Gray Hair Don't Care

by Karen Booth

  Sure enough, the kitchen was empty. “Donovan, you are such an asshole,” she said out loud, if only for her own satisfaction.

  Rio, having zero regard for Lela’s personal problems, nudged his food bowl with his nose then voiced another plaintive meow. Lela put coffee on, then poured a scoop of kibble. She watched him eat, realizing what an enviably simple life he had. Seriously. The biggest stressor of his existence was the fact that he relied on a human to feed him. Otherwise, he napped in sunbeams, rolled around on the carpet with toys, crouched around corners and attacked unwitting victims who ultimately showered him with affection.

  Coffee ready, Lela poured herself a mug. What would this scene have been like if Donovan had actually stuck around? Probably awkward as hell. She knew what he was like, only really willing to dig in when things were fun. He didn’t handle serious very well, and what had seemed so carefree at midnight was definitely going to be far less so in the light of day. What in the world had she been thinking? It was too easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of Donovan, enticed by his charm and good looks, by his brains and the easy way they fell in together. Stupid. The whole thing had been incredibly stupid.

  Lela wandered into the living room and spotted the note. She ran her fingers over the scrawl of ink, wondering what had been going through his head when he’d written it. She wished she understood his unwillingness to stick around for her. There had to be something more to it than the simplest conclusion—that something about her drove him away. Maybe it was the same thing Mark hadn’t liked about her. Or, perhaps some men were fickle creatures who deserved to fuck off. She remained undecided.

  She took her coffee cup to the kitchen sink then went back upstairs to shower in her bathroom. Her phone rang with a video call from Tammera. Lela laughed quietly before accepting the call. Tams had a sixth sense about Lela’s life crises. She’d literally called Lela to check in with her less than five minutes after Mark asked for a divorce.

  “Hey, Tams.” Lela nestled the phone in the old-school toothbrush holder hanging on the wall next to the equally antiquated medicine chest, with the mirror’s silver peeling at the corners.

  “Something is wrong. I just know it.” Tammera was sitting on her couch, her dark natural curls gathered on top of her head. She had the most enviable complexion—a warm brown, glowing and made for television.

  “How do you know these things?” Lela scrutinized her face in the mirror. She’d earned every line, especially that crease between her eyes, but they didn’t feel like a badge of honor today. The same for every gray hair—had they been multiplying while she slept? There were twice as many as yesterday. It felt too much like the fickle finger of fate reminding her that she didn’t have her whole life ahead of her. She had half. Probably less.

  “Well, let’s see. You didn’t return my phone call yesterday and now you’re in your bathroom staring at your wrinkles. It’s pretty obvious to me that things aren’t all right in your world.”

  Lela blew out a breath picked up her phone and sat down on the closed toilet lid, resting an elbow on the vanity. “I slept with my college crush last night and he left before I woke up.”

  Tammera wasn’t fazed by much, but this prompted a hand clamped over her mouth. “No fucking way.”

  “Yep fucking yep.”

  “Is this what happens when you get divorced? You make poor decisions about sex?”

  Lela shrugged. “Maybe? Probably? I don’t know, Tams. This is my first time at this rodeo.”

  “Was it good?”

  Lela couldn’t contain the traitorous smile that cropped up on her face. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pride. Last night had been fantastic. So, no, it wasn’t a total loss, even if her ego was dinged. “Way better than the other time we slept together. Twenty-five years did wonders for his skills.”

  “Then why did he take off? Did something happen?”

  Lela was about to answer that everything went great, but as the details rifled through her mind in fast fashion, something popped into her memory. It was like a brand new pimple dead center on your forehead when you were about to walk out the door for a date. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  Lela squinted, wincing at her own stupidity. “I told him that I was in love with him in college.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I was delirious from the most epic orgasm of my life?”

  Tammera shook her head like a damn metronome, then took a patient sip of her coffee. The whole sequence was silent, but felt super judgmental. “Oh, that’s bad.”

  “You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to say something supportive.”

  “Like what? That he probably didn’t hear what you said? He snuck out in the middle of the night. It’s pretty clear you freaked him out.”

  Lela was so pissed at herself she could hardly stand it. Here she’d been thinking this was all on Donovan, when the reality was she’d contributed to this nightmarish outcome. Why had she felt the need to make such a confession? That was the past. Ancient history. Not worth repeating. “Ugh. You’re right. You’re so right.”

  “Think of it this way. It’s probably better that he left. The belated I love you doesn’t make great breakfast conversation.”

  “No. It doesn’t.” Lela sighed. “I need to get my act together.”

  Tammera waved it off and sat back on her couch. “Cut yourself some slack right now. Acting erratically isn’t a personal shortcoming. Anyone would in your situation.”

  Lela stood and looked at herself in the mirror again, returning her phone to its previous perch. She threaded a finger through her hair, flipping strands back and forth. The gray had gotten crazy. Like out of control. “What if I dye my hair purple? Or red? Or something totally out there and dramatic?”

  “You could do that, but I’ll tell you what I used to tell my clients who wanted bangs after a big breakup. Wait a few days. Let the sting of this incident fade a little bit.” Tammera was tapping the expertise she’d gained during her previous career as a hair stylist. “Or maybe don’t color it at all. I like gray. A lot.”

  “Maybe…” Lela couldn’t help it. Something deep inside her was yearning for change. She’d been feeling that way since the divorce. So why was she looking to her past? Going to weddings and sleeping with Donovan? Those weren’t steps forward, they were stumbles back. “I just need something new and exciting in my life. Something to look forward to. Something that helps me get my mind off the fact that I’m forty-seven and divorced in New York and that I might as well be dead as far as most men are concerned.”

  “I know honey. I’m sorry you’re feeling this way.”

  Lela shook her head. “But you don’t know. You’re in a relationship. You’re in love.” Lela willingly admitted to her envy of Tammera’s life—stability, a killer job, and love. What more could anyone want? “How is Delia, anyway?”

  “Good. Her lease is ending in two months, so we’re thinking about moving in together.”

  Lela felt as though her heart might swell to twice its normal size. At least her best friend was happy. “That’s so wonderful. Are you excited?”

  “I love her, so I’m excited about seeing her everyday, but I’m also worried I might be too set in my ways. I’ve been living by myself forever.” She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “It’s still nice.”

  “Yes, it is. But stop trying to change the topic. You’re in crisis, Lela. You’re not being yourself.”

  There was the pity people had slathered on her the moment she split from Mark. It made her cringe. Maybe because she simply had never wanted to be in a situation requiring sympathy. “It is what it is.”

  Tammera unleashed a distinct frown. “Don’t resort to corporate clichés. You deserve better than that.”

  “I don’t know what I deserve at this point. All I know is that I’m tired of letting men have so much influence on my happiness. First Mark, now Donovan.” Maybe it was time
to worry about the one person men always worried about first—themselves. “I need to focus on me. Get my act together.”

  “Maybe you should think about what that actually looks like.” Tammera leaned forward, peering right into her phone. She had an uncanny ability to buzz the lens, as they liked to say in film and television—connect with people, even via a camera. It was undoubtedly part of what launched Tammera’s career as a celebrity chef. “Look. You are an amazing, beautiful, brilliant and vibrant woman who happened to marry a bowl of mayonnaise.”

  Lela snickered. Mark was pasty. “And your point is?”

  “That is your old life. Think about what you want your new life to look like. I mean really think about it.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “No. I mean right now. Close your eyes and try to envision what you want.”

  “While we’re on video chat?”

  “Yes. The sooner you do this, the sooner you and I can go back to talking about The Great British Baking Show and why Paul Hollywood is the only man who has ever done it for me.”

  “He does it for everyone who appreciates good bread and steely blue eyes.”

  “Shush, Lela. Close your eyes. Do it. Now.”

  This seemed like a peculiar exercise, but Lela put a lot of trust in her best friend, so she did as Tammera asked, dropping into near darkness when her eyes fluttered shut.

  “Now relax,” Tammera said in a voice similar to the ones used in guided meditation recordings. “I want you to see yourself. A year from now. Two years from now.”

  “Okay…”

  “What do you look like? What are you doing that makes you happy? Don’t think about relationships or love. For once in your life, just think about you. Nobody else.”

  “Okay…”

  “What do you see?”

  Lela felt a bit like she was groping for nothing in the dark, but she pushed herself to concentrate. What do I want? What do I need? “I’m happy. I’m smiling.” Lela felt a tug in the center of her chest, like an invisible force was pulling her in a new direction. She let it take her, just to see where she was going.

  “Excellent. What does your life look like?”

  “I got new furniture for my apartment. I finally got rid of Mark’s ugly-ass stuff.”

  “Praise the lord.”

  “And I’m wearing much girlier clothes, all the time. Everything Mark thought was ridiculous.”

  “I love it. And what about your career?”

  This was a big one, the step she’d been too scared to take. “I’ve started Lela B. And it’s going well. People like it.”

  “Yes!” Tammera clapped so loudly it sounded like a crack of thunder.

  Lela jumped. Her eyes popped open. Before her, in the mirror, was only her reflection. Every wrinkle and acne scar that had been there before. But there was fresh color in her cheeks. A bright pink. Her eyes were clear. She turned to the side and the sun caught a few silver strands of hair. They glinted in the morning light. They practically sparkled. Why was she hiding her sparkle? Why was she waiting for any of these things she wanted? She was done delaying her dreams, and she was over trying to make anyone else happy. “And I think I’m going to try going gray.”

  “Wait. Really?”

  “I think it’s pretty, but the hair dye aisle at the grocery store says I’m supposed to cover it up. Why does gray have to be bad?”

  “It doesn’t. At all.”

  “Exactly. Going gray is normal. And like every other bullshit standard of beauty, society wants me to hide my age. I’m tired of hiding.”

  “It could end up being super cute. If nothing else, I bet you end up with one of those wickedly cool streaks.”

  “Yes. Like Stacy on What Not to Wear.” Lela was convinced. This meant something. Silver could mark her future. And while she was at it, she might as well start transforming her career. “Also, I’m dropping my makeup clients.”

  That got Tammera’s attention. “No. You cannot do this to me. You make me look amazing on camera.”

  Lela picked up her phone and looked her best friend in the eye. “Do you really think I would do that to you?”

  “Maybe? I don’t know. You just got ghosted after a one-night stand with a guy you haven’t seen in twenty years. Anything is possible.”

  “I’m not letting you down. I will do your makeup for as long as you want me to. Until I’m so crippled with arthritis that my hands are like claws and I can hardly stand up.”

  “I doubt my show will be on the air for that long, but thanks.” Tammera cocked her head ever-so-slightly. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

  Lela nodded eagerly. “Yep. I’m going full throttle on my skincare and cosmetics line. Lela B is officially a go.”

  Chapter Seven

  Three years later

  Lela had kept her promise. She had not dropped Tammera as a makeup client, even when squeezing her in became a bigger and bigger challenge as Lela B slowly took off. Some days, Lela’s little company took a baby step—a new retailer, some praise from a beauty influencer, or a new product that had gone over well with customers. But she’d had her share of setbacks, too—failed formulations, colors that flopped, and stores where Lela B simply never got any traction.

  But two years in, a tiny miracle happened. JTI, a consortium of fashion and beauty brands, made an offer to bring Lela B into their corporate family. It meant that Lela could finally move her office out of her house, pay herself more money, and streamline production. It also meant a vast array of opportunities—connections, partnerships, and relationships that would’ve taken Lela years to establish. But all that good fortune also translated to a lot of irons in the fire, making it even more difficult to find time for Tammera.

  “Thank you for coming today, love. I know work is crazy right now.” Tammera turned her head back and forth, admiring herself in the mirror of her dressing room at the Cook It! studios. “Looks amazing. As always.”

  Lela grinned. “Eighty percent of that is you. I can’t take much credit. Now look up.” She swiped a second coat of thick black mascara onto Tammera’s lashes.

  Tammera blinked at herself in the mirror. “Ooh. My lashes are so thick and lush. Is this a new product?”

  “It is. I’d love to hear what you think. I feel confident in it, but I figure that if it holds up to you standing over a steaming pot of whatever goodness you’re cooking while under studio lights, it’s definitely good to go.” Lela applied a final coat of powder, then removed the tissues protecting Tammera’s clothes. “You’re all set.”

  Tammera got up from the chair and gathered her things—a bottle of water and a notebook that never left her side. She often said that recipe inspiration could come at any time. “What do you have going for the rest of the day?”

  Lela consulted the time on her phone. “I have to run home and change for a meeting at JTI. They’re shifting Lela B to another division.”

  “They’re moving you again? Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

  “I don’t. I talked to my dad about it. He said it’s just part of what corporations do.”

  “Your dad’s a retired chemistry teacher. What does he know about it?”

  “Actually, he worked for a big company before he transitioned into teaching. He developed patents on all kinds of household products in the seventies.”

  Tammera nodded. “Huh. And now he’s helping you with makeup. Talented guy.”

  “He just consults now. The scientists in the JTI labs do the heavy lifting.” Lela’s dad, Ben, and her mom, Deb, were incredibly supportive, but they’d also become far more present in her life since the divorce. They were visiting New York three or four times a year now, just so they could make sure she was “okay”. It was incredibly sweet and adorable, but Lela couldn’t ignore the central conclusion her parents had made—even though the divorce had happened three years ago, Lela was still in a vulnerable space. She didn’t feel that way, but she wasn’t about to tell her parents not to co
me.

  “Are you worried about this shift?” Tammera made air quotes for added effect.

  “It sounds scarier than it is, which is sort of funny, because I think they call it a shift to make it sound less frightening.” Lela started packing up her rolling makeup case. “But no, I’m not worried. I mean, we’re doing well, but we’re still small potatoes. I don’t have that much say in it.”

  “It’s probably all numbers to them.”

  “Exactly.”

  Tammera raised her hand to her lips to blow a kiss and say goodbye. “I should get into the studio. I’d hug you, but it’ll mess up your hard work.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Good luck today, honey. I believe in you.” Tammera underscored her good wishes with a wink. “Oh, and by the way, you’re looking fabulous today. Especially the hair.” With that, she disappeared down the hall.

  Lela hustled to pack up the last of her things, then ran downstairs, and hailed a cab to her apartment. It took about twenty minutes to get changed, fix her makeup and hop into a different taxi to hightail it to the JTI offices in the garment district, which wasn’t far but she was on a tight schedule. As they whizzed through the city, Lela couldn’t help but feel like today was going to be a big day. A good day. There was a flutter of excitement in her chest. JTI had every reason to put Lela B in the best possible situation. If nothing else, at least they were paying attention.

  When Lela stepped out of the cab, it was the first time she’d picked up on what a truly beautiful day it was—warm and sunny, like a reminder from Mother Nature that summer would arrive any minute now, even though it was still May. As she strode down the sidewalk, she felt eyes on her. This was a recent phenomenon in her life, happening more and more often in the last year. Before this, if people were staring, she either had toilet paper on her shoe or food on her face.