Florence Gold (A Real-life Encounter)

I took my seat at the table attached 90 degrees from where Julie had just finished trimming and polishing my claws. That’s what my split, sawed-off nails looked like after I’d wrapped two dozen Christmas gifts.  I stuck my hands under the blower when Julie said, “I have to warn you, Pam. My next client is a stage show. She changed her name from Florence Pasokaski to Flo Gold.”

“We just humor her along, but you’ll get a lot of blog material,” Liz chimed in from the station behind Julie. “She’s a real looney-tunes.”

At that moment someone flounced into the salon, waving at Julie and yelling “Hello, ladies,” under her imaginary spotlight. She swirled to the coat stand and deposited her boa and puffer coat, both purple. Next to it she placed the fake fur babushka from her head, revealing a purple wig that stuck out above her ears in stiff strands. Layers of black mascara spiders crawled against her eyelids and down her cheeks.

 “Just call me ‘Flo,’” she said, introducing herself to me as she bent toward Julie’s forehead to plant a loud smack through her mask. “My last name is ‘Gold,’ so if you put it together…get it? Flo Gold…like my Grand Marquis outside – all gold.

“Hello, Julie,” Flo continued, waving her arms above her head to all five of us getting manicures at that moment. “How’s the world’s best nail girl?”

Julie managed a thin smile toward Flo. “We prefer to be called manicurists,” she said. “I’m fine, Flo. Thanks for asking. This is Pam.”

I nodded in Flo’s direction and smiled behind my mask. Flo plopped into the chair behind the Plexiglas separating her from Julie. “How’s your fibro myalgia treating you today?” Julie asked.

“I’m not due for a shot till Monday. It hurts like a pisser. I’ve got to keep my arms above my head as long as possible. And I’m always cold, especially since I had to shave my head. The damn synthetic wigs don’t keep my pate warm. The temperature could be a little warmer in here, by the way.”

“I’ll put it up two degrees while you’re here, but if the other clients complain, I’ll have to turn it back to 70. Why didn’t you wear your purple turtleneck?”

“The pink one matched my pink and white sneakers. Anyway, I’m a Fibro Warrior. I’ve been to the Outer Limits and back.”

“We know that, Flo,” Julie answered with a smirk, adjusting the thermostat. “How’s your love life?”

“Well, I met a new possibility at Starbucks this week. I stopped in for my usual mocha latte and he was sitting at the next table. He’s in his forties and we chit-chatted. I flirted a little and he asked me to dinner on Wednesday night. I met him at Applebee’s and we hit it off. He called me his ‘cougar,’ but he seemed a little scared. Don’t know if it will last.”

“I thought you were still seeing Davy the lifeguard?”

“He was a summer fling. We went out a few times after that. I was making day trips down to Newport to see him but he expected favors in return. Back in September when I asked him to keep the pool temperature at 85, the management fired him. They said members were complaining it was too warm. He blamed me.”

“Didn’t you have a problem with the temperature in your apartment building?” asked Julie, grabbing a shimmery purple polish from the display. “By the way, I assume you want your usual polish?”

“Absolutely no other!” Flo shot back. “The temperature dispute was because I had the apartment on the first floor right inside the outside door, and when it opened, my apartment got cold in the winter. So I asked the maintenance man to turn the thermostat in the hall up five degrees. Well, the other tenants on my floor complained to the landlord it was getting too warm.  I don’t know why drama follows me wherever I go.”

“Did they insulate your front door?” I asked, trapped in Flo’s web. Her spidery mascara should have given me a clue.

“They didn’t do anything and I couldn’t stand it. The cold air seeped right under my door. My purple satin sheets and comforter didn’t keep me warm! I have to sleep in satin, you know, because they’re easy on my fibro pain,” she said, turning to me. “But I had to move. And it was right around the time I lost my job.”

“What a shame!” 

“I used to be a legal secretary before the fibro got bad.”

“Did you wear purple to work every day?” I asked, trying not to giggle.

“Only in winter. I love to see the smiles when I wear my purple! In summer my favorite is my fuchsia camisole and orange short-shorts. I wear them to clean my Grand Marquis, along with my pink neon baseball hat. And I have my tattoo that I can show off.” Flo pulled her pants above her sneakers to reveal a six-inch palm tree against a setting sun. “I got a few good dates with that outfit!”

I could imagine Florence Pasokaski, a.k.a. Flo Gold, sloshing water over her car in her short shorts with her ample bosoms hitting the hood. My guess was she couldn’t be a day under sixty-five.

“The worst was in the summer when I went to the pool at the apartment complex. The chairs have plastic slats and my skin would stick to them and rip. So I wore my wet suit down there. But then I got too hot. I could only stay a few minutes.”

“If you have a wet suit, did you ever snorkel or scuba dive?” I asked.

Flo held onto the edge of the table, doubled over in laughter. “Oh, you just smudged your polish, Flo!” Julie scolded.

“Sorry, Julie. Oh, that’s hilarious – me scuba diving! I’d have to wear a swim cap and I know what the shape of my shaved head looks like – a peeled egg. I need fluff around it. No, I had to get the ridiculous wet suit to sit in the sun. But like I said, it got too hot, even though it was real thin and I’d sit in the shade.”

By this time my nails had dried and I had to give up my seat for Flo. I was reluctant to leave the free entertainment, however.

“Julie, I need to book once a month for the whole year. If I have the appointments in my notebook, my life will be organized. Would you mind writing them in for me?” Flo asked.

Julie picked up Flo’s notebook and the purple pen Flo had placed next to the dryer.

“Every month on a Tuesday, starting four weeks from now?” Julie asked.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” Florence Pasokaski answered.

“Pam, do you need an appointment?”

“Yes, please book me right before Flo’s. I’ve enjoyed every minute,” I said, flinging a scarf around my neck with some of Flo’s flair.

“Likewise, darling. See you next time.”