”

The phone rang, forcing Shirlie to answer it. Peggy escaped to the kitchenette, where she found Alejandro looking elegant and tailored as usual, despite his recent harrowing experience with Monica Delgado. He was frowning and poking at something in the microwave.

“This tamal is still frozen,” he explained. “And I am starving.” She loved his slightly accented English—he was half Peruvian.

“They say patience is a virtue, doll.”

He laughed. “How would you know, eh?”

Peggy stuck her tongue out at him. “I don’t. But my New Year’s resolution had to do with patience and impulse control.”

“I can tell you’re sticking with that,” Alejandro said, “since it took you five seconds to make up your mind to move down here after I suggested the partnership.”

She winced. Yeah, and it had taken her three seconds to decide what college to attend, two seconds to get engaged to a dud and one to buy a car.

He took pity on her by changing the subject. “So is Hal still dating that crazy image consultant, up there in Connecticut?”

Peggy brightened. “Yes! As a matter of fact, they’ve moved in together. Can you believe that? A woman brave enough to actually live with my brother. And she’s got him dressed like an actual human being now, and keeps his hair cut.”

“Wonders will never cease.” The microwave pinged, and he removed the tamal once again. This time steam rolled off it in waves, and the aroma of corn, garlic, onion and shredded pork was delicious.

Peggy watched Alejandro spread a huge quantity of Ahi (an unbelievably hot pepper sauce) over his tamal and dig in. How did the guy eat pure fire?

“Don’t you at least want a glass of ice water?” She asked. “You know, for when your throat goes up in flames?”

He grinned and shook his head.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the lentil salad she’d made as part of her new, healthy, Peggy-Power regimen. She was not going to snarf fast-food pizza and burgers any longer. She was going to eat fiber and vitamins and leafy green vegetables. She was going to feel like a million bucks each and every day. Her chest swelled with pride as she mounded the lentils on a plate and sprinkled a few sliced green onions on top.

Shirlie walked in with a Wendy’s Old Fashioned Hamburgers bag smelling of heavenly grease. “I super-sized my fries. Want some?”

Typically, it took Peggy half a second to decide. “Slap ’em right here,” she said. “Where’s the ketchup?”

SINCE THEY WORKED at the spa all day Saturday, Sunday was relaxation day, and Monday usually got taken up by errands and housework.

Marly was working too much to pay attention to her dating life, so she and Peg spent a lot of time together, this Sunday being no exception.

Peggy had sold everything she owned in a whirlwind garage sale before she’d driven to Miami from Connecticut. As part of her self-improvement program, she’d even sold her television, intending to read in her spare time instead of being sucked into sitcoms. Now she missed the TV’s comforting presence, and she had an idea.

“You want me to paint a television on your living-room wall?” Marly said incredulously.

“Yup. C’mon, you could do it in an hour with one hand tied behind your back.”

“Yeah, but it’s a nutty thing to do.”

“It’ll make the room seem more homey.” Anything would make the sterile white box of an apartment seem more homey, even a fire extinguisher and a can of bug spray. It was awful. White tile. Beige carpet. White walls. White ceiling. White vertical blinds. She was living in a freakin’ hospital. Every morning, she half expected to wake up in surgery.

“Uh, Peg?” said Marly. “The TV will have only one, unchanging image.”

“I know! It’s motion picture subversion. How cool is that?”

“Huh?” Marly started to laugh.

“Simplifying the constant barrage of images into one. But it’ll be hard to choose which one I want.”

“What’s gonna be hard is convincing your landlord to give you back your deposit money.”

Peggy waved that mundane thought away. “I’ll just roll the walls white again before I leave. Can you do the TV today?”

“Sure, Miss Crazy. Bring me a pencil and think about what colors you want. Should I put it on that big wall over the couch?”

“Perfect. And I have some tempera poster paint. Will that work?”

Marly nodded, resigned to the project. She stood on the couch and lightly outlined a huge television screen on the wall, using the side of a framed art poster as a straightedge. “So, is this a plasma TV, Peg?”

“Oh, definitely. Only top-of-the-line equipment for me. Don’t you agree?”

“Uh-huh. Get me some paint and some paper cups to mix colors in, okay?” Marly worked quickly, somehow making the sketch look three-dimensional.

They threw a sheet over the couch, and within half an hour Marley was painting in the frame and asking Peg, who was daydreaming about the possibilities of Troy Barrington’s backside, what image she wanted on the screen.

Without even thinking about it she said, “A football player’s backside in uniform. He’s bent over, gripping the ball and ready to hike.”

Marly set down her brush. “Peggy. You really want to look at a butt every time you walk into your living room?”