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eighty-two f

Arizona Again

A s the calendar turned to 1996, I called a realtor who warned me I’d take a loss on my condo. I knew if I didn’t take a loss in real estate, I’d take a greater loss in life. I signed the listing agreement.

In June, I celebrated my ten-year anniversary of sobriety and mourned the one-year end of my marriage. But my realtor had lined up a buyer.

I had a vacation coming up in late July. I needed to see Arizona one more time to make sure my dream was still alive. I wanted Suzi to make the trip with me, but she was needed at the salon, so I decided to make the trip solo. I booked a flight to Phoenix and five nights at a small boutique hotel. The trip would put me in debt, but if I didn’t go, I’d always regret it.

I deserve to live my dream. Those words kept me going until my plane landed. Once I left the airport in my rental car, I felt I was where I belonged.

Give it time. Don’t just assume. Those words ran through my head on the way to Scottsdale. Once I parked the car and stood on the adobe porch of my hotel, I knew for certain I was home.

How would I coordinate the move? Details and obstacles assaulted me until I let it all go. I told myself at best, I’d find a job and a place to live. At worst, I’d fly back to Jersey, rent a small apartment, and keep my job at Blissful.

If it’s meant to happen, everything will fall into place.

My hotel offered free copies of the Arizona Republic , the state’s largest daily newspaper. I combed the classifieds for salon jobs and found several that looked promising. I bought a detailed map of Phoenix and Scottsdale and circled the locations. I knew I wanted to work and live in Scottsdale, but I needed guidance.

Guidance came in the form of an elderly couple who joined me on the porch. They were elegantly dressed, and the woman’s nails were done to perfection.

“Your manicure is beautiful,” I said.

“I found the best manicurist not far from here. I’ve got her card here somewhere.” She rummaged through her handbag and handed me a business card.

“Thank you.”

“Are you here on holiday?” she asked.

“I’m hoping to move here. I’m on a fact-finding mission.”

She laughed. “My name is Charlotte. My husband is Harold.”

“I’m Ava. Nice to meet you.”

Harold nodded and picked up his newspaper.

“What kind of work are you looking for?”

“I’m a nail technician. I saw some ads in the paper, but I know nothing about which areas are good.”

“Maybe I can help. We’ve wintered here for the past fifteen years. We’re down from Canada for a wedding.”

I handed Charlotte the map. She took a mechanical pencil and circled different areas. “Here and here are the best neighborhoods for shopping and business. Are you looking to buy or rent?”

“Rent, at least for now.”

“And what about your husband and children?”

A cloud passed across my vision, but it soon passed. “I’m divorced. My children are grown.”

“You may want to check out rentals over here.” Charlotte drew another circle. “They built apartments and condominiums back in the ’70s.”

We chatted until she and Harold left for dinner. I thanked her and wondered if I’d just met another angel.

I ordered room service and spent the rest of my evening scanning the Yellow Pages and mapping out a route for the following day.

My first stop was Glamour Nails, the salon Charlotte recommended. They had no openings but took a copy of my resume and a letter of recommendation written by one of my favorite clients.

It’s not meant to be.

I drove through the business district, stopping at every salon with no luck.

It’s not meant to be. How many times would I repeat the phrase before giving up?

I checked my watch and saw it was after two o’clock. I needed a break and stopped at a café near the residential area Charlotte had pointed out. Even though the mercury was topping 110 degrees, I sat outside, greedy for every breath of dry heat.

My avocado salad was total perfection, not like the avocados back home that were hard one day and rotten the next. As I nibbled, I noticed Harmony Spa in an upscale strip mall across the street. I didn’t remember seeing it in the Yellow Pages. I decided to check it out.

A smiling receptionist greeted me when I entered.

“I’m here about a job. I’m a nail tech,” I said, trying to radiate confidence.

“Really? Let me get Rebecca, the owner.”

I couldn’t imagine why she acted so surprised and eager to find her boss.

As I waited, I checked out the business. Their overhead menu included hair, facials, waxing, and massage in addition to nails. Prices were in line with New Jersey prices, unlike the other salons I’d visited, whose prices were significantly lower.

Despite the pricing, the place hummed with activity. Soft back-ground music blended with the southwestern decor. A light scent of lavender floated through the air.

“Hi, I’m Rebecca.” A forty-something brunette held out her hand.

“I’m Ava Stanton.” I loved saying my new name.

“How did you know we were hiring?” she asked.

They’re hiring! “I took a chance and walked in. Here’s my resume and a letter of recommendation.”

“You’re from New Jersey?”

“I’m moving to Scottsdale,” I said. “I’m here for a few days looking for a job and a place to live.”

“Well, Ava Stanton, you’re in luck. Our lead manicurist gave notice today. When can you start?”

When can I start? I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“I need to go back to Jersey, give notice at my job, and arrange for a mover. Probably not for two weeks.”

“Hmm, two weeks? Our manicurist will be leaving in ten days,” Rebecca said.

Please, God, make it work.

“I’m a great believer in fate,” Rebecca said after a moment. “It’s summer, our slow season. We should be able to work things out. Okay, you’re hired!”

If it’s meant to happen, everything will fall into place.

“Thank you! Now all I need is a place to live.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Rebecca said. “Come with me. We’ll fill out some paperwork, and I’ll give you leads on apartments.”

July and August were prime months to find rentals, as most snowbirds had flown home for the summer. Landlords were eager to rent to a year-round tenant. The apartments were nice enough, but none felt right.

If it’s meant to happen, everything will fall into place. I had two more days to find my ideal home.

The next morning, I stopped at a charming adobe community a few miles from Harmony Spa. The manager showed me two units overlooking garages and dumpsters—not my idea of a southwestern landscape.

“I got one more unit, but it’s fifty bucks more a month,” the manager said.

“Fifty bucks more than what?” I asked.

He quoted me the monthly rent. I knew salaries were lower in Arizona than New Jersey, but judging from what I’d seen at Harmony Spa, I was confident I could earn enough to swing it.

He took me to a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. The living room and bedroom floors were done in deep-pile, beige carpeting, the bathroom and kitchen in beige tile. From a small balcony, I had a view of the community pool and distant mountains.

Without hesitation I said, “I’ll take it!”

Back at my hotel, I sat on the porch and contemplated my good fortune. At age fifty-two, when most lives were winding down, mine was beginning to take shape. I spent my final day in Scottsdale enjoying the sights and sounds of the city.