“I sold my earrings and bracelet at the shop this week.”
“You did? That’s awesome, Mac.”
Lauren is my number-one fan. I think she really loves my jewelry. She’s always wearing something of mine. “Who was it?”
“A really pretty older woman—classy. She said she heard about me from a friend, so since I’ve only sold one piece lately, I’m going to assume her friend is Sam’s mom.”
“Well, word of mouth is the best way to get your name out there. Those women run in some pretty important circles, my friend. It’s just a matter of time now, Mac.” She throws her arm over me and hugs. “You’d better get going on your jewelry so you have back stock.”
My place is dark, so she can’t see the stupid smile that just crossed my face. “I hope you’re right. I really hope so. I still have things I made in college if I really get hot.” I giggle and roll over so I’m in my favorite sleeping position. “Night, bestie.”
“Night, Mac.”
I think Pops would be proud. I close my eyes and think happy thoughts until sleep takes me.
I wakeup to the sound of humming coming from my tiny kitchen. I smell coffee brewing, thank goodness, and I can scent toast from my toaster oven. I don’t have an actual oven. I’ve got a two-burner cooktop, a small microwave, and a toaster oven that works perfectly well for me. I can make all sorts of things in it. “Coffee,” I moan with a raspy morning voice.
“I’m on it. Get your ass into the shower. This is gonna take a while,” she says in a chipper tone. Lauren’s a morning person. I’m nocturnal. Opposites attract, I guess.
I roll out of bed, literally. I pick myself off the floor and drag my feet into the bathroom. I’ve got a tiny shower stall, a pedestal sink, and a toilet. The shower stall is just big enough to fit me. If I gain any weight, I’ll have to shower parts of me in sections. I giggle at my own joke.
“What are you laughing about, Mac? You sound a little deranged. Here’s your coffee. I set it on the back of the toilet. Oh, and don’t forget to shave. And I mean everything.”
I’m not deranged. Jeesh.I groan at her last words. “Everything?”
“Everything.”
“He’s not going to see my hoo-ha, woman. He’s just picking up a necklace.”
“It’s not about him, honey. It’s about knowing you’ve got a naughty secret. It makes you feel sexy, which makes you exude sex appeal. Trust Mama Lauren.” She laughs as she leaves my tiny bath.
I quickly wash my hair and body and reluctantly shaveeverythingso I can get out fast. It only takes minutes for the water to turn from warm to frigid. Damn water heater. I dryoff and slip on my old robe. Yeah, it was Pops’s, too. Combing through my mop of hair, I see my reflection in the mirror. “Damn, I look tired.” I raise my voice so Lauren can hear me. “I hope you can do miracles, LL, because I look like a zombie.”
“I’m a miracle worker. Hurry up and dry your hair and get out here.”
I dry my hair, brush my teeth, and step out into Lauren’s makeshift salon. She’s got a makeup case the size of a small carry-on bag and hair tools I’ve only seen in salons. She’s got everything. “Sit,” she says, pointing to my one and only kitchen stool. I plop down, and using the lighted mirror she brought, I watch her work her magic.
By the time she’s finished with my hair and makeup, I don’t recognize myself. My hair is sleek and smooth, having been flat-ironed to within an inch of its life. I move my head back and forth, and it feels soft. My makeup is not over-the-top, using light peach and pink tones on my face so I don’t look like I’m going to a club. My lips are almost a nude color with just enough pink to keep me from looking washed out. My eyes are what really stand out, though. She’s used a soft, contrasting orange and taupe so that my blue eyes really look huge. “Wow, I look damn good. Youarea miracle worker.”
“Oh, pooh. You’re a beautiful woman, Mac. This is just to enhance what you’ve already got. Okay, now here’s your dress.”
“A dress? It’s cold outside. I’m going to freeze my ass off, literally.”
“I’ve got my car, remember. I’m dropping you off.”
I’d like to tell her,yeah, but I’ll still have to get home at night, but I keep that to myself. “Fine.”
The dress is red with tiny white polka dots all over it. Again, it’s reminiscent of the 1950s with its tight bodice and a skirt that flares out at the waist and drops to the knees. The sleeves fall to my elbows, and the V-neck is modest but still reveals a littlecleavage. “Shit, I need pearls with this thing. I look like June Cleaver.”
“No, you don’t. You look hot. When you get to work, you’re going to wear these shoes.”
“Oh, no. Those look painful. I’m on my feet all day. No,” I add again, shaking my head. They’re brown leather lace-up shoes with what looks like three-inch heels. They’re cute but….
“These are dancing shoes, so they’re remarkably comfortable.”
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
“They are. They’ll look perfect with your dress, and they’ll make your legs look a mile long. Once he leaves, you can slide on your flats if they’re uncomfortable.”
