It was an ordinary rainy morning. Lara was the first to arrive at the salon to open up; a few minutes later, Victoria and Macarena arrived. The three formed a great team, regardless of the fact that the salon belonged to Lara.
— “You look terrible!”
— “Well, look at yourself!” Victoria replied.
— “Look, I only said it in case something was wrong,” Macarena excused herself.
Lara began to cry inconsolably. “Today Doña Cayetana is coming—the one who fired my husband and my mother. I have no desire to serve her, and on top of that, I can’t exercise the right of admission because we’re in a shopping center.”
Encarni put her hand on Lara’s shoulder to comfort her, while Macarena flared up like a match.
— “She has my husband miserable with so much work, and she even takes away his Saturday breaks. She’s an exploiter! She takes advantage of the fact that there’s no work in this city,” Macarena exclaimed, irritated.
Lara looked at Macarena, agreeing with her.
— “At least she hasn’t done anything to you,” Lara said, looking at Victoria.
— “My grandfather died in the factory, trapped by one of the machines. The safety system didn’t work.”
Lara and Macarena were stunned; she had never said anything about it.
— “That kind of person doesn’t deserve to exist,” Macarena exclaimed.
Lara and Macarena looked at each other.
— “You’re absolutely right.”
— “And what if we make her cease to exist?” Macarena suggested.
— “If only it were possible!”
— “Sometimes a little helping hand doesn’t hurt. She played a game against God and lost; the moneylender was Satan,” Victoria intoned.
— “That sounds macabre,” Lara exclaimed.
— “It probably is,” Macarena affirmed. “But… would you do it? I’m willing.”
Lara and Victoria looked at each other before responding.
— “We’re willing.”
The three made a tacit pact.
— “How shall we do it?” Lara asked.
— “I know she takes anti-anxiety meds and usually carries them in her bag,” Victoria said.
— “Then she’s used to taking them,” Macarena asserted.
— “She might be used to them, but she’s still a person, even if she seems like the devil reincarnated. With an excessive dose, she’ll die.”
— “If they do an autopsy, they’ll find us out,” Lara replied.
— “I don’t think someone so important,” Macarena said in an ironic and petulant tone, “gets an autopsy.”
— “That would be a risk,” Lara declared.
— “Can you think of any other way?” Macarena asked.
— “She once mentioned she was diabetic,” Lara commented.
— “Do you want us to wait for her blood sugar to drop?” Victoria said.
— “No. What Lara needs is for Doña Cayetana’s sugar to spike,” Lara explained.
— “Precisely!”
— “It’s not a bad idea. But where do we get the medication?” Macarena asked.
— “She always carries insulin and painkillers in her bag. If we add it to the café au lait, we’ll have the perfect combination—a Molotov cocktail,” Victoria clarified.
— “Sometimes you’re scary,” Lara commented in a sibilant voice.
— “You started it,” Victoria said, offended.
— “Alright! Either we all agree or we don’t do it.”
Macarena looked at her colleagues, waiting for a response.
— “And who will do it?” Lara asked.
— “All of us at once. That way, none of us can be exempt from the crime,” Macarena explained.
A tense and uncomfortable silence fell; each thought of her own personal situation, the solution to her problems, and the consequences of such an act.
— “Works for me,” Lara affirmed, extending her arm with her palm down.
— “Count me in,” Victoria confirmed, placing her hand over Lara’s.
— “I’m joining too,” Macarena replied, placing her hand over Lara’s and Victoria’s.
Now it was an explicit agreement.
They turned on all the recessed ceiling lights and aligned the five chairs against the mirrors in perfect order. Sunlight streamed through the large windows while the branches of the tall trees swayed to the beat of the wind, leaves falling to brush against the glass. The north wind boded no good.
— “Macarena, you’ll take her coat and bag to hang it in the hallway closet, and while you’re putting them away, you’ll take the insulin and the tranquilizers,” Lara said.
— “I’ll go to offer her a seat and keep her distracted,” Victoria indicated.
— “Then… Lara, what will you do?” Macarena asked.
— “I’ll be attending to the previous client and I’ll wait discreetly for you to come while I offer her coffee. Doña Cayetana will feel jealous because she believes she has the right to be treated better than anyone else. She’ll end up asking for one too.”
— “Ha! You’re one of a kind!” Victoria exclaimed.
— “We can make her feel cold so she’ll want it more,” Macarena suggested.
— “It won’t be necessary. She has an exorbitant ego—so much so that it seeps from every pore of her wretched skin.”
— “Very well, ladies! Ready! Let the show begin!”
The doors opened, and a new client entered, looking quirky: dark hair—or it had been once, as currently she had far too many gray hairs—with an olive complexion, dressed in a hippie style but from a bygone era. She was from another city and seemed to be far too talkative and, “how to put it?” annoying—the kind you’re dying to get rid of. On the other hand, she was perfect for provoking Doña Cayetana.
Before she entered, they put her gown on, then accompanied her to the seat to find out what she wanted done to her hair.
The client went on at length with every explanation; what she needed was a cut, full dye, highlights, and treatment. Listening to her talk was like the continuous hum of a mosquito stuck to your ear—one you can’t manage to see but whose presence you hear latently. In this case, she was very visible because she went out of her way to be seen.
They sat her at the washbasin, and even then, she didn’t stop chattering. She was tireless! On the other hand, she would be an excellent witness.
Doña Cayetana poked her head over the counter, ringing the reception bell insistently. She wore a fur coat; her hair was golden blonde, eyes brown, nose aquiline, and mouth small.
The plan began. Everything was running smoothly, though one thing is the plan and quite another is the execution. Macarena almost dropped the insulin and the tranquilizers when she pulled them from the bag to put them in her uniform pocket.
Lara, meanwhile, was cutting the talkative client’s hair. It was then that she offered her a coffee, which she of course accepted while telling an anecdote that had happened to her.
— “Victoria, please, prepare a coffee for the lady,” Lara indicated.
— “Right away,” she confirmed, dropping the clean dusting cloth.
Cayetana thought they were preparing it for her and smiled with pride.
The talkative lady looked at Doña Cayetana, and not exactly from the corner of her eye.
— “You’re the owner of several factories, aren’t you? I bet I’m not wrong.”
Doña Cayetana looked at her with a certain disdain and dislike.
— “I am.”
— “You’ve been in several magazines; I love reading gossip magazines. You wouldn’t believe it, but every day I go to the newsstand near my house, because I just love to talk and of course… what was I saying?…”
Doña Cayetana thought that woman must have plenty of time to chatter in such a manner, with such unmeasured confidence.
Victoria made her grand entrance; it seemed her steps were headed toward Doña Cayetana, but at the last instant, she swerved to place the coffee on the small table beside the other client.
The coffee was worthy of admiration: a Viennese coffee, strong and topped with cream, with ground cinnamon sprinkled over it and a short cinnamon stick. Beside the glass cup, on the saucer, was a black straw.
While the lady beside her exclaimed her happiness, Macarena continued applying the dye to Doña Cayetana’s hair.
— “I’m cold.”
— “Would you like a coffee?” Macarena asked, finishing the task.
— “Yes.”
— “Perfect. Victoria, could you put a coffee on?”
— “Seeing how good you are at making coffees, let mine be the same,” she commented, offended.
— “Of course, wouldn’t have it any other way.”
— “I hope you’re better at that than at salon tasks,” she said with disdain.
— “Hey! That’s very rude!” the talkative client exclaimed. “If you don’t like it, don’t come; there’s no need to insult.”
— “Now you’re not using the familiar tone with me?” Doña Cayetana asked with disdain. “Mind your own business.”
The talkative lady tapped Lara’s hand and made a gesture for her to ignore such an unpleasant comment.
— “I’ll be back in a moment,” Lara told the client, looking at her in the mirror.
— “Don’t worry, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”
The client thought that the one pretending to be a lady had offended the salon staff, and the poor girl affected had gone to calm herself down.
— “Macarena, can you come here for a moment?!”
— “Coming.”
Macarena removed the dye bowl from the trolley along with the brush and took it to the other room.
— “Are you going to refill it?”
— “It needs a little more.”
Doña Cayetana remained with a serious expression.
— “Don’t forget the coffee.”
Macarena smiled and tried to hide the relief of never having to serve her again.
— “Good things come to those who wait,” Macarena responded.
— “I never wait.”
— “Of course not,” Macarena said while thinking—“you only get rid of everyone without a second thought, for your own benefit.”
Victoria had crushed the pills and mixed them with the coffee that Lara had made and stirred with a teaspoon; Macarena added the insulin to the coffee and then topped it with whipped cream. Victoria placed the cinnamon stick and Lara the cinnamon sugar. They looked at each other and felt a sense of happiness—an odd sensation.
— “Done,” Lara said.
— “Wait, it’s missing a cookie,” Victoria clarified.
— “Do you think the ‘cookie’ we’re giving her isn’t enough?” Macarena commented.
— “Shhh… girls, that’s enough. Victoria, take her the coffee.”
— “Why me?”
Lara looked at her silently, mulling over the question she had just asked.
— “You’re right. I’ll do it,” Lara said.
She took the coffee and headed toward the small table beside Doña Cayetana.
Macarena took a cookie to the quirky, talkative client.
Victoria approached Doña Cayetana’s head and acted as if she were checking the dye.
— “It seems it’s not taking. Lara, bring over the hood dryer!”
— “How incompetent! At least wait until I’ve had my coffee.”
Lara held Victoria’s arm.
— “She’s right; let’s let her have her coffee in peace. There’ll be time enough to put the hood dryer on.”
— “Thank you. Finally, some coherence.”
Doña Cayetana drank the coffee, and before it could start to take effect, they covered her head with the dryer. Meanwhile, the other client continued chattering non-stop until she noticed that the lady beside her had fallen asleep.
— “Excuse me! I think that lady has fallen asleep,” the talkative client said to Victoria.
— “Could be,” she responded.
Macarena and Lara went to check on her and verified her vital signs, then looked at Doña Cayetana’s wristwatch. About 25 minutes had passed; there was no pulse. Only the area under the dryer was warm; the rest was cold.
— “Doña Cayetana, wake up!” Lara shouted, feigning alarm.
— “I’m going to call an ambulance,” Macarena exclaimed.
Macarena went inside and poured herself a glass of water with total tranquility.
— “My God! She was terribly rude, but what a pity. Have you called yet?” the talkative lady asked, concerned, looking at the time on the wall clock.
— “For heaven’s sake! Of course we’ve called.”
— “It doesn’t matter. I’ll call my son; I’m sure he’ll answer.”
— “Your son?”
— “Yes. He’s the provincial commissioner. Don’t worry, he’ll help us.”
The talkative lady went to the cloakroom, grabbed her bag, took out her phone, and tried to call her son.
— “There’s no signal.”