“We don’t have choices here. They roll us down the hall and park us here. We have good manners, so we sit here with people like you who come to do ‘volunteer’ work with the ‘elderly,’” another woman, this one with flaming red hair, said. Her name was Rita. Rita the Red.

“While I would agree with encouraging you to participate in things you enjoy, I would disagree that you are obligated to sit here with me and make nice in order to make me feel better about myself. Do any of you ladies wish to play dominoes?” Olivia asked, understanding now why her table had been so morose compared to Chase’s. These ladies didn’t want to play games and make forced conversation.

She glanced around at the five assembled, two in wheelchairs. They shrugged their shoulders and looked uncomfortable. Finally, Erma said, “We don’t mean to be rude.”

“You’re not. What would you like to do? If anything?”

“I’d like someone to do my nails,” one of the ladies said, holding up a hand threaded with blue veins and spotted with decades of living. “I used to have such pretty nails. My hands would look better if my nails were painted.”

“And I want my hair to look good, like my daughter’s. Patrice comes to wash and trim it in our beauty shop, but she can’t style it. I always look like a sticker burr or like someone shaped my hair into a helmet, which is probably better than the burr look,” another lady said. Her hair did, indeed, look burr-ish.

Chase had turned to look over at them, obviously having heard the comments about hair and nails. “What’s going on over there?”

Olivia leaned back. “Chase, are you up for doing a spa day next week for these ladies?”

Chase pushed away from her table of attentive gentlemen and rose. There were groans from several of the men as Chase came to stand beside Olivia. “You wanna do a spa day? Like what? Skin care or beauty?”

“Nails, hair, maybe makeup?” Olivia said, shooting a questioning look at her group.

The older women had perked up like wilted daisies given water. Their former bored expressions had disappeared, replaced with contained excitement. They shifted looks back and forth to each other.

“Oh, that will be fun. I know so many tricks from all the makeup artists I worked with over the years,” Chase said, snagging a nearby chair and dragging it over to the table, next to Rita the Red. “Olivia, I bet you’re good at painting nails, all precise and whatnot, and I can totally do the makeup. If Neve’s still here, she can do hair. Didn’t you say she used to work in a salon?”

“Neve’s leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh, well, we’ll find someone else. You think Zeke’s good at hair?” Chase looked so delighted with herself.