Back on six, I knock on the frame of Candi’s office like David did.
“Come in, come in. That looks much better. There’s just no substitute for a good bra fitting.”
Now the previously empty clothes rack in Candi’s office is filled with suits, dresses, tops, even a few jackets. Underneath the rack are piles of shoe boxes. Candi must have noticed me staring because she explains, “You wearing size six shoes is really a god send. Most samples come in six. And unlike clothing, a tailor can’t fix shoes that don’t fit. Let’s start with a suit to wear to that banquet in a few weeks.” She picks a pink Chanel suit off the rack and a cream colored silk shell and hands it to me.
“You don’t mind changing in here do you? It’s bigger and closer to the mirrors than the changing rooms, and I can still get a bit of work done.”
“I don’t mind.” For the fifth time that day, I disrobe in front of another person which is more times than I’ve been partially naked in front of another person since I learned to work buttons by myself.
The suit is gorgeous. It doesn’t have a collar or lapels but the front and bottom of the jacket are scalloped. It hits me right at the top of the hip, and it has that traditional Chanel boxy shape. Candi buttons the two buttons and the jacket fits like a glove. Candi looks at me with her head cocked to the side and hums. Then she folds up the sleeves that are completely covering my hands and grabs a piece of tape and folds the bottom of the pencil skirt over and tapes it. She marks both the sleeve and the skirt with some kind of chalk. Still barely humming, she starts popping tops off the giant mound of shoe boxes and pulls out a pair of cream colored Manolo Blahnik pumps with shell pink interiors and kitten heels.
“Try these on,” she says as she tosses them at my feet.
I slip my feet in, and they feel great.
“Let’s go get the full effect.”
I follow her out the door to a three angled mirrors with a platform in the middle like that bride’s dress show. I step up on the platform and look at myself in the mirror and, for the second time today, I am stunned by how I look. I can’t help it. I actually say, “Wow!”
“Wow’s right,” she agreed. “You look fantastic. Even I didn’t realize how good you’d look in proper clothes. We might even be able to use you as a petite swimsuit runway model. It’s amazing what well cut clothes can do.”
I couldn’t even process the model comment. I can’t help but stare at myself in the mirrors like a crazed narcissist. I have never looked this good—not the time my father won an award and my mother spent an hour doing my hair for the ceremony--not at my sweet sixteen party—not at my graduation. Seriously right here, right now, standing on this ridiculous platform wearing clothes that have been taped and folded up, is the best I’ve ever looked.
“You look great!” shouts David a bit too enthusiastically from the behind several racks of clothes.
I turn to look at him. “I didn’t know you had come back.”
“Truffle fries and phone games only hold your attention for so long.”
“I just started trying on actual clothes. Should we leave?”
“You drove. You can stay as long as you need to, but I’d like to hang out and watch for a bit,” he explains as he settles in on a couch facing the mirrors.
His mother gave him a disapproving look, “Fine. B.D. let’s try on a few more things.”
By a few more things she meant seemingly hundreds of articles of clothing. I tried on several more suits, jackets, cocktail dresses, blouses, sweaters, and even a few pairs of pants. I walked away with a few blouses and sweaters and more shoes than I’ve ever owned in my life. I had pumps to match the two suits she selected for me, a pair of strappy heels for the gold lame cocktail dress Candi insisted was perfect (Is gold lame ever perfect?), flats in several colors, and two pairs of boots. Candi sent two suits, a couple of jackets, several pairs of pants, and two cocktail dresses to the tailor. I didn’t think it was worth it to take up the cocktail dresses; who cares if they to my mid-shin or almost drag the floor? She insisted though. She said she had tons of credit with the tailor, but she and David shared a look that made me think they were hiding the fact that he was paying for the alterations. David sat on the couch the entire time and typed on his phone, but I caught him stealing looks at me the entire time.
I thanked Ms. Merriweather and then remembered to ask about selling Mom’s jewelry.
“Ms. Merriweather—I mean Candi—Mom was thinking about selling a few pieces of jewelry that Dad gave her. Not the necklace, but a few of the pieces that Dad gave her recently. They’re a little…flashy for our life now, and we could use a bit of extra money,” I explained.
“Of course,” agreed Ms. Merriweather. “I didn’t think some of the pieces he had bought recently were really the most appropriate. I know just the person to buy them. Wait just a minute.” She went into her office, rummaged in her desk, and returned with a card. “Tell your mother to make an appointment with Mr. Slagel. Tell her to tell him that I sold the pieces to Richard. He should give her a fair number for anything she wants to sell.”
I glanced at the card that had Mr. Slagel’s name, address, and telephone number on it. “Thanks! I really appreciate it.” I stashed the card in my pocket.
Exhausted, I was ready to head home, but Candi handed all the bags to David and asked, “Honey could you take B.D. down to the salon. I booked her for a haircut and a mini-makeover.”
“What?” I asked incredulously. I wasn’t sure if I was up for this final step. I might fall asleep, and I thought it was a bit high handed of Candi to just slip me in. I didn’t want to cut my hair and what did a mini makeover entail? This entire afternoon I had let people pick and fuss over clothing for me without complaining or even really having any say in the process. They were treating me essentially like a very capable doll, or even expensive meat. I didn’t appreciate being treated like meat even if they did make me look like the tastiest meat ever. I had never looked this good, but still…no one wants to be meat. I drew in a breath to protest, but David grabbed my hand and started yanking me toward the elevator.
Under his breath, David whispered, “Say good bye to Candi and thank her.”
Reflexively I said, “Good night. Thanks for all the help. The clothes are wonderful.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help,” she replied as David drug me into the elevator.
As you would expect, the Neiman’s salon was luxurious and modern. The lighting was diffuse. The furniture was covered in taupe Naugahyde and all the wood was stained dark. A young, chipper woman with blue hair walked up to me with her hand stuck out. “You must be B.D.” she stated.
I shook her hand, “Yes, I’m B.D.”
“Great! Let’s see what we can do with your hair,” She nodded a bit too familiarly to David and winked. “You can sit in the waiting room, David.”
David winked back, “Whatever you say Daphne,” and sauntered off to park his egotistical ass in a chair. If I wasn’t pretty sure David was gay, I would think he and Daphne had shared some alone time in a non-upright position. Maybe Wendy was right about David being a player. Regardless I was soon draped in a black cape, and Daphne was cheerily slicing my hair to shreds.
The huge hunks of hair falling to the floor made me sick to my stomach, but I kept telling myself it was only hair and that it would grow back. So I was surprised when Daphne had dried my hair that I did not, in fact, look like an asylum escapee but a normal person—a rather attractive normal person. My hair has always been out of control, but Daphne worked some kind of hair magic so my hair fell in soft curls around my face instead of creating a fuzzy, red halo around my head. My hair didn’t even look shorter really just more manageable. Cool. Once again, I couldn’t help but stare at my reflection in the mirror. I thanked Daphne and tried to pay her, but once again, she said she owed Candi a favor; she did let me tip her.
I had just handed Daphne a ten when Felicity swept through the door. This woman topped six feet if she was an in
ch although her ridiculously tall heels not to mention her hair piled on top of head probably contributed to the illusion of height. She was dressed in a white Chanel suit—that looked great with her dark skin; her red shoes and a red scarf made the outfit pop, while her red nails and red lipstick completed the look. She had perfect make-up that made her skin look flawless and her eyes and lips look big and beautiful. Just her presence filled the room, but when she spoke, she was mesmerizing. Words rolled out of her mouth in a melodious East Texas drawl—all soft “r”’s and “dahlings.” She told me to come with her, and I couldn’t help but follow her pied piper’s voice. The trance she induced was probably a good thing, because I would have run screaming if I had known she was planning on putting makeup on me. I only just tolerated makeup when I need to look “professional” or at least like an adult. In Texas everyone assumes a woman without makeup is some kind of feminist radical. Even so, normally I don’t wear makeup, but today I had put on mascara and lip gloss because…well…Neiman’s. You don’t go to Neiman’s without a bit of makeup. Before I knew what was what though, Felicity was crooning to me in her deep, soft voice and smoothing tinted moisturizer on my face with her unusually large, but very soft hands.
“Dahling, you have such nice skin. You need to keep it moisturized so it will stay nice,” she drawled. “And don’t be messing up your complexion with foundation. Just some moisturizer and a bit of powder when you get a little dewy will do the trick.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Always use a cream or pale pink shadow on your eye lids. You can use gold if you really want to glam it up, but for every day go for cream or pink. Don’t ever use blue—it clashes with your green eyes. Blue eyeshadow looks bad on everyone. They should ban the sale of blue eye shadows for the greater good.”
I’ve never heard that. I wondered if someone had ratted me out. My Aunt Andrea insisted that blue eyeshadow was perfect for green eyes. I glanced at Felicity towering over me and then got a mental picture of Aunt Andrea in her back teased hair and pants suits and decided to go with Felicity.
“Today I’m using this combination shadow on you called,” she flipped the case over to read the name, “petal and mink. Just make sure you stick to cream and pink for your lid and then the crease should be brown or even a dark purple will work. And fill in the crease like a wind shield wiper.” She swept the shadow into my crease by digging into it and swiping back and forth with a fancy brush.
“You should always use a lip brush to put on lipstick especially with your lips. If you don’t use a brush you can’t properly apply the lipstick on the corners of your mouth,” explained Felicity. I silently wondered what a lip brush was but promised to always use one.
“Be sure to stay away from blush that has even a hint of orange. It will look like clown makeup on your skin,” she admonished.
“I’ll only use pink…scout’s honor,” I promised.
Felicity stepped back, cocked her head to the side, and said “That’s a good everyday look for you.” Then she whirled my chair around so that I could look at the stranger staring back at me. I honestly didn’t recognize myself. I was beautiful and speechless.
Felicity cleared her throat, “So what do you think?”
“I…I can’t believe I look like that.” My eyes started to tear up, and I could feel the lump starting to press on my throat.
“Girl, don’t cry on me,” admonished Felicity. “I just know how to enhance your natural assets, but that’s all you. You just need to learn to work what you got.”
“I’m not sure I can do this by myself,” I replied.
“Sure you can. I told you everything you need to know. If you need a little more instruction, there’s this thing called the Internet that’s just full of how to videos. And you can come in every year or so, so I can update your look. Promise?”
“I promise,” I replied with a nod.
“Can I take your picture? I need to preserve this for posterity, and you need one so you won’t go missing steps. Say cheese!”
She snapped the picture and sent it to my phone.
“So do you want to buy anything today? You don’t have to, but I do get a commission.”
“Could I get the eye shadow, the blush, and the lipstick?” I asked.
“Of course dear,” she replied and proceeded to ring me up.
When I saw the bill, I realized that Sunday night crackers and water were still in my future, but I didn’t mind. A little hardship was worth the chance to look pretty for a change instead of plain, tiny me.
David held out his arms. “Let me help you with those packages.”
“Sure.”
“Want to go out for an early dinner? My treat.”
“David you’ve done so much for me. I couldn’t possibly impose further.”
“No imposition. One of my favorite bbq places is just down the street.” He paused. “You’re not a vegetarian are you?”
“I like a hunk of smoked meat as much as the next gal, but…”
“Seriously, I don’t want to eat alone, and my mom has a hot date with the summer buy.”
“Really?”
“Really, I would love some company.”
“Fine, but I’m paying my share.”
“Sure if that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way I want it.”
David
I knew she would clean up good, but I wasn’t expecting this. B.D. looked like a miniature super model. A friend, super model apparently, because she’s not going to let me pay. I’m okay in the friend zone with B.D. though. I’m not sure how I would feel about banging someone who was better at calculus than I am and beat me out of Dr. Hrezecovic’s assistantship. It would be weird. Not to mention the entire co-worker aspect to our relationship. It wouldn’t be a good idea to create all that tension at work. The place is stultifying enough as it is. So I guess I’ll count this little excursion as my good deed for the year: transforming an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan…or something like that. Let the rest of the world enjoy her. I’m just happy not to have to look at the female version of a pocket-protector-taped-up-glasses-dorky-clothing version of a chick. Physicists are cool, damn it! They should look that way.
B.D. followed me to my favorite Houston BBQ joint: Blood Bros. And ordered a beef rib. A beef rib! Definitely not a date. No woman looks hot gnawing on a piece of meat almost as large as her head…right?
As we waited for the food B.D. asked, “So how did you find out about this place?”
“One of the guys who lifeguards with me in the summer works here too.”
“You lifeguard in the summer?” she asked.
I stretched to show off my muscles a bit and replied, “Sure, it’s been my main summer gig while I’m in school. Last summer I also did some coding on the side, but mostly I lifeguard. It motivates me to stay in shape, and it’s nice to do something mindless after spending nine months number crunching.”
“I would love to lifeguard. I spent last summer waiting tables, and I made some good money, but I smelled like fried fish all summer and didn’t do one relaxing thing. At least I don’t have to wait tables at school this year. I’m really sick of listening to people complain about how their steaming food isn’t hot enough or that the catfish tastes too fishy. Really?”
“Lifeguarding is possibly the most mindless job ever. You just sit back and let your eyes wander the crowd looking for anything off. Mostly just sit there, and if something does happen, you get to be the hero.”
She nodded in agreement right as the food came.
In her dainty hands, the beef rib looked even larger than normal. She held it delicately between her two hands and eyed it, trying to decide the best spot to take her first bite. After a moment of contemplation, she chomped into the rib and ripped the meat off the bone by jerking her head slightly like an animal finishing off its prey with the death shake. She closed her eyes while she chewed to focus her attention on the flavor. Her pink lips were covered
in grease while she chewed and a bit of the grease dripped down the corner of her mouth. Unconsciously she wiped the grease on her wrist and dove in for another bite.
A woman eating a slab of meat almost the size of her head might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. I licked my lips and stared at her transfixed by the closest thing to an orgasm I’m likely to witness in public in broad daylight. I waited for her finish her third bite and asked, “So, how’s the rib?”
She opened her eyes and looked both surprised and sheepish at the same time, because clearly she had forgotten all about me. “It’s fantastic! I’m going to have to tell Dad about this place. He loves barbequed beef. He’s from Boston, and barbeque wasn’t a thing when he was growing up. They have something they call barbeque up there, but it’s just grilling. It’s not really barbeque. He claims barbeque is what kept him in Texas.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she takes another bite and explained, “This rib is truly a religious experience. The smoke ring is deep. The outside has just a hint of bark without tasting burnt, and it’s greasy which should be gross, but it’s just wonderful.”
At that point, she realized she must be wiping off her make-up and looked self-conscious. “I must look a mess,” she whispered apologetically.
I stared at her and honestly said “No, you don’t. Felicity must have put magic lipstick on you, because it’s still there, and you still looks perfect.”
“Perfect?” she asked.
“Definitely perfect,” I nodded with a grin on my face while I finally managed to tear my eyes away and tucked into my brisket.
Chapter Five
B.D.
I tried to sneak into my room with my loot, but Veronica caught me before I turned down the hall.
“You look fantastic,“ she crooned. “You could have been looking fantastic for years if you would have let me do your make-up.”
“I doubt that, but you were right. It’s probably worth it to spend some time fixing myself up and learning how to use make-up. I just didn’t know it could work so well.”
“Aunt Andrea doesn’t know squat about make-up. She lives in the middle of nowhere. How could she?’
Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series Page 5
