by Frances, Jo
Exciting, her mother responded. A New York makeover! Then from somewhere in the front of the limo, Jamie got the distinct feeling she was being discussed.
"No, no," Carla was saying on the phone. "She doesn't need extensions. We don't have time for that anyway. She's got that dishwater blonde thing going, you know, how it's not really a color? I think she'd look great as, like, a California blonde. And the mother is all set." Carla quickly glanced in the back seat just in case. Turning back around, she spoke into the phone with a new verdict: "Well, she may need to have her grays touched up before her blowout. Maybe we can give her a hydrating mask while the girlfriend gets her color. Just to moisturize her skin because it's a little dry."
Jamie looked quickly at Evelyn, but she was too busy with her own conversation to notice that her skin was being insulted. She turned back to texting her mother: "I just heard my hair described as not having a color. Waa!"
At the salon, after Evelyn was handed over to the facialist, Carla turned her other charge over to an Asian man named Winston. "Jamie, this is Winston, Winston this is Jamie. Winston is going to oversee your treatment today," she said, as Jamie was seated in a salon chair.
"Hello," Winston said, assessing her quickly through the mirror. "Hmm. Pretty. And so young! Who are you?" he asked, in as polite a way as he could.
Jamie was confused. Weren't they just introduced?
"Oh, she's Chase Reston's girlfriend." Carla answered for her. "She'll be sitting with him tonight."
"Ooh, that is a big strong boy you've got." Winston said admiringly.
What was the answer to something like that, Jamie thought. "Oh. Are you a basketball fan?" she asked pleasantly. It seemed like all of New York knew about the draft.
Winston and Carla squealed with laughter at this so loudly that the other patrons glance over at them. "No, honey, I'm a MAN fan!" Winston finally answered. Jamie felt her cheeks redden.
Softening towards her, Winston promised, "we are going to make you look so hot. You are going to be like," he snapped his fingers and struck a diva pose. "all eyes on me, bitches!"
The first step was to change the color of her hair. As she continued to sit, two other people came in to confer with Winston. They surrounded her, lifting her hair, taking chunks of it and waving it at each other, and discussing color combinations and formulas with all the seriousness of a peace treaty. Finally, a decision was reached, and Winston retreated to the back room where he was going to mix the magic elixir. In the meantime, Jamie was passed on to a woman her age named Sandiya. Sandiya led her to the shampoo bowl, where Jamie had what seemed to be the longest shampoo of her life, complete with a scalp massage
"So, I heard you were one of the basketball players girlfriends," Sandiya said in a conspiratorial tone. At Jamie's silence she continued. "Damn, I wish my boyfriend made millions of dollars!" The scent of expensive shampoo filled the air between them as Sandiya's eyes focused on something in the distance. "For that kind of lifestyle, I'd put up with the groupies. I mean, all guys cheat, anyway, right?"
Jamie shook her head in half hearted disagreement but remained silent, especially since Sandiya was giving her the kind of scalp massage that would relax anyone into sleep. Eventually the shampoo ended and Sandiya led her back to Winston's station. The two of them then set to work on wrapping her hair into foil packets, layering dozens of them in rows as neat as a cornfield on her head. Someone handed Jamie a cup of tea and a magazine. When someone else brought her a fruit tray purchased from the nearby deli, Jamie checked her watch in alarm---was it lunch time already? She saw that it had been two hours since they had gotten there and it was, indeed, lunch time.
Once her color was done, Winston admired his handiwork by complimenting Jamie on how well her color had turned out, as if she had something to do with it. Once he held a pair of scissors in his hands, it was clear that any hesitation he may have shown during the color process was gone. He was the master in this domain, circling her intensely as if he were a sculptor and she, a block of marble.
Worried at the way he was constantly clipping his scissors at thin air, Jamie cautiously asked how much he was planning to cut.
"Oh, you girls never want to get your hair cut short," he said dismissively. "But for you, I think that wouldn't be a good look anyway. I think we're going to stick to that California girl look." He snipped his scissors together. "God knows you're going to be one of the few natural blondes who can carry it off."
He was faster at cutting her hair than she expected him to be, and before long, Jamie was looking at herself in the mirror, impressed by what he had done. Winston had somehow brought out the almost yellow gold hair she had as a toddler, and the effect was eerily natural. It was almost as if she had been dyeing her hair the wrong color, and Winston had simply removed all the dye from her hair. He only snipped off an inch or so from the bottom, and added layers around her face. Then he used a large curling iron all over, so that despite spending nearly four hours in a salon, Jamie looked effortlessly beautiful.
As Winston helped her to the makeup room, Jamie couldn't help but give him a hug. "I love it!" she told him. "I was so worried you were going to make me look too sophisticated, but you made me look like me, only so much better!" She stopped. "I don't mean, that I think I look great or anything---"
Winston laughed and returned the hug. "You do look great, but if you want to give me all the credit, that's fine too!" They reached the makeup room, and Winston kept a hand protectively on her arm, as if he didn't want any of the two other makeup artists in the room to entice her to their chair. "OK, this is who we want," he purred at a severe looking woman dressed head to toe in black. "Sharmin, look what I found! A little California goddess!"
Sharmin turned around, unsmiling. "Is that what we want, here?" she asked Winston brusquely.
Unfazed, Winston put his hands on Jamie's shoulder and pushed her gently into the chair. "Yes, I was thinking tawny and natural. Like Christie Brinkley way, way, back in the day."
Sharmin pursed her lips. "That's a little too clichéd. Let's go with washing her in color and with a medium eye." Jamie had no idea what that meant, but apparently, Winston didn't like it. However, he was willing to defer to Sharmin's expertise and said so in a voice dripping with sarcasm before leaving in a snit.
Twenty-five minutes later, Jamie stared at her reflection in the mirror, disbelieving. Sharmin and Winston had transformed her into someone completely different; a blonder, more finished version of herself. Jamie didn't feel any sort of vanity at her transformation, but a kind of spectator's appreciation at the magic trick they pulled off.
The click of heels behind them signaled the arrival of Carla Matarasso. "Oh my gawd," she said appreciatively. "Everyone is going to be wondering who the hell you are." Then, without missing a beat, "Come on, let's get Evelyn, we have to go."
Evelyn was already in the car. If Jamie was the California girl, then Evelyn was transformed into a suburban matron. Her reddish hair was cut and shaped into a conservative coif and her makeup was definitely meant to look "done". Carla looked at both of them as if seeing how well they fit as two halves of a whole, which, at least in terms of Chase, they were. She clapped her hands together like a schoolteacher. "OK, so let's go back to your hotel and see what you brought to wear tonight."
Evelyn turned to her with raised eyebrows. "Excuse me." There was a dangerous edge to her voice. "I don't need to show you what I'm wearing,"
At first, Jamie wondered why Evelyn was reacting so strongly. Carla just wanted them to look their best, and to reflect well on Chase. Besides which, didn't Evelyn just spend a free day at the salon to accomplish that? But as Jamie thought about it some more, she admired Evelyn for resisting. Evelyn would take whatever was given her, but it would be on her own terms and with no strings attached.
Carla backed off somewhat. "I'm not saying you have to do anything---"
"Thank you." Evelyn interrupted her sarcastically.
"---but if you forg
ot something, or changed your mind, then there's enough time for me to try to help. But, hey," Carla threw her hands up in mock surrender. "I can just get some work done in the lobby while you guys get ready, and as long as you come down by 3:30, then we'll be fine."
Evelyn didn't respond, and the rest of the car ride passed by in silence.
At the hotel, Carla waited diplomatically before saying anything to Jamie. With a sideways glance at Evelyn's departing back going into the elevator, she said, "I had my assistant bring over a couple of things. Why don't we see if you like any of them?"
Jamie had not gone inside their room since this morning. As she used her room key to let herself and Carla in, she had a little thrill knowing that it was the room that she and Chase shared---their first. "So, I brought a couple of things," she said distractedly, the sight of the bed recalling the night before. "A dress, a suit, and then some separates."
Carla ignored her and walked across the room to the window. As she scanned the view, she said, "OK, well at least they gave you guys a good view like we asked." Then, "Um, yeah, OK, let's see. There's a rolling clothes rack in the closet, put your clothes there and bring it out here."
Just as Jamie finished doing that, there was a knock on the door and Carla rose to answer it, letting in a hotel staffer who held several garment bags of clothes. "Hang those next to the other clothes," she ordered, her tone softened by the generous tip she handed him.
As the two different collections stood next to each other, the contrast was obvious. The clothes Jamie brought, while tasteful, looked exactly like what they were; clothes from a mall. The most expensive department store in the mall, but a mall nonetheless. Meanwhile, Carla's choices looked as if a designer had created them just for Jamie: with her height, shape and coloring in mind.
The first outfit Carla had her try on was a fitted, pale yellow colored dress with a goddess neckline. As Jamie walked out of the bathroom to show her, Carla held a hand up. "Stop. We're done here." Jamie looked at herself in the closet mirror. The girl who looked back at her was someone she barely recognized. The hair, makeup, and now the dress all looked like an airbrushed, idealized version of her. She knew it was a more media ready look, but she wasn't sure she was comfortable with the transformation yet.
"This is the effect we want---you want to look like an NBA player's hot girlfriend, but you don't want to outshine him, either. This dress will make you look hot, but not slutty. You look pretty. And the color is good. Chase is wearing a gray suit---" Stopping her description, Carla brought up a picture on her phone of Chase from that morning and matched it against Jamie.
"A paparazzi picture," she said by way of explanation. "But anyway, you'll see that he's got a pale blue shirt on. So it will be good if you guys stick to pastels." Her eyes clouded briefly. "I don't know what his mother is wearing, but I hope it isn't stripes or a print."
As she looked at the picture of Chase, Jamie felt a small pang of discomfort. She didn't need the picture to know what he wore---she saw him get dressed this morning. But this was a strange world they were in now, where agents and paparazzi could take their experience, regurgitate it and present it right back to them. Jamie stared at the girl in the mirror a few moments more. "OK," she said quietly. "Let's go with this one."
Chapter 7
As the car carrying Jamie, Carla and Evelyn came within sight of Madison Square Garden, the women could see the barricades holding back hundreds of fans. Most were wearing team jerseys; in fact, many were emblazoned in head to toe team regalia. Jamie rolled down the window and took a picture of the crowd, then posted it to her Facebook. It was such a surreal experience that she almost felt as if she were just an observer, rather than a participant.
The noise grew louder as they drew nearer. "Are we going to walk into that?" Evelyn asked in an amused voice.
Carla smiled at her. "Yeah. But be prepared, Ms. Reston, not everyone is going to be a fan, and they'll be happy to let you know that."
Evelyn waved her off. "Oh, I've got no problems with haters. Been dealing with them since Chase could dribble a ball." She looked at Jamie. "How about you, Jamie? You ready for this?"
Truthfully, Jamie shook her head. "The NCAA championships were crazy---I mean, that was more intense, really. But I didn't have to walk through a crowd."
The car had a specially marked placard, and they were waved into the lane that would deposit them right into the red carpet. The driver eased them into the small line of cars and they watched curiously as each vehicle let out their passengers.
Carla scooted to the edge of her seat. "When the car stops, I'll get out first. I'll walk to the Draft rep and announce who you two are. They'll check us off the list, and then you just follow me into the Garden." She paused, mentally checking items off her list. "Oh, and try to look relaxed."
As if on cue, the car stopped and a valet at the curb opened the door for them. There was a brief moment of silence as the crowd leaned in to see if they recognized who they were. By the time they had figured out that they didn't, Carla was already halfway up the red carpet.
"Hey Carla, who's that?" yelled a voice from the back.
Without breaking a stride, Carla yelled in the general vicinity of the voice, "This is Chase Reston's mother and girlfriend."
As several catcalls greeted her, Jamie became aware of a wave of cameras turning as if in unison to take her picture. The clicks from cameras and the refrain, "Chase Reston's girlfriend" followed her like a Greek chorus until they finally reached the rep waiting by the door. With a few checks off his clipboard, he nodded and a very large security guard stepped aside to let them pass.
Once inside, the crowds disappeared, and the arena was filled only with yellow-jacketed event staff, security and various other staffers. They followed Carla through what seemed like a labyrinth, until she brought them down below street level, into a large staging area. This was where the various guests were gathered, and Jamie watched them as they were reunited with their athlete. As Carla texted Steve to tell him they were there, Jamie looked around and recognized several of the men already; players who played against Chase...and her brother. Some seemed full of swagger and bravado, laughing and talking too loudly while others were more subdued, and looked like the nervous teenagers they actually were. Several minutes later, Chase was brought to them by Steve.
From a distance, Chase sought out Jamie, and his eyes glanced briefly past hers before doubling back and holding her gaze in a happy surprise. When he reached them, Chase made sure to acknowledge his mother first. "Mama," he said simply, folding himself into her arms. "This is it." They stood together for a moment, the years leading up to this moment remembered in silence. Then Chase stepped back. "You look beautiful, Mama" he said admiringly.
"Yeah, I clean up real well." Evelyn tried to brush off the compliment, but it was obvious she was touched.
Chase walked over to Jamie and squeezed her hand. "Hey, baby," he said softly to her.
Before he could say more, Steve began talking. "OK, so just follow me," he said, already three steps ahead. "I'm going to escort you to your table."
Chase held Jamie back and pulled her aside. Whispering in her ear he said, "I love you" before giving her a soft kiss. Jamie's heart pounded to have him so close again. The physical connection they shared was even stronger now, and she wanted nothing more than to have that kiss turn into something more. "You look fucking amazing," he said, proprietarily putting his arm around her. "I didn't even recognize you at first."
They caught up to Steve just as he led them to a small table towards the back. At the front of the room was a giant stage, a curtain for a backdrop and a simple podium in the front. Off to the side was a digital clock set for ten minutes. It was very simple; almost old fashioned; a sharp contrast to the frenetic activity surrounding them. The stationary cameras were already set up throughout the room, but a handful of cameramen were also prepping with their sound and lighting guys. In front of the stage, there were several newscasters,
mostly attractive women, rehearsing their commentaries. Steve and Carla sat with them, but each was quickly engrossed on their telephones, indifferent to the excitement.
In the time it took them to reach the room, a veil had fallen on Chase's face. He glanced out at everyone around them with a pleasant, yet wary expression. Jamie noticed another group of guys being seated in rows behind the cameras. She turned to Carla who had taken a brief break from talking on the phone, to reading her emails. "Who are those guys?" she asked, tilting her head towards the back of the room.
Carla's glance lifted in that direction. "That's the audience. Bunch of rowdy guys, but if it weren't for them this room would be like a morgue."
"No, I can tell those are fans." she said, wondering if Carla really thought she was that stupid. "I meant the guys behind us, in suits. I recognize a few of them from the games."
"Oh, them," she said dismissively. "Those are the guys expected to go second round or third round...if they're lucky." She looked at Jamie. "At least the camera won't be on them. There is nothing more uncomfortable than when these tables are empty because the names have been called, and you've got two or three families still sitting here waiting to be called. And those guys," she nodded towards them, "are walking through here, past you." She shuddered dramatically.
Chase stood up. "I'm gonna go say hello to some people," he said. Jamie watched him table hop to greet other players. There was a feeling of camaraderie as the young men moved around, embracing each other warmly. The competition, for now, was over. They were no longer college opponents and no longer each other's competition for the Draft. All the decisions had been made, and their fates rested in someone else's hands. So for now, they were connected as a small group of the world's most elite athletes, hours away from being multi-millionaires.
