When my colleague said the Countess had arrived, I laughed before looking toward the door. That was what we called Mrs. Anka, who always wanted the same appointment, the same cup, and a cushion behind her back. She was tidy, polite, and slow taking off her coat. None of it justified the nickname, but nicknames were how you showed you belonged in the salon. New employees learned them alongside the towel arrangement.
That morning Anka was already behind the screen, changing shoes soaked by the rain. She heard my colleague say the royal court needed special preparations again. She heard my laugh too, the loudest in the room. When she emerged, nobody immediately noticed anything wrong. She put her wet shoes in a bag and asked whether the cushion was such a problem. Suddenly everyone found something to examine on the floor.
The owner tried explaining that it was an affectionate nickname. Anka said she had not asked what to call the nickname but whether her visits bothered us. At that moment I could stand beside her or beside the story protecting us. I said we had only been joking. The moment I said it, I saw her look more hurt. For years I had washed her hair and heard about the husband who no longer left their home.
She made no scene. She put on her coat, declined the offer of a free haircut, and said she would call another time. We knew she would not. After she left, the owner became angry with the new worker for not warning us Anka was behind the screen. I could no longer bear how easily we found the wrong person to blame. I said the problem was not who heard us. It was why we found a woman asking for comfort funny.
My colleagues looked at me like a traitor who had been the merriest person ten minutes earlier. They were right that I had participated. So I gave no lecture. I called Anka and apologized for my laughter, without inviting her back. She said she was sorry she had believed we had become close. I had no sentence that could remove that sadness from her or make the conversation easier for me.
We stopped using nicknames in the salon. The atmosphere was stiff for several weeks, and the owner claimed people could no longer say anything. Anka found another salon. I sometimes see her at the market, and we greet each other politely, like two women who know each other superficially. When I arrange a cushion for a new customer, I do not imagine it has made me a better person. I simply arrange it and ask whether she is comfortable now.