Hearts on the Line by Marla Martenson


January 22, 2012  by Marla Martenson

Enjoy an excerpt from my new book...



Tres Jolie

I decide to take a cab because I plan on enjoying the cocktail Chantal mentioned.
I enter Tres Jolie Waxing Spa. The lobby is intimate and cozy, decorated with antiques. The walls are sponge-painted in a deep red-on-bordello-red. I check in with Brandy the receptionist and take a seat on the velvet loveseat. Loud music plays on the speakers, no doubt to cover up the screams of the clients. Chantal makes an entrance from the back. She is dressed as if for a party in a sexy black cocktail dress and candy-apple red high heels. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a chignon, showcasing her diamond stud earrings. We’re just here to party. Fun, fun, fun….
“Marla, cherié, bonjour, welcome. I am so ’appy zat you decide to come for zee waxeeng tres especiale” she purrs. “Would you like a cocktail?” 


“Definitely.”

She returns with a pomegranate martini, and I settle back into the love seat and gulp it down.
A petite young woman named Chelsea who looks to be about twelve approaches. “Marla, are you ready?”
I frown. Actually, no. Merde! Why did I think this would be a good idea? Something to do with Adolfo. This thought makes me mad. Let’s see him come in here and get his pubes ripped out.
Chelsea eyes my empty glass. “Some of our first time clients enjoy a second cocktail?”
I point to myself with both index fingers and nod. She trots out another drink, which I sip slowly until I melt a bit. Do I still have toes? The song S & M by Rihanna blasts through the sound system. I’m just at a crazy Hollywood party. I’m soooo daring and wild. Hip, cool Marla.
“Ah,” Chelsea says. “That’s better. Ready?”
I drain my glass. “Mm-hmm.” My voice is surprisingly high-pitched. I follow her to a room down the hall. A table much like that in a
doctor’s office takes up most of the tiny room.
“Undress from the waist down, and here is a towel to put over yourself. I’ll be right back.” Towel? Okaaayy….I look at the little square of cloth, the last
pretense of privacy, the last shred of a barrier between my most vulnerable spot and torture.
Skeptic Christopher Hitchens, who writes for Vanity Fair, underwent things like water boarding—which he says is torture—and male waxing (“back, crack, and sack.”) He said the waxing was actually more painful than the water boarding.
Two minutes later Chelsea removes the towel. “Do you want me to take off everything or do you want to leave a little landing strip?”
“Oh, what the hell.”
“All off then? That’s great! You’re being so modern!”
I’m tempted to ask if her mother knows what her special expertise is. I take a deep breath…and another. I close my eyes while Chelsea gently applies the hot, chocolate-
flavored wax, and in seconds I let out a scream. Ayyeeee! The short curlies have been ripped out by the roots. My heart is pounding. Yow, that smarts. Chelsea is waiting for me to man up.
“I guess…most people…scream,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Um, not really.” She has me open my legs like a frog and moves to more intimate sections so the sadism can continue. “The first time is always the most painful though.”
Good to know. Except that there will never ever be a second time for this modern gal. This makes me want to put the natural back in au naturel. This seems as unnatural as it gets.
Aaaaaagghhh!
Eee-yowwwww!
Ooooogggghhhh!


The experience continues for about twenty minutes. This is more invasive than a colonoscopy. How does Chelsea do it? She chats, asking me about my job, husband, favorite movies, obviously trying to take my mind off of what is happening. I chatter nervously trying not to think about the fact that I am spread eagle to a stranger.
“You’re almost done,” she says. “Now, I just need you to move back a bit and hug your legs up toward your chest.”
Oh, God, time for the butt crack.
“A lot of people don’t realize that there is hair back there. They are hesitant to have me wax this area, but I tell them, hey, I’ve already seen everything else, so….might as well do it.”
I laugh nervously. “Yeah, might as well….” I grab my knees into a fetal position.
“Wow, look at that tattoo!” Twelve-year-old Chelsea says. “You don’t see too many like that anymore.”
Right, it’s older than she is.
Okay, the ordeal is almost over. I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes even tighter as she applies the hot wax. I smell the chocolate scent, and I’m not sure, but I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same way about chocolate again. Yank.
AYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
I gasp for air, still hugging my knees. Ow…ow…ow…ow…ow… ohhh, owwww. I want my mommy.
“Okay, you’re done!” she chirps and bounces out of the room.
I slowly pull up my panties, stopping at half-mast to take a peek at the new me. Oh My God! What have I done? This is shocking! I quickly dress and step out into the lobby. Chelsea is standing at the front desk. I tip her a ten-dollar bill, but if I were rich, I’d give her a hundred. She certainly deserves it for what she has to do every day.
Brandy gives me a fifteen percent “first time” discount. “Now, we usually recommend coming every five weeks. Would you like to schedule your next appointment now?” Quand les poules auront des dents! When pigs fly!
“No!” I blurt out a bit too fast and loudly. At least I didn’t say, hell, no. “I mean, I’ll call to make an appointment. I have to check my schedule first,” I say unconvincingly.
Don’t get me wrong. Th~e place is really nice; the service, great; and the employees are fabulous; but zee waxeeng? Well, c’est ne pas pour moi!


Two days later, I’m in the shower. The soreness is gone, and I’m feeling strangely erotic with this new body. I’ve avoided Adolfo in order to surprise him. He’s in his studio of course. I open the top drawer to my armoire and find my sexiest lingerie, a little ensemble I bought in a shop in Paris a few years ago. I put on the black garter belt, the front of which is edged with a line of appliqué and sparkling sequins and finishes with fine lace and embroidered geometric snowflakes around the bottom. Then I slip on the black push-up bra and the matching thong, hiding the new handiwork. I step into my highest pair of black heels.
Yeah! I look hot! Rihanna, honey, you got nothin’ on this cupcake. I tiptoe to Adolfo’s studio and stand in the doorway until he looks up.
His eyes practically roll out of their sockets. “Aye, Marlita! Que sorpresa!” What a surprise!
Offering nothing but a naughty smile, I turn around and walk into the bedroom. Adolfo is hot on my heels and soon kissing me.
“Whatever this is about, I like it!” he says in a soft voice in my ear. “I’ll be right back. Just relax on the bed for a minute.”
He disappears and I sprawl across the deep red bedspread and strike a sexy pose, still in my heels. Adolfo returns with two flutes of champagne.
“This is the Dom Perignon that Rouben gave me for my fiftieth birthday.” He hands me a glass. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.” He links his arm around mine.
Entwined like newlyweds, we sip the golden bubbly.
“Mmmm, delicious,” I whisper.
Adolfo is soon crooning my praises, my beauty, my sexiness.
The lingerie starts to come off, and there, framed by the garter belt, is the artistry of Tres Jolie.
“WOW!”
After that, he murmurs, “This is incredible!…Amazing!…Oh, my God!”And fade to gray…



Want to READ MORE... PURCHASE Heart on the Line via HERE

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AND you can read an interview Marla Martenson did with Reading is Fashionable last year HERE

1 comment:

The Single Nester said...

I used to go to a salon called Tres Jolie. How funny.

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