by Jan Freed
“And, um, you know who’s right for him?”
The blush creeping up her friend’s neck spoke for itself.
“I see.” Laura pulled on her straw and sighed. “A fine pair we are.”
Brenda Lee looked startled, then triumphant. She slapped her palm on the table. “I knew it! Thank goodness you came to your senses. Watching you and Alec sniff at each other through a fence has been frustrating as hell.”
Laura didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You’re frustrated? I’m sick to death of that fence. I just don’t know how to get through it. Or if I should even try.”
Amazed at how easily the words came, she straightened and flagged down a passing waiter. No sense killing a good buzz. “Two frozen margaritas, please. With salt.”
“Are you serious?”
“I like salt.”
“No, about getting through that fence.”
Laura didn’t like the evangelical gleam in those big green eyes. She backpedaled. “Let’s not get carried away now. Tequila has a way of doing my talking for me.”
Brenda Lee shook a pink lacquered nail. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not squirming out of this on a technicality—I’ve got evidence. You confessed plain as day. You’re sick of the fence—and I’m going to help you get rid of it. Case closed.”
Their waiter arrived, removing two empty glasses and setting down replacements. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”
“A good lawyer maybe?” Laura asked.
“Nothing right now, thank you,” Brenda Lee said sweetly. The minute his back was turned, her eyes narrowed. “Very funny. Just don’t plan anything for Saturday. We’re going shopping.”
Clutching the stem of her glass, Laura adopted a reasoning tone. “I can’t afford to go shopping. Besides, there’s not a thing wrong with my clothes.”
“Not if you’re Whistler’s mother.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t go getting all huffy. She’s a classy old broad. But covering up your body from head to toe is a crime.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“See? That’s exactly what I mean. I’m tired of hearing you put yourself down. It’s time you accept the fact you’re a beautiful woman and make the most of it.”
Laura sipped her drink and glared, feeling a twinge of belated sympathy for Harold. “But—”
“Don’t tell me you can’t afford to give yourself a treat, either. You live like a spartan. You’ve got to have a little stashed away.”
She did. But it wasn’t for clothes.
“So get that gloomy look off your face, because by the time I’m finished, you won’t have to worry about getting through that fence. Alec will kick the damn thing down!”
Somewhere deep inside, an embryo of hope fluttered to life. Grabbing her straw, Laura ducked her head and didn’t lift it until she heard the sputter of air.
Brenda Lee frowned. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
I’m scared. What if I make a fool of myself?
“Well?”
“Oh, waiter?” Laura called, lifting a weaving finger. “One more margarita, please.”
* * *
“I‘LL GET YOU for this, Brenda Lee,” Laura grumbled seconds before a steamy towel swathed her face.
Pleasant experience, ha! So far, her muscles had been pounded like cheap meat. The hair had been ripped from her legs like plucked feathers. Being cooked alive was the last insult.
“Quit whining and let Marilyn do her job,” Brenda Lee called from across the salon. “No pain, no gain.”
I’ll give you pain, Laura thought, forced into silence by the gentle pressure of hands on the towel. Why she’d agreed to a beauty make-over before the shopping trip she would never know. No, that wasn’t quite true.
Damn those margaritas at lunch.
“There, that should be long enough.” The beautician unwrapped the moist cloth and stooped to inspect Laura’s pores.
“Are you finished?” Laura asked. “Or do you like your clients well-done?”
Chuckling, the red-haired owner of A Beautiful Experience patted Laura’s arm. “Just one more thing before we start your makeup session. Don’t worry, you should love this.”
“What is it?” Laura eyed the aqua-colored bottle suspiciously.
“Rejuvenating skin toner.” Marilyn splashed a generous amount of fluid onto a cotton pad and wiped industriously.
Gasping, Laura shoved Marilyn’s hand away. “Rejuvenating? That stuff’d wake the dead!”
Behind a small table across the room, Brenda Lee stood up and smiled at her manicurist. “Thanks, Janie. I’ll settle up before I leave.” Fingers splayed, she walked to Marilyn’s side and blew on each long crimson fingernail before giving Laura a level look.
“Sugar, I know you’re uncomfortable with all this fussing, but remember our deal. Today I’m the boss. And as of right now you’re on probation.”
“What’d I do?”
Brenda Lee nodded toward the hovering beautician. “Marilyn here squeezed you in as a favor to me, and you’re acting like a spoiled brat. Do you want that fence we talked about knocked down or don’t you?”
Laura stared at her Keds for a long moment. She had been acting terrible. But as usual, the more awkward she felt, the sharper her tongue had grown. Marilyn didn’t deserve such treatment.
“I’m sorry,” Laura addressed both women. “I’ll try to have a better attitude from now on.”
Brenda Lee beamed like a proud parent. “That’s more like it. Now comes the really fun part. Marilyn is a magician with makeup.”
Emboldened, the plump beautician cupped Laura’s chin and turned her face toward a high-wattage lamp on the counter. “Such lovely skin. And those eyes! I’m looking forward to this, Brenda Lee.”
“What did I tell you? And that’s without a speck of makeup. I’ve been dying to see what some earth tones will do for her.”
“And the purples, too, I think, but only for evening. Can you imagine violet against her golden eyes? Stunning.”
Fascinated, Laura listened to the women analyze her features and discuss cosmetics like military strategists. Come to think of it, maybe she was preparing for battle. A battle against Alec’s stubborn self-control. If only she had more skill using standard female weapons.
“Ready?” Marilyn asked, pulling out a pink plastic tackle box from under the counter.
Helpless as a hooked trout, Laura nodded. Brenda Lee settled on a nearby stool to watch.
“We’ll start with foundation. Your skin has a touch of yellow. A little Pink Bisque should take care of that.” Marilyn opened her box, revealing an array of eye shadows, lipsticks, brushes and mysterious bottles.
Laura swallowed hard.
For the next hour, Marilyn dabbed, stroked, dusted and lined, allowing Laura only tantalizing glimpses of herself in the mirror. Once, a client wandered over and exclaimed, stirring Laura’s curiosity.
“No, no, hold still!” Marilyn scolded, lip pencil poised in the air. She glanced behind her shoulder. “She’s ruined the line. I’ll have to start over.”
Brenda Lee sent Laura a withering look. “I’m sorry, Marilyn. Remember, she’s never done this before. I appreciate your patience.”
After that, Laura sat still as a lizard on a rock.
When Marilyn unbraided Laura’s hair and called a colleague over for consultation, she didn’t even peek. She was playing dress-up for the first time in her life and enjoying every minute of it. If they wanted to surprise her with the final results, okay by her. Maybe that was one of the rules.
Wearing a Mona Lisa smile, Brenda Lee blocked the mirror while Laura watched clumps of chestnut hair drift to the floor. Good Lord, what had she gotten herself into? She hated her uncontrollable hair, true, but parting with it put a different perspective on things. Visions of outlandish, MTV hairstyles flashed in her mind as rapidly as Marilyn’s snipping scissors.
At last Marilyn plunked scissors and comb in a j
ar of alcohol, stepped back and cocked her head. “Shake your hair for me, Laura.”
Laura shook, feeling ridiculous.
“Hey, guys,” Marilyn called to the salon in general. “Check this out!”
She grabbed the vinyl seat back and spun Laura’s chair to face the gathering employees and clients. No one said a word.
Laura’s stomach fell.
Then everyone spoke at once. “She’s gorgeous!” said Janie, the manicurist. “Just like Julia Roberts,” agreed the shampoo girl, sighing. “Do my hair like hers,“ Mrs. Bernstein ordered Kevin, her hairstylist. Noting the woman’s chin-length bob, Laura panicked.
“Lord have mercy, girl.” Brenda Lee circled to the front of Laura’s chair and grinned. “As my uncle Homer used to tell me, ‘You clean up real good.’ Just look at yourself, honey.” She whirled the chair and shooed Marilyn out of the way.
Laura stared at the stranger in the mirror.
The young woman’s thick chestnut hair fell from a side part to brush the tops of her shoulders. The rippling waves, at once a little wild and terribly chic, framed a creamy oval face. Large almond-shaped eyes—a mysterious smoky amber color—stared back at Laura in dazed wonder. And the woman’s mouth...
Laura leaned forward and squinted. “How did you do that, Marilyn?”
“Which ‘that’ do you mean?” the beautician asked, her expression smug.
“My mouth. How did you make it look so... normal?”
An old friend by now, Marilyn shoved Laura’s shoulder. “Shame on you. You’ve got a great mouth.”
“But you’ve made it look smaller,” Laura insisted. “Show me what you did.”
Marilyn devoted the next twenty minutes to explaining color and application techniques so Laura could duplicate the day’s efforts at home. In the manner of a true convert, she listened, enthralled, and determined to practice what was preached.
At one o’clock, Laura gathered up the cosmetics she’d purchased, followed Brenda Lee to the shop’s exit and waved goodbye.
“Knock ‘em dead, Laura,” Janie called.
“Let us know what happens,” Kevin added.
Marilyn rushed up and shoved a bulging plastic bag into Laura’s arms. “I tossed a few samples together for you to take home. I get so many, you know.”
Eyes misting, Laura smiled. “You’ve been so kind. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Marilyn patted her arm. “Just tell everybody where you spent the morning, dear. You’re a walking billboard for A Beautiful Experience. And if you forget anything I taught you, feel free to call. I haven’t had so much fun in years.”
Amen, Laura thought. The past few hours had unlocked something deep inside she hadn’t even known existed. She felt invincible. Womanly. And oddly at peace with herself.
Smiling, she turned to Brenda Lee. The day wasn’t over yet.
“Come on, boss. We’ve got some shopping to do.”
* * *
SAM AIMED his remote control at the big-screen television and switched channels in rapid succession. Bowling, golf, “Flipper,” commercial, commercial, “Wheel Of Fortune,” Gary Cooper... They’d colorized “Sergeant York,” the bastards. Why couldn’t Turner leave the classics alone?
He clicked off the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch beside him. Picking up a stack of rumpled newspapers, he searched for articles he might have missed the first time around. Slim pickings. When he caught himself reading the obituaries, Sam snapped the section closed with a grunt. Tomorrow would be better. Sunday’s issue was good for at least a half day’s read.
He rubbed a hand down his bristled jaw and considered going out. Willie G’s served fresh crawfish and cold draft at the bar. Hollis appreciated a good tip and always threw an extra dozen in Sam’s order, more than he could eat by himself. He straightened hopefully. Maybe Alec would be up for some mudbugs and a brew. They could meet...
No, Alec had a young boy’s needs to think of, not some lonely old coot’s.
Sam stared at the blank TV screen and wished it were Monday. The grandfather clock ticked, ticked, ticked. He and Jenny had bought the antique when his first hotel had sold at a forty-percent profit. They’d been high on the hog, secure in a bright future together. Regency Hotels had been just a gleam in their eyes back then. Shortly after, he’d watched hers grow dull with pain. Jenny, are you still waiting for me?
The clock ticked on, in no hurry to reunite Sam with his soul mate.
He rose and looked through the sliding glass door. Long ago he’d imagined children splashing in his turquoise pool. Now he paid a service good money to maintain its glassy untouched perfection. Just as he paid others to tend his blooming landscape, cook his meals and see to his laundry. He had no hobbies or domestic skills. During the frantic years of building his hotel chain, he’d scoffed at Vicki’s gardening, Marian’s bridge club.
God, no wonder they’d divorced him. He’d been a blind ass. They were remarried with grandkids now, while he lived in a house with more bedrooms than friends or family to fill them.
Regency Hotels would regain market share. Or not. Either way, the world would keep turning. His pool would stay glassy. He would remain alone.
Sam scratched his rumbling stomach, the movement drawing attention to his reflection in the glass. God he looked old! Turning quickly away, he walked to the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator. He could feed himself, damn it. He wasn’t ready for a nursing home, yet. Dragging out vegetables and plastic containers, he piled them on the counter and took stock.
What would Mrs. Kelch do now? Surely the woman used a cookbook now and then? He found a whole stack of them next to the phone. Pulling out the largest, he began flipping pages. He’d always loved hanging around hotel kitchens. Over the years, he’d rubbed elbows with some of the finest chefs in the country. The terms in this cookbook weren’t completely unfamiliar.
A pleasant sense of challenge straightened his shoulders. There was no denying he’d made his lonely bed and deserved to lie in it. But since when had he taken anything lying down?
* * *
THE PHONE! Laura unlocked her apartment and staggered inside. Please don’t hang up. Dropping an armload of shopping bags onto the floor, she ran to the kitchen.
“Hello?” she answered, a bit breathless.
“Hi, Laura! It’s me, Jason!”
Laura massaged her ear and smiled. “Hi, Jason. What a nice surprise.”
“Where you been all day? I called you a hunnerd times. We want to know—”
A voice rumbled in the background, followed by Jason’s muted protest.
“Jason? Oh, Jason?” Laura prompted.
“Dad says I shouldn’t ask where you were ‘cause it’s rude. Am I bein’ rude, Laura?”
“Not at all. I was out shopping.”
“Oh. Dad thought maybe you were at the office, ‘cause you go there sometimes on weekends. We called there, too.”
Interesting. “Well, now that I’m home, what is it you want to know?”
“Um...” Loud, heavy breathing.
“Don’t hold the phone so close to your mouth, honey.”
Silence.
“Jason?”
“Can-you-go-to-the-baseball-game-with-us-tonight?” he blurted. “The Astros are playin’ the Braves. We have an extra ticket and Dad said I could ask anyone I wanted.”
Laura felt a warm rush of pleasure. “I’m flattered, Jason.”
“Does that mean you can’t go?” he wailed.
Realizing her mistake, she laughed. “No, honey. Flattered means I’m proud and happy. Are you sure you don’t want to ask one of your friends?”
“I did. You. What’s the matter? Don’tcha like baseball?” Before Laura could answer, he sweetened the offer. “Dad says we can get hot dogs.”
Laura thought of the long-anticipated steak she’d pulled from the freezer that morning. The one she would eat by herself. Maybe it was still frozen.
“I love baseball...and hot dogs. As lo
ng as your dad says it’s okay, I’d love to go to the game with you.”
“Yesss! Wha—? Oh, hold on a minute. He wants to talk to you.”
Laura’s heartbeat tripled as she listened to the fumbling exchange.
“Laura? It’s Alec.” The deep-timbred voice vibrated up her spine.
“Hi,” she croaked.
“The game starts at seven-thirty, but we should give ourselves an hour to get to the Dome and park. Can you be ready at six-thirty? We’ll swing by and pick you up.”
“Your house is a lot closer to the Dome than mine. Why don’t I drive over and we’ll take one car from there?” She glanced at her watch. “I can be there by six-forty.”
“Well...I guess that does make sense.” He sounded uneasy. “You know, Laura, if you already had plans or something, don’t feel like you have to do this for my sake.”
Laura’s pleasure dimmed. “Quite frankly, you never entered into the decision. I enjoy being with Jason.”
Alec hesitated. “Right. See you at six-forty, then.” Click.
Goodbye to you, too, grouch. Laura hung up and sighed.
She would not let Alec’s coolness dampen her spirits. She had a new hairstyle, dazzling new clothes and a whole new outlook—thanks to Brenda Lee.
In the bathroom, she stripped, rummaged under the cabinet for a complimentary hotel shower cap and slipped it on before stepping into the shower. She wasn’t taking any chances on ruining Marilyn’s handiwork.
The pulsating needles of hot water felt wonderful against her weary neck and shoulders. What a day! If having her hair and face done had been fun, shopping had been the ultimate blast.
She and Brenda Lee had hit Westwood Mall first to pick up a few shorts and tops, then headed for Loehmann’s loaded for bear. The endless racks of discount designer wear had yielded several treasures.
Laura had spotted the royal blue Buscati suit amidst a row of drab counterparts. The long body-hugging jacket and short flippy skirt were professional, but far from conservative. And the color did amazing things for her hair.
