I smiled pleasantly at the mutton-chopped man sitting in the chair in front of me. To be honest, guys getting pedicures always creep me out a bit, but hey, a tip’s a tip. So, smiling a little bigger, I looked down at his feet.
“What the…” Glad I was wearing gloves, I reached forward and pulled something from between his toes. “Sir, is this—is this a letter from a keyboard?”
He glanced down. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been looking for X.”
Usually I try not to ask questions about what I find between people’s toes, but I just had to. “How did it get stuck there?”
He leaned back, motioning me to start the soak. “Well, I was always telling writers that a monkey with a keyboard could write a better novel. Then I was fighting with Grisham, that old idiot, and I told him I could probably hack out a better novel typing blindly with my toes. Last weekend Top Chef was reruns, so I decided to do just that.”
“You wrote a novel with your toes?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Turns out I was right—just sold it at auction in a three book deal.”
Shocked, I started trimming. It wasn’t pretty.
“Hey, watch it!” he grumbled. “Random House just insured these toes for three million. As a matter of fact…” he said, pausing thoughtfully, “writing that novel was a lot of work. Have you ever considered a career in insurance fraud?”
“Will I have to look at your feet again?”
I thought about it for a minute. “Do I have to read the novel?”
I sighed. “Nevermind then. Just don’t stiff me on the tip,” I said, as I offered him a choice between clear and buff polish.