makes something in your T-shirt do what I like,
you gun the engine and take off fast,
it’s country muddin’ time and you’re havin’ a blast.”
Darnell hit pause. “Do you love it or what?”
“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” Cora said.
He wordlessly hit play again. The video shifted between scenes of Aaron singing in front of a bonfire surrounded by handsome good-old-boys and down-home sorority girls, and showing the blond object of his affection in various setups, like riding a dirt bike in the mud, waitressing in a crowded bar, and dancing in a honky-tonk. Cora listened closely as Aaron wailed the chorus, eyes closed and head back.
“When you’re covered in dirt, I think I’m gonna pounce,
Girl, make your ponytail bounce!”
Cora and Maggie shrieked at the exact same moment. “Noooo,” Maggie yelled. “No, no, no!”
“He’s making that stupid phrase athing?” Cora asked in disbelief.
“Apparently. You should hear the club mash-up. They played it at Twinkle last night, and I made the connection right away. I was so excited to share this train wreck with y’all,” Darnell said, affecting a heavy southern accent. “Now let’s forget about the Fairfax cowboy and get to work on you.”
Cora groaned and handed the phone back to Darnell. “Only Aaron could turn a throwaway sexist comment into a hit song.”
“I bet they started writing it the second the words came out of his mouth. He must have an amazing publicist,” Maggie said.
“Writing a song about bouncing titties is a good thing? I thought you were a feminist?” Darnell asked.
“No, the song obviously sucks, the fact that they jumped so quickly and completely repackaging him as a country star is amazing.” Maggie looked at Cora. “I still don’t understand what you saw in him.”
“What I saw in him is exactly what the rest of the world sees in him. I mean, the guy sweet-talked his way out of a scandal and into second place! It’s easy to fall for that. The difference is I also saw what was underneath.”
“It still didn’t stop you from saying yes,” Maggie said pointedly.
“Ouch, Mags. But you’re right, and when he broke it off he saved me from the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Movingon, let’s not give that loser any more airtime,” Darnell said with authority. “I need to get to work.” He stood in front of Cora, studied her face, and began painting her with a series of brushes and sponges. After forty-five minutes of primer, foundation, lashes, and sparkle, he nodded approvingly at Cora.
“A masterpiece. Go look.”
She didn’t recognize her reflection. She looked flawless, airbrushed into glossy magazine perfection.
“Smoky eyes! You gave me smoky eyes!”
“They’re seductive. ’Cause that’s the goal, right? Maggie filled me in on how you’re gonna steal this man away from his woman tonight.”
She glared at Maggie. “Hardly. I just want to look like a real girl for a change.”
“You don’t look real, C. You look like a model,” Maggie said approvingly. “Now what are you going to do about the hair? Straighten it?”
“Never! She needs to look like herself. A less flyaway and split-ends version of herself, though.” Darnell motioned for Cora to sit down on the stool again. He worked quietly, as if he needed to focus on taming Cora’s mass of ringlets. He was done within twenty minutes.
“Voilà.”
“Amazing.” Maggie sighed.
Darnell had pulled back the hair at Cora’s temples and woven it into a deconstructed fishtail braid secured with a tiny Swarovski crystal star clip. The rest of her hair cascaded over her shoulders in fat waves.
“Oh my God, perfect! Not too fussy, not too prom-y ... I love it! Thank you, D!” Cora bounced into his arms.
