Glamour

by Louise Bagshawe

  She looked younger—thinner—better.

  Elaine couldn’t contain her delight.

  “Mark is going to go wild,” she said. “Oh, Sally, you’re a genius… .”

  “Just wait until you send your friends out looking like that,” Sally prompted. “I want to offer makeovers, hairdressing, and a styling service if they pay enough—for the elite customers, two hundred dollars a session. I’ll go shopping with them and show them what to get.”

  “Oh, yes—yes certainly,” Elaine said, dreamily staring at her reflection.

  “Ask Mark for a budget to renovate the store. And I want to throw an open day on Saturday. Free makeovers. Believe me, that’ll get them talking.” Sally was almost dizzy with her success, high on her plans and dreams. She could make it happen. “If they want me to make them up they have to give us their mailing address and sign a consent form to receive special offers… .”

  Her new boss wasn’t listening; she was turning around in front of the mirror, absorbed in herself.

  “You know, this dress looks like what Oprah wore on the Grammys. Except for I’m a white lady … but it’s so sexy,” Elaine hissed, lowering her voice. She blushed.“Do you think you could come shopping with me for lingerie?” she whispered.

  “Sure.You’d look great in … a teddy. Or baby-doll nightdress,” Sally managed.“But first, you should hire me. I wrote up a contract. A thousand dollars a month plus basic health-care benefits …”

  Sally produced a neatly folded, typed document from her handbag. Elaine signed it without even a murmur, then went to her desk, took out her checkbook, and scribbled in it.

  “Delighted, dear,” she said.“Say, could you look after the store for me this afternoon? I want to go and surprise Mark.”

  “Of course. Just give me five minutes while I call Mom,” Sally said.

  She ran out the front door, an annoying little bell tinkling, and went straight across the street to the bank. Not that she didn’t trust Elaine, but a thousand dollars seemed like a small fortune. She wanted to bank it right away.

  She returned shortly and told her new boss,“You go on home, Mrs. Fisk. I’m in charge here.”

  Elaine drifted out, dousing herself in perfume as she went; Sally had put her on to Chanel No. 19, a lighter fragrance, since she knew perfectly well Elaine was addicted to the nozzle.

  She looked around the store. Dingy, drab, and underused.Well, she could change all that. Sally moved to the back to grab a broom. In the morning the two hairdressers would come in, and she’d start to teach them how to do a real blow-dry.

  I’m in charge now, Sally thought, and it was the first bit of real optimism she’d felt in ages.

  And things changed. Not overnight; Mark Fisk, stunned though he was at his wife’s appearance, moaned over the fifty thousand dollars she wanted for the renovations—Elaine’s place had never been more than a drag on his finances.The two current employees were jealous of Sally, and tried to rebel, until Elaine laid down the law. The builders and decorators were lazy, and it was a constant struggle—and the grand opening was mocked and jeered by women in the street.

  But Sally persevered. She had to. She had a job now, and a purpose. Even if everybody else was lazy, she worked like a demon: painting, decorating, sourcing cool artwork and fancy mirrors and bronze letters three feet high, designing and redesigning the ad for the local paper. And if the renovations took three months, well, that was plenty of time for Hartford to get good and curious.

  When the grand opening happened, all Elaine’s friends were there, as well as several curious teens from the high school. Sally had trained the other two girls in beauty basics, properly, and left them doing pedicures and neck massages while she flitted from chair to chair, flash-styling the small-town girls in ten minutes each; plucking eyebrows that hadn’t been touched for decades; wiping away bright, ugly makeup and replacing it with neutrals; blow-drying out previously gelled-up hair; showing housewives addicted to plaits and buns what natural styling looked like.

  The oohs and aahs from the mirrors didn’t put any cash in the coffers, but Sally had faith.There was no business as sound as beauty. If you could show women you made a difference …

  And the store, after all that hard work, was amazing. Rodeo Girl looked like it belonged on Rodeo Drive. Gone were all the yellowing magazines and peeling paint and the old-style radio blaring out traffic and weather updates. Sally had installed tinted windows, sleek new graphics, a sexy logo of a rodeo chick in heeled boots and a tie-under shirt. Banks of televisions were tuned to CMT, the country-and-western version of MTV, with buff unshaven cowboys and modern western divas slickly belting out their hits.

  It celebrated Texas—and it celebrated style. Hartford had never seen anything like it.The older ladies booked the place up almost immediately, and their daughters scrambled for appointments. Sally was busy, nine to five, every day, and sometimes on weekends as well. It was exhausting, but it was a rush. And her salary enabled them to afford little luxuries.

  After a month or so, she began to get sizable tips. Instead of wasting the cash, Sally banked it. She didn’t know exactly where she was going yet, but she was sure of one thing. She was not going to stay here.

  Elaine Fisk basked in all the glory and took all the credit. Sally didn’t mind, as long as she kept getting paid. And Elaine allowed her to keep all the tip money, which almost doubled her basic salary. As long as Sally’s first priority was to keep Elaine looking good, the owner didn’t complain. Her husband was actually getting money back after the third month, so he was happy. And, watching Sally work her magic on the small-town women of Hartford, Elaine discovered a vestige of pride in herself. She confided in Sal that she wanted to lose weight, and Sally put her on a walking regimen, something she could do quietly, without her catty friends noticing. Sally told her where to pick up good, ready-made salads. After a while, Elaine dropped a dress size, then two….

  For the first six months Sally’s life moved into a routine: working, banking her salary, learning on her feet. She spent her spare time at home, looking after Mona as best she could. Sally felt guilty, at times, that she couldn’t turn her mom around the way she was shaping up Elaine Fisk. But fighting Mona’s depression and alcoholism would require Sally to be there full-time, and she had to make choices. Right now, Rodeo Girl was letting her save some cash and giving her a better education than a third-rate college could ever provide.

  Sally tried not to think too much. She let her days fill up, her savings account slowly increase. It was easier to cope that way.

  “Look at her,” Leo Fisk said.

  His Porsche was parked across the street, with three of his buddies riding along.The top was down, and they stared at Sally as she sauntered out of the front door, kissing Lucy Drew on the cheek.

  “Dude, which one? Lucy’s hot now,” his friend Barry replied.

  “Come on.” Leo was scornful. Certainly he wouldn’t say no to Lucy Drew, with that cute new haircut and the figure-hugging clothes and dramatic, pouty lips Sally had given her. But Sally Lassiter was a whole other league.

  He’d been watching her coming in and going out of his mom’s store for months now. The original plan was to drop by, hang around, watch her doing menial tasks like sweeping the floor … he vaguely thought that would be sexy … and have Sally flirting with Leo, begging him to notice her. After all, without his say-so, Mom wouldn’t have hired her.

  Only it hadn’t worked out that way. Since day one, Sally was surrounded, first by workmen, then by customers. And obviously she was key to Rodeo Girl, whatever his mother told people. Leo had no power over her anymore.

  Today she was wearing a short skirt, kitten heels, and a cream silk blouse. Her smooth, tanned legs seemed to run on forever. Her flaxen hair was caught back in a smooth ponytail, worn low at the neck, and her mouth showed wide teeth when she laughed.

  All the eager, desperate schoolgirls he’d fumbled with or taken to bed paled into nothingness compared with
Sally. And the further away he got from her, the more he wanted her.

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” Barry agreed.

  “Pity you didn’t bang her when you had the chance,” Simon Bernardillo said.

  “He never had the chance. Remember? Chick turned him down flat,” piped up Keith Brand, from the back.

  “That’s right,” Barry said, and laughed.

  Simon started to hum “Dream, dream, dream” from the Everly Brothers song, and his annoying friends fell about laughing.

  “Can it,” Leo said, shortly.“She’s just another piece of tail, fellas. Let’s go play ball.”

  Aggravated, he put the Porsche into gear and slammed his foot down.The car screeched off; in the side mirror he saw Sally Lassiter glance in his direction, idly, then, unconcerned, go back into the shop.

  It burned him. She’d tricked him, that minx. She’d come up to him, sweet as pie, and teased him, knowing she was never going out with him. He resented it. Sally should have been grateful, and pliant. Submissively asking him to be pleased with her. Now, she had a job, she was effectively an adult, and he still went to high school! Okay, he was a senior, but it was still totally humiliating. The working woman and the schoolboy …

  Leo was a peacock. He hated it when his friends laughed at him. Unacceptable. He was going to have to teach that girl some manners. She damn well would go out with him, and in public. Or else.

  He left after practice, so as not to be obvious about it, and went over to his dad’s garage on Fifth Street, where they had a liquor concession and nobody asked questions. Leo took a little supply, some crates of beer and a pint of vodka. He liked that best because it didn’t leave a smell on your breath. And it was hard liquor. A man’s drink, something to get riled up on before he confronted Sally. She had a snappy, cool way about her when she put you down, and Leo wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted to stand up to her. He packed the beer into the trunk, then unscrewed the vodka and took a good, fiery swig before stashing it in the glove compartment. His throat burned, and he felt himself gearing up. Carefully, not wanting to attract the cops, he turned the car south, heading back to Main Street and the way Sally walked home. It was a long walk to the tract on the outside of town, and she never got the bus; she liked the exercise. Perfect for him. He raised his headlights, and started to scour the side of the road.

  Sally was tired, but glowing. Saturday night, and a particularly great week for tips. Mrs. Ellis, the wife of the local realtor, had been so thrilled with her personal shopping session—Sally guided her to a whole new wardrobe in one afternoon—that she’d pressed five hundred-dollar bills into her hands. And there had been over four hundred from the rest of the clientele, which meant she’d gotten almost a month’s worth in just a single week. There was now some real money in their bank account. They lived on a thousand a month, and with what was left over from L.A., and all her work this year, Sally now had thirty-two thousand saved, with the promise of more to come….

  It would be almost a year soon, and then she’d ask for a raise. A big raise. Rodeo Girl was a huge success. Three thousand a month, just for starters, and Sally thought she might walk Elaine through share structure and get her to give Sally a slice. Once they’d done that, she could hire staff, maybe start a new store, maybe even one in Dallas … she didn’t have to be working here for twenty, twenty-five thou a year….

  Maybe, Sally suddenly thought, maybe she could even go home….

  A car honked; she jumped out of her skin, spun around, her hand flung up against the dazzling light.

  “What the …oh, hey. Leo.” She dropped her hand and drew aside as his Porsche slowed down. “You startled me.”

  “Hey, what’s up?” Leo Fisk was smiling at her, with that familiar, lascivious look in his eyes.“You’re far too cute to be tramping home in the mud, Sally. Let me give you a lift.”

  “It ain’t muddy,” she replied. “I like the exercise… .”

  “I know, but take a load off.You should relax once in a while. Go home early.”

  Well … it was unseasonably chilly. And she didn’t want to be rude to Leo; he was Elaine’s son, after all.

  “Okay, why not.” She opened the door and climbed in. “Thanks.”

  “So,” he said, pulling out into the road again,“Sally, you never did give me that date. I reckon that call I put in for you with Mom came out pretty good, huh? You owe me a dinner, at least.”

  Sally sighed. Not that she hadn’t been expecting this moment to come. She was only surprised it had taken him this long to get around to it.

  “Leo, look. You’re a real good-looking boy”—hell, he hated that, he wasn’t a goddamn boy—“and I know all the girls are wild to go out with you, but I’m just not ready for a romantic relationship right now.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re eighteen, baby. Legal in every state. I can’t believe you’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  Well, she sort of had—dates, back when she was fourteen, fifteen. Boys she met from church or sports, or sons of her father’s business partners.The odd movie, a kiss in a parking lot. Fumbles. But nothing more.

  “I’ve dated,” she said evasively. “But really I’m just focusing on work right now. I want to save up and get a place of my own… .”

  “All work and no play makes Sally a dull girl,” Leo said. He slurred the s’s, and she realized with a shock that he was more than a little drunk.

  “Make a left right here, Leo,” she said. But he missed the turning and shot past the intersection.

  “Oh—you missed our street. Never mind… .” She didn’t particularly want him to turn back, in the traffic. “Just pull over and I’ll walk.”

  He didn’t look at her; his eyes were fixed straight ahead, and he pressed his foot down on the gas.

  “Just pull over,” Sally repeated, uneasily.“And thanks for the lift.”

  Leo drove on.

  “I don’t think you’re being fair, Sally,” he said, and there was a silky tone to his voice she didn’t like. “I think you tricked me. Day you came to see me in school. All dressed up in them tight jeans. Made me think you’d go out with me. If you weren’t coming on to me, what was all that makeup for?”

  They were going fast now, very fast.Too fast.The dial was on ninety, and the car was wobbling. The lights of Hartford disappeared in the distance.

  “Please stop,” she begged.

  “Answer the question,” he said.

  “I wanted to impress your mother with how stylish I could be… .”

  “Yeah, well.You impressed me, honey. Made a real impression.”

  The car pulled to a halt.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sally cried.

  “You wanted me to pull over.”

  She glanced wildly around. They were in the middle of nowhere, a cornfield to the left. Quiet road—no traffic.

  “Leo, you’re drunk. I’m walking back and we’re gonna forget this ever happened,” Sally said. She tried for confident, but her voice cracked with fear.

  He reached for her, one hand brushing against her breasts.

  “Come on baby, you’ll like it. All the girls do.”

  “Get away from me!” Sally shouted.

  “No, I’ve had it. Enough teasing.You’re gonna get just what you asked for.”

  She tried desperately to twist away, but he was strong. Slight, for a man, skinny, not the type of body she liked. But a man is far stronger than a woman, even a weak man. Sally knew that instinctively, and she was frightened.

  “Leo, you’re better than this … what would your mom think? Don’t, don’t touch me!”

  Angrily, he backhanded her across the face. Sally gasped in pain and shock. That would leave a welt. She kicked back and tried to clamber out of the door.

  “You’re trying to ruin it,” he hissed, grunting. “Bringing my mom into it … that ain’t sexy … you’re just an uppity bitch.”

  “You’re a bully and a coward,” Sally sobbed. “I’ll scream�
�� .”

  The light in his eyes was manic. She couldn’t believe it. She knew this boy, had seen him at school and in town for years.

  “You do, and I’ll kill you,” he snarled.“And dump you right in that damn cornfield and you can rot away in the fall.”

  She didn’t know if he meant it or not. Sheer terror froze her to her seat.

  “Now,” he said, fumbling at her shirt, “let’s get this off of you. Yeah … yeah, you sure are well built, baby, and I’m gonna be your first, just like I told them boys… .”

  His hand was on her. She was tight, dry as a bone. He didn’t care. Sally sobbed and leaned her head back. She didn’t want to die, so she said nothing.

  And Leo Fisk raped her.

  He dropped her home afterward; she said nothing. Leo was full of good cheer.Told her she was sexy, she was hot.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll see you again,” he said.“Take you out to the movies tomorrow. How’s that? It’ll be better next time.You’ll get the hang of it, baby, you’re too hot-looking, you got it in you.”

  She climbed out of the car, and he was gone, tires spinning down the road.

  Sally had seen true-crime shows about rape victims. How they would get in the shower and scrub themselves till they bled. Or went to the police, and pressed charges.

  Sally did neither of those things.

  Instead, she ignored the prone figure of her mother, snoring upstairs on the bed, and went to grab her suitcases. Sally furiously started to pack.

  The police would not believe her. There were no witnesses. The Fisks were popular. She knew that, sick as it was, deep down in her bones. And she didn’t want the publicity … vultures crawling over her, all that prurient interest in the rape of a teenage blonde.They’d find Mona, too, drunk and depressed, still eking out the days in her personal hell.

  Forget this shithole of a town. Sally was gone. Earlier than she’d expected, or wanted. But she had thirty thousand in the bank.They could rent, back in L.A. And she could start her own store. Buy a lease—get it done. Screw working for Elaine. She was angry, angry in the very depths of her soul. She was going to go the hell home, make some money, show all of them. The bastards who’d dropped them when her dad died. The snooty friends who never called. All the bullies, all those snooping vultures in the press.