Page 67 of Hellcat Barbies: Imani
“That’s it, baby. No more questions. Just read and follow the clues to me.”
“If this wasn’t so damn exciting, I would be mad at you. I love you for this.”
“Love you too.”
I end the call and turn up my music. Yara and I sing for the remainder of my ride to the shop. Precise Nails is located in a plaza along with a flower shop, bakery, and a Brewed Bean. Since it’s only a few minutes after eleven and I didn’t finish my coffee, I pull up in the drive-thru line of Brewed Bean and get a sixteen-ounce brown sugar mocha. I’m walking in the nail shop ten minutes before my appointment.
When I check in at the front desk, I’m escorted to one of the extra-large plush pedicure chairs. I remove my UGGs, push up my pants, then slide into the seat. A technician walks over and introduces herself.
“Hi. I’m Catrina and I’ll be pampering you today. Would you like something to drink? We have the best mimosas.”
“Maybe later. I have this,” I tell her and nod at my cup.
She starts the water to fill the small tub then motions for me to place my feet inside. I do and for the next fifty-five minutes, I get the royal treatment. After soaking my feet, she gives them a sugar scrub, applies a sweet-smelling mask to them, then massages them with warm collagen gloves. After the gloves, she gives me a fifteen-minute hot stone massage on my feet then a ten-minute hot stone massage on my hands. She moisturizes my feet next before trimming my cuticles and toenails. The pedicure ends with her applying a pearl shellac to my toenails.
While I wait for my toes to dry, an in-house massage therapist stands behind my chair and gently massages my neck and shoulders. His firm but gentle hands relax me into a nap as they kneed away tension that I didn’t know I had. When my toes are dry, Catrina has to wake me from a light nap. After gingerly slipping the slides on my feet, she leads me to her nail station. Once I’m seated, she places an iPad in front of me. On the screen, there are five different nail shapes.
“How do you like your nails?”
“Number three,” I tell her, referring to what I call ballerina nails. “And I just want an American manicure with gel.”
She smiles then gets started. My manicure is just as detailed and regal as my pedicure. After exfoliating my hands, she treats them to a moisturizing mask with hot towels and another massage than she extends up my arms. She finishes with flawless gel polish. My hands and feet are so beautiful.
“Thanks so much. I have something for you too,” Catrina says after I send her a tip. She hands me a black and white checkered envelope and I smile. “Chile, you have a good man,” she says while cheesing hard. “Have fun today.”
“Thank you.”
I can tell by the expression on her face that she wanted me to open the envelope in front of her. Curiosity is dancing in her eyes but I have to disappoint her. This is for me and I rather do it in private. So, after thanking her one more time, I leave the shop and open the envelope as soon as I’m in my baby.
Not every trip is a race, some take time and require a suitcase. Find me at Passion in The Shops at The Falls.
“A suitcase! Is he taking me somewhere? Where are we going?” I utter excitedly and even though he said he wouldn’t answer me, I still text him.
Me: Are we going somewhere?
True to his word, he doesn’t answer my text, causing me to laugh as I start my baby. I rush to The Shops, obeying all traffic laws but speed. Because I’m too anxious to see what’s next, I bypass the parking garage and opt for valet. I practically march to Passion Boutique.
The store is beautiful. Plush chairs and a round velvet sofa create a comfortable yet aesthetically pleasing lounge area for customers. The walls are filled with sunken displays of clothes, shoes, handbag, scarfs, and accessories. There’s no checkout location; shoppers assist the customers and settle the bills with handhelds.
“Welcome to Passion. I’m Tia. How can I assist you?” a sista with butter smooth cinnamon skin asks when she approaches.
“Hey. I think I have a piece of luggage here to pick up,” I tell her.
“Are you Miss Imani?” she asks.
“I am.”
“Perfect. Yes. You have two items waiting for you actually. Have a seat. I’ll be right back,” she says. “But would you like a drink while you wait?”
“I might,” I admit with a smile.
“We have a variety but I think you might be in a celebratory mode. How about a mimosa or glass of champagne?”
“I think you’re right. I’ll take a mimosa.”
“Traditional or with cranberry or pineapple?”
“Ooo, pineapple please.”
