Don't I Know You? by Marni Jackson

Author:Marni Jackson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250089786
Publisher: Flatiron Books

Exfoliation

Steam filled the darkened room, along with the smell of eucalyptus.

“Just close your eyes.” Her voice was low, with a pleasant accent, neither American nor British. The tips of her long blond hair swung against my shoulders. She stroked my jaw to let me know she was about to begin, then covered my eyelids with damp discs of cotton.

The room was narrow, like a berth on a train. Lying there I remembered why I don’t like facials. It has to do with the claustrophobia of the small cubicle, the disorienting fog of heat and steam, and the upside-down face of the aesthetician, with a smiling red slash and teeth where her forehead should be.

She removed the discs and I looked up at her. Her pale skin was poreless and faintly powdery, like fresh drywall. My face was bathed in her warm odorless breath. I had an urge to flee, to run out the door in my smock and paper slippers. But in three days I was going to a wedding, the wedding of my ex-husband, Eric, and I wanted to look my best.

A thick magnifying glass on a metal arm swung over my face and her eyes grew huge, like fish swimming by the glass of an aquarium. She ran a finger along my jawline, where a line of small white bumps lurked.

“Guess it’s been a while since we’ve seen you.”

“Yes. More than a year, actually.” Do not feel shame, I told myself.

“Okay, lots to work on here.” She swiveled away to turn up the steamer and prepare some new unguent. The air in the room grew thicker and whiter. The two of us floated in our little heaven.

She gathered her hair back into a low ponytail with a scrunchie so it wouldn’t get in the way, and bent over my face, like someone in prayer. Her blue eyes were tilted up at the corners. Inverted, this gave her a slightly sad or rueful expression. I tried to read the name tag pinned on her uniform. G—something. Gwendolyn? Gwyneth? Gloria?

Settling on a stool behind my head, she poured a lotion into the cup of her hand and began to smooth it on my face, stroking up from the jaw. It felt cool, menthol and tingly. The feel of her hand triggered a little swoon of tenderness in me. How long had it been since anyone had touched my face like this? The agenda-free caress: we never get enough. As G began to paddle away at my jawline and Balinese music wafted into the room through a vent in the ceiling, I went over the chronology of what had happened with Eric one more time.

The marriage had survived so much, with adulterous skirmishes on both sides. Sometimes we were just looking at each other across a great distance, two people on opposite banks of a cold rushing river. And whenever he was working on a film, everything in our lives went on hold, including me.

But we had lasted. How many other married couples had stayed together, among our friends? Two or three.

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