“So,” I said, after a moment. “How long for each side?”
She shrugged. “Twenty? Twenty-five minutes?” My heart sank. That meant I was stuck here for at least a full hour.
The thought was agony. I wasn’t a big fan of beauty treatments because I didn’t have the patience to sit through them. What the hell was I supposed to do for the next fifty minutes?
It didn’t take long to find out.
Krystal picked up the pad of paper and a pencil and scooted closer. For a moment, I hoped she just wanted to make conversation. Instead she started asking me awkward questions about my finances.
How much money did I spend on Botox and filler a year?
“Two thousand dollars?” I asked.
She looked at me pityingly. “Most women spend twelve.” She wrote something on the legal pad, which naturally I couldn’t see.
“How much do you spend on
your skin routine?”
“My routine?”
“Cleanser, toner. Facials. A thousand a month?”
Certainly not.
Krystal nodded and busied herself with the numbers. “Now this,” she said, “is what you spend for one year for your face. And this”—she pointed to another number—“is what you spend over two years.”
I didn’t want to have to ask for my glasses and then put them on over the goop, so I did what I often do in these situations: I pretended I could see.
Besides, I could still read Krystal’s body language. And clearly I was meant to exhibit surprise and outrage. I complied.
With a flourish, she put a slash through the numbers and started on a new page. “What would you say if I could make your skin better without Botox or filler and you never have to buy skin cream again for two years for half that price? And what if I said your skin could be twenty years younger in two years for even less than half of that? And what would you say if I could do all that for you and more. What would you pay for that?”
“I have no idea.”
She wrote down a number and circled it like a pretend schoolteacher. I began to feel queasy. I was seriously out of my depth.
But how could that be? I was a grown woman in charge of my life and my pocketbook. Besides, how much could this damn face cream be?
She began grilling me about my habits. Did I have discipline? Did I know how to work a routine?
“A routine?”
“So you don’t have one. If someone gives you a routine, would you do it?”
I probably absolutely would not. Maybe I was too lazy, but all I could think about was please don’t give me another task. Please, don’t give me another—probably pointless—thing to do.
“I guess I could try,” I hedged.
“And what about instructions?”
“I can follow them.”
“Because you have to do this facial once a month.”
“What facial?” I was confused.
“I will teach you how to do it. And now we do the activation cream. It’s going to be a little hot.”