All these years, Gabby had been in drag as a housewife. Time to try on another role, something sexier, something she chose, a role that wasn’t dependent on a man for context. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be written on her tombstone.
The Disguises department was so much more than a musty closet filled with old clothes. It was an actual salon complete with a team of people she could only assume were “fashion agents.” Valentina introduced her. “Gabby Greene, this is your makeover team. Today, we are going to turn you into Darcy Dagger.”
Gabby lit up on the inside. This was one of those moments. She could hear Bob Barker yelling, “Gabby Greene, come on down!” This was her Showcase Showdown.
Valentina introduced them all. “Tina is on hair. Dante is wardrobe. Ellen is prosthetics.” It was going to be like a regular makeover, except instead of turning her into the best version of herself, they were going to turn her into the spitting image of a dead secret agent. Please let there be some overlap.
Tina ushered her into a salon chair. “Ready for red hair?”
“I’ve never been brave enough for red hair,” she said, and she heard someone guffaw, probably Valentina. Red hair was a risk, maybe not as risky as taking on the Russian mob, but it was still a risk. Questions of identity were always serious risks. Walking into battle or walking into high school with a new hair color—similar.
Gabby had never had so many people fuss over her. This might be for a vital mission, but today she was a princess.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, what about my voice? Do I have a voice coach too?”
Tina shook her head in the negative. “Neither of you have very distinctive voices. Our plan is to make you look so much like her that people will dismiss any tiny difference in speech.”
“I guess I can say I have a cold.”
“That’s right, girl!” Tina said. “You got this. Plus, it sounds like your boss never talks to you anyway.”
Tina mixed up a bright red paste in a Tupperware container, slipped on some disposable plastic gloves, and massaged it through Gabby’s hair. It was sad, but this was the most physical contact she’d had with anyone for a long time. Things had fizzled with Phil long before he actually up and left.
“The red is going to bring out your eyes.”
Gabby didn’t care what Tina did to her. She was floating away to a blissed-out state of relaxation.
While her hair marinated, Dante ran some outfits by her, mostly trim black pants and blazers. “I’m going for sleek and professional, but we can add a pop of color with a blouse or a T-shirt.”
Valentina huffed. “She needs to stay alive, Dante, not wear fuchsia.”
“Not fuchsia. I was thinking emerald green to go with her newhair.” He shook his head. “Don’t be jealous, Valentina. You know I would love to dress you up too.”
She snorted. “I’m going to get some actual work done. Good luck, you guys.”
After the door closed behind Valentina, Dante said, “Don’t worry. It’s not you. Valentina has been having one of those years.”
“Oh. Did something happen?”
“Boy trouble” was all he said.
After Tina washed her hair and massaged a ton of deep conditioner in “to tame the frizz,” she cut Gabby’s hair off at the chin and gave her bangs as blunt as Zooey Deschanel’s. “You’re lucky that Darcy had a good hairdo.”
Wardrobe presented a few more troubles. “You and Darcy are a similar size, but she spent a lot of time in the gym. We’re going to Spanx in your curves for this job.”
The way he referred to her extra weight as “curves” sent a warm glow through her whole body. She stopped short of hugging him, but barely.
He handed Gabby a tube of fabric that was clearly meant to hold in her stomach and give the impression of an active gym membership. It was the size of a pre-wrapped slice of American cheese.
“Okay. I’ll just slip it on.” No problem. Gabby was familiar with Spanx. She’d worn them every now and then back when she cared.
But this pair of Spanx maybe not. “Is this the right size?”
“The smaller the better.” With a wink, he added, “At least when it comes to Spanx.”
Behind a Chinese screen that Gabby recognized from International Rug’s Sales floor, confiscated backstock apparently, sheslipped out of her yoga pants and started pulling on the stomach shaper. “It’s the size of one of my thighs,” she called out from behind the screen. “I don’t know if I can get in this thing.” She couldn’t.
“I know it’s small, Gabby, but you can do it. Just slip the other leg in.”
