“Have you tried that hair remover cream?” asked Jennifer.
“Eww, I did,” said Selene with a show of her Colgate teeth. “It burned my skin even worse. What about electrolysis?”
Selene’s parents, both big-time real-estate agents, had enough money for anything she wanted. Selene was the only one of us who didn’t have to survive the Building. The lucky thing lived in a long stretch bungalow over on Bluegrass Crescent.
“Too expensive,” Jennifer dismissed her. “What do you use, Tanya?”
I was going to set into them for even talking about this superficial fluff, but before I could open my mouth Flynn butted his way in.
“My mother plucks the hair on her legs,” he said with pride in his voice.
What! Plucks the hair on her legs! I got an image of Flynn’s mother, three floors below me in the Building, bending over herself in the bathroom with the door locked tight behind her. Hours of plucking, squeezing eyes shut tight with the pain of pulling out one stubborn hair at a time. Why would anyone want to do that?
Flynn smiled. “My mother is the greatest. She has no more hair growing on her legs. Years of plucking have left her legs smooth.”
Flynn noticed his mother’s legs? Did he watch her pluck? Too weird. Even worse, he was proud of his mother for torturing her body. I couldn’t let it go.
“What is this—an ad for silk stockings?” I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for Flynn to hear me.
“What did you say?” asked Flynn, a plop of mustard on his face. His pale brush-cut hair bristled in defense.
I went for it. “Your mother is sure some kind of saint. Plucking hair by hair, year after year—what a sacrifice!”
Flynn and the others had their mouths hanging open wide like donut holes.
“What I wonder is, why would she do it?” I continued, my voice rising. “Why submit to the pain and boredom of plucking the hair that grows there naturally?” I was on a roll now. “For your Dad? To create herself as the ideal woman? What is the matter with hairy legs anyway?” I was yelling now. “We are animals.”
Flynn’s mouth flopped open and shut in speechless amazement. Everyone else stared. You would have thought someone turned off the volume, unplugged the speakers. Even people from the next table were listening in, although I guess they couldn’t help it.
I wasn’t sure how to take all the surprised faces that were turned to me. So I took a bite of my sandwich, chewed slowly with my chin up, and stared at the wall behind Flynn’s head. Never again would I shave or even wax, cream, or pluck a hair on my body. No matter how hairy I got. That razor was trash as soon as I got home.
* * *
THREE MONTHS LATER, I’D GROWN A FULL COAT of leg hair. In my bedroom, I liked to admire my legs in my full-length mirror. The hairs on my legs were dark brown—not like the fair ones on my arms. Yet I liked them—dark serpents released from an underground prison. I was whole, balanced, the way I should be. Although I knew that other people wouldn’t see it that way.
Luckily, it was winter when I let my hair grow, so no one could discourage me. Iain might have unveiled my legs, even touched them, if we were still together. Yet he couldn’t handle me speaking my mind.
Iain and I had been treading water around each other—trying to decide how deep to get. Until he bought an old junker of a car, a real hazard. He had got it for me, he said, so we could be private. When I saw it, I had refused to get in.
“See that black smoke shooting from the exhaust pipe?” I had asked him. “That is death itself.” I told him to ditch the car, but he ditched me instead.
Freedom of speech is such a turn-off to some. Leg hair might be an even bigger turn-off.
* * *
I KEPT MY LEG HAIR TO MYSELF. Until, in spring, the freak greenhouse-effect hot weather arrived. Mag Jennings, the Building super, ordered two old guys to clean up the pool a bit and stir in enough chlorine to give us all cancer. Humans are such a curse to nature.
The pool wasn’t a total rat-hole. The concrete around it was rough enough to shred a bathing suit, but a cool splash was worth it when my apartment turned into a sauna. Leg hair or not, I started to get the idea of swimming. So did Selene, who called Jennifer one Saturday morning, and Jennifer called me. We all gathered at Jennifer’s apartment to get ready.
I knew Jennifer and Selene would probably make a fuss over my leg hair and I tried not to care about what they would think. They would hardly notice. It was a statement for myself. Yeah, sure.
Right away in the musty steam that had been captured by the Building and routed into Jennifer’s room, Jennifer and Selene were trying not to stare.
Jennifer was in a simple black bathing suit, of course. Very goth. Selene had the latest two-piece. I was struggling into my too-small floral suit from last year, trying not to fall over as I strained to pull it over my thighs.
“What?” I pretended not to know what they were staring at.
Jennifer ran a hand along my hairy leg and pretended to prick herself on some stubble. I smacked her hand away. She had it all wrong. My leg hair was soft and warm. When I stroked it, it was a fuzzy peach under my hand.
“Did you lose your razor?” asked Jennifer with a vampire’s smile—she was showing her fangs. Then she and Selene exploded into the laughter they could hold back no longer.
“Like maybe you should braid it?” said Selene.
“Or tie it with ribbons!” said Jennifer.
The walls of Jennifer’s room were plastered with magazine cutouts of beautiful women in stunning black outfits. Perfect women. Sexy women. I began to feel their scornful eyes on me. How could Jennifer stand it?
“OK, enough. It’s just a little leg hair,” I said, but I was wondering if I should try to get out of swimming. If Jennifer and Selene made fun of me, what would people around the pool do?
We headed to the elevator, with them still laughing. I tried to tell myself that no one would really notice.
* * *
KIDS, TEENS, AND OLD LEERING MEN packed the pool. Sidney was there with her man Clive. I saw Louis with a few friends, and a cute lifeguard up on his perch. Tony shot angry darts at Jennifer. I guess he wasn’t over her yet.
I put one leg carefully in front of the other, as if that would hide them from everyone. Then I heard Tony say, “Scope the legs on Tanya!”
I felt my cheeks heat up. I slouched behind Jennifer and Selene, who were collecting admiring looks.
“Her mama was a gorilla,” yelled a guy I didn’t know, and people laughed with him. Jennifer and Selene laughed, too.
The heat of the day pressed in on me. Where could I hide? Everyone was doing a double-o to get a good look at my leg hair. You would think I had a mucus dewdrop hanging from my nose, or terminal acne. I should have known this would happen. I should never have come swimming.
Then I saw Flynn. To greet the heat, he had shaved the blond hair on his head down to only a thin coat of fuzz. His gray eyes were dusty, dark, and full of shadows. Was he still mad at me for talking about his mother?
I didn’t much want him to notice me so I ditched my towel in the patchy grass and raced for the pool.
As I neared the safety of the water, Flynn planted himself in front of me. His red towel hung from his shoulders and down over his skinny body.
He puffed his chest out. The words worked up from deep inside him. He said, “That’s a serious skin condition, Tanya. Guess you can’t swim in the pool today. The sign says ‘No open sores or infections.’” He pointed at the wooden sign by the lifeguard chair.
Of course, my legs are not the shapely sort displayed in every music video ever made. Mine look more like timber—thick, gnarly, and wooden. And the hair did take on the look of black fungus. I could see what he was talking about.
Yet Flynn, with his spindle arms and doughy stomach, couldn’t see the whole picture. I was all natural now—the way I was meant to be. If I started worrying about leg hair, what would be next? First, a little exercise to
flatten the bulge of my stomach? Then, maybe a cabbage-only diet? Then, a part-time job to save for a breast reduction?
A crowd was gathered around now, hovering back a bit, watching my face. Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes. I could either run away crying or give them a show. So I gathered my courage, flashed my legs in my best Marilyn Monroe strut, and uncorked the natural me.
“What? These little old hairs on my legs? That’s just leg fungus. Only mildly contagious.”
You would have thought that spores were floating in the wind toward them—spores of the deadly leg fungus. I could even see a B-grade movie in my head—The Attack of the Killer Leg Fungus. Barbie-doll girls running in every direction away from the cloud of spores. Running from the ultimate attack—an attack against the perfection of flawless, hairless skin.
Really, some people did laugh, but most everyone took one giant step away from me—they couldn’t even take a joke. I strutted to the pool’s edge and tried to dive like an Olympic medal winner since all eyes were on me.
The cool water muffled the voices and the laughter. I swam until I had no more breath then burst to the surface. I squinted over at Flynn in time to see his red face. I had upstaged him—squashed his joke with a better one. He was standing still, embarrassed and angry, as if someone had just pulled down his swimming trunks and left him naked for all to see. I would have to be cautious of him for a long time.
Jennifer surprised me then. “Bag your face, Flynn. It’s just a little leg hair.”
I couldn’t believe it. Jennifer was speaking up for me. Selene looked sympathetic for a moment, then she said, “Sure looks like some kind of fungus though.”
The vampire and the model broke into another giggle fit. I sighed. Flynn scurried over to Tony. The crowd broke up. The show was over. Time to move on to the next victim.
From the water, I glared up at Jennifer and Selene, who were still giggling, and thought about how I desperately wanted to leave. To run up to my apartment and shave my legs with Dad’s razor. Because I had enough trouble keeping up with Jennifer and Selene. Because I had enough trouble getting noticed by the guys. I didn’t need this. What was the use of making a statement if I had to wear jeans all summer just to hide my legs?
Then I got a vision of myself, balancing on the edge of the tub with the bathroom door locked, just like Flynn’s mother. Lathering and then pulling the razor up my leg from ankle to knee with a jerky stroke. The blade wouldn’t glide over my skin. It would jump over my stubborn hairs and rip my flesh. I would have to shave twice to do the job right. Swish the hair, blood, and soap down the drain. Bandage the biggest wounds. A punishment for doubting myself.
No. I couldn’t give up now. Shaving would mean defeat. It was worth it to stand up for what I believed in. I liked both my thick brown hairs and my downy blond ones. I would not buy into the beauty myth, no matter what anyone said.
Just then, Jennifer and Selene jumped into the water near me. I tried to forget about how they had laughed at my hair and remember how Jennifer had stood up for me.
Jennifer’s head bobbed out of the water on one side of me. Selene was on the other.
“Thanks.” I half-smiled at Jennifer as she wiped the water from her eyes.
She smiled then raised her hand out flat toward me.
I met Jennifer in a high five.
“Girl power!” Selene yelled.
“I hate when you say that!” I glared at Selene.
Selene shrugged and dove under the water toward the cute lifeguard sitting high up in his chair. Jennifer headed after her. I lay back, took in a deep breath of chlorine and salt, and let the water hold me up. The sky was so blue it stung my eyes.
The Queen of Spades
Jennifer
Apt. 721
I HAD TO LOOK GOOD. Max was in town. One last check in the full-length mirror by the door.
“Why do you always wear black?” Johnny stood behind me in the kitchen with the fridge open, probably hoping that some fully cooked tidbit would miraculously appear. A laugh track exploded from the TV in the living room.
“Because I’m misunderstood.”
In his gray sweats and brown plaid shirt, my brother could give me nightmares. I twirled open my favorite lipstick, Ruby Nightshade, and puckered at my reflection.
“What do you mean?” He sniffed a tinfoil package then shoved it back in the fridge.
If only he knew.
“Like in the middle ages, when they burned country women at the stake just because they knew healing herbs.”
Dark burgundy lips, glistening wet. So dark they were almost black. Against my white skin the effect was stunning. I ruffled my hair, Mystic Raven #26, and scrunched the long snaky curls into shape.
“What are you talking about?” Johnny scratched his head. The fridge puffed out cool air.
“Black is for the mysterious and misunderstood.” I turned sideways and examined my profile in the mirror. A black vinyl dress with fishnets and lace-up boots. My thick waist barely showed. “And it takes off inches. Very slimming.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m misunderstood.” I wrinkled my nose at the rank fridge smell. Cute look. Wrinkled again. Got to use that. I snapped my makeup bag shut and dropped it into my leather bag.
“I’m out of here, baby bro. Stay out of trouble.”
“You too.”
I slammed the apartment door. Max, here I come.
In the hall, old Berta Streetwater from 710 widened her eyes when she saw me. She wore a matted orange robe with matching slippers and held a plastic bag of garbage in one hand. Curlers in her hair and sloppy salmon lipstick.
Morbid fashion statement. I ignored her. On the way to the elevator, I practiced my catwalk. Shoulders back, chest out, high stepping, hips swaying. I could lure anyone to me—guy or girl. Sizzle.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Bill stepped out—he was my mother’s latest. Berta stood between us, by the garbage chute.
“Where’re you going?” Bill wore a white T-shirt under his dirty spring jacket. His fat hung over his belt. Disgusting.
I flipped my hair over my shoulder and wiggled my hips wider as I passed by Bill and Berta, with her reeking garbage. The elevator doors clanged shut.
“Answer me, girl.” Bill grabbed for my arm but I slipped out of his grip.
“Out.”
No way I was going to let him get hold of me again. Creep. He’d made a pass at me more times than Tony had.
Nosey Berta dumped her garbage slowly so she wouldn’t miss the scene. It clattered down the chute.
“Get back here,” Bill bellowed.
Berta snorted, then scurried back toward her apartment. No help from her.
The lights showed the elevator was up on the tenth. I dove down the stairs.
* * *
IN THE LOBBY THE SUPER, Mag Jennings, was scrubbing graffiti off the wall by the elevator. One circular cream spot on the yellowed wall.
“Hey, Mag!” I called as I whizzed by her.
Mag was a tough old broad and I liked her for it. She nodded at me then puffed on the cigarette between her lips. A long ash fell into her pail with a hiss. That woman smoked two packs a day and would brag to anyone how she hadn’t got cancer yet. Not much of a role model, until you saw her stand up to a couple of street punks.
The lobby smelled stale. Disgusting. Tanya was waiting for me inside the front doors in faded jeans that showed how wide her hips really were and a lumpy hot-pink sweater. Tony and Flynn were there, too—probably looking for something to do.
“Nice outfit. You wearing that to the club?” I said, trying to give her a gentle fashion hint.
Flynn was checking me out without trying to hide it, but Tony just glared at me. He’d been mad since I’d ditched him a couple months back. I hoped he’d get over it soon. I really had liked him; I just didn’t want him. How could I explain?
“And you’re going for the skanky look?” Tanya looked me up and down
.
You had to love Tanya’s mouth. “You know it.” I smiled at her and gave her a hug.
“Which club?” Flynn asked.
I decided to test my flirting powers, just to see if I still had it. Tracing one black fingernail down Flynn’s cheek and onto his throat like a knife, I said, “You wouldn’t be thinking of following us, would you?”
My breasts were about level with his eyes. Flynn gulped, glanced at my breasts then up to my face. He was smiling and his cheeks were scarlet.
Beside Flynn, Tony was shuffling his feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw he had that hungry, needy look. God, he still wanted me. You’d think he’d move on.
I looked back to Flynn and lost interest. He was such a scrawny mouse. Tony looked like an Italian thug, but he had a bleeding heart. I couldn’t hurt him anymore. I pulled back my hand and adjusted my dress over my breasts.
“Well, you’re not coming. Girls’ night out. We’re meeting Max.”
Tony got his mad face on. “Who said we wanted to?”
Flynn’s smile fell. “Who?”
I didn’t bother to enlighten him. Max was Selene’s cousin-by-second-marriage from New York. Her full name was Maxine but I liked her better as Max. She was max, too.
Like last summer, when we’d spent that week at Selene’s cottage. It was right after Petra ran away from the Building for a luxurious life on the streets. What was she thinking? Anyway, Selene was up in the cottage getting drinks. Max and I were on the dock, soaking up the sun.
“Could you do my back?” Max had asked.
I’d rubbed the lotion into her creamy mocha skin. She slung her feathery dark hair down over one shoulder and turned to me. With one arm holding her hair to the side, she half-closed her eyes and blew me a kiss. “Thanks, babe.” Her lips glistened wet. Did she mean it? I wanted to kiss her for real, but I couldn’t. It was Max that stopped me. What would she do? Would she think I was a freak? Maybe I was.
Take the Stairs Page 12
