Pedicure

Joseph Adler, world-class businessman, husband, and father of two, stepped into a manicure salon, smiling. He’d gotten hooked on the pedicure habit after a coworker of his had recommended it for stress relief.

"Why hello, Mr. A," said the girl behind the counter. Generally speaking, she was a blonde. She had a peroxide yellow bob and makeup like a doll’s.

He theatrically bowed at her and kissed her hand, making her twitter.

"Beatrice is ready to give you your biweekly pedicure. Her last client just left. Go right in," she said breathily.

The place had once been a home, but now had been converted into a nail parlor. He walked through the light pink interior decorating, smiling to himself. Each girl got a different room; Beatrice worked in the kitchen.

He settled down on the soft antique chair by the footbath and waited.

She appeared a moment later, a twentysomething white girl with dark brown hair and smoothed-over features. Upon seeing him, she smiled. "Today?" she asked.

"The usual."

She silently went to work on his feet.

He took a deep breath. "I got a raise," he told her. "I’m going to be able to pay for your electric and plumbing bills next month."

She frowned slightly.

"Or not," he said, attempting to make a joke out of it.

She said nothing, but began to push the cuticles back in a slightly painful manner.

"What?" he demanded.

"I’m pregnant," she replied finally.

"You’ve tried that before."

"I’m for real this time. It’s me or them."

He stared at her incredulously. Never had there been ultimatums. There hadn’t even been taking it seriously until recently.

"I’ll pay for the procedure."

"I don’t want a ‘procedure.’ "

He blatantly glared at her, the girl who did his feet as well as other services. Good in bed, but this was pushing his limits.

"I’ll call your family," she threatened.

She already had, but he’d denied it to his wife, and she’d believed him.

"Go for it. In fact, show up at the door and show off your nonexistent pregnancy," he snapped.

"The paternity tests will show."

He smiled serenely. "Okay."

She left the space on the floor at his feet and stood. "Why won’t you just leave her?" she asked through gritted teeth.

He was sick of her ploys.

A psychology major dropout, she had gone to college for three years and left it to take care of her first, real, pregnancy.

"Do you want more money?" he asked, resigned to her parasitic habits.

"No," she growled. "I want a steady husband and father for this child."

He reached into his wallet, pulled out a $100 bill, and dropped it onto the table beside him. "This should cover it," he said. He pulled on his socks and shoes and left her there, pacing back and forth.

Several years later, he went back to the nail place, which had been sold and converted back into a house. The coworker who had recommended it had purchased it and was hosting a Fourth of July party.

"So," Joseph said to his friend as he and his wife entered the building, "How’d you manage to buy this place?"

"My wife is to thank there. She used to work here, and when she found out that they were selling, she encouraged me to go for it."

At the mention of she, a lovely woman in an expensive dress made her appearance, the perfect arm-candy wife. As she smiled at him blandly, he realized who she was.

"You should meet our son," she said, her eyes accusing. She and her husband led Joseph and his wife onto the patio, where, amongst his coworkers, a young boy was swimming in the pool. Joseph was startled by the child’s face, which looked remarkably like his own.

"You should really try the lobster," his coworker told him, smiling proudly at the son he thought was his own. "It came out really well."