“Hey, you do know that Julia Roberts played a hooker in that movie, right? If this is your weird way of becoming my pimp and pushing me out on the street to turn tricks, we’re going to have a serious talk.”
She threw her head back laughing as she disappeared into my room. I didn’t hear her deny that part of the plan, but I shrugged, curiosity getting the better of me, as I trotted down the hall. She was already busying herself when I peered into the room. She had hung the large garment bag from the door and the other bag sat on my bed. Unzipping it, she hovered over it momentarily, nodded her head satisfactorily, and turned back to me, revealing none of the bag’s mysteries.
“Have you washed your hair today?” she asked, inspecting a lock of it between her fingers. I nodded. “Good.” She disappeared back down the hall, but returned within moments, carrying a stool from the kitchen.
“Are you going to show me what’s in the bag?” I motioned to the garment bag on the door.
“Nope, not yet. Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the stool. I disobeyed and crossed my arms. She grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me around, and pushed me down.
“I said sit.”
“Will you please tell me what is going on?”
She bent over, grabbing my face in her hands. It reminded me of something my mother would do when I was being defiant against something that was intended for my own good. “No. Now, will you please just go with the flow here? You’ll be happy you did, I promise.”
I wanted to argue, but figured there wasn’t much point, so I nodded my smooshed-up face. She released me, with a few little, light pats to my cheeks. Yep, she was definitely channeling my mom.
Pleased I was done struggling, she set to work emptying the mystery bag. Contained within were curling irons, straightening irons, rollers, combs, brushes, hairspray, and more makeup than an army of prostitutes could ever need. It was a virtual beauty arsenal and my curiosity was peaked. I figured, even if this was nothing more than Portia wanting to play a grown-up version of dress-up, it would at least be entertaining. It wasn’t as if I had anything else lined up for the evening.
Within no time, every outlet in my room had been given the task of heating one or more hair appliances, leaving me to question whether Portia was here to play dress up, or burn down my apartment. I glanced around the room, trying to locate any sentimental items to grab if the whole place went up like the Hindenburg. Noting where my photo albums and my childhood teddy bear were, I settled on the stool, relaxed in the knowledge that I had a disaster plan in place.
She walked to the window and threw the curtains aside, in order to let in what was left of the natural daylight, but scowled when only minor, dusky shadows fell through the panes. She adapted to the situation quickly, flicking on every available light in the room. Wandering out of the room again, she reappeared with my foundation and loose powder in hand.
Portia handed me a headband, which I used to sweep the hair out of my face. She stood before me placing her fingertips under my chin, and raised my face to the light. She twisted my head slightly, inspecting her “canvas” and giving a brief nod before setting to work. As she tweezed and painted my face, I intermittently tried to glean information. My only reward was a, “Tsch”, Portia’s Cesar Millan impression, and a flick to my chin. She was quiet as she painted away and, although she was playing this as all-business, there was an undeniable smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. So, after a while, I gave up and sat like a good little poodle, while she groomed me.
When she planted me on the stool, she faced me away from the mirror and, after forty-five minutes of face “painting”, I became suspicious it had been no accident. For all I knew, the little smile playing on her face was a direct result of her turning me into Bozo the Clown. I half expected, when I finally looked in the mirror, to discover a thick coating of blue eye shadow, bright orange lipstick, and Tammy Faye-Baker lashes.
Portia turned her back to me, emptying hands of brushes and cosmetics, before taking a step back. She was apparently pleased with her work, because she tossed a kiss away from her fingertips and declared, “Bellissima!”
I tried a quick pivot on the stool to catch a glimpse in the mirror, but she stopped me by grabbing my shoulders, shaking her head. “Not until I’m completely finished.”
I heaved a heavy sigh as she yanked the headband off my head and tossed it unceremoniously over her shoulder, onto the bed. I nearly forgot we were only halfway through playing “Portia’s Beauty Salon”. I slumped into an unattractive heap as she worked strategically, alternating between placing curlers in parts of my hair, while other strands fell prey to the curling iron.
Once the rollers were out, she spent the next hour teasing, parting, pinning, and gathering my hair into, what I could only assume, was some sort of up-do. When she finished, I held my breath as she surrounded my head in a fog of aerosol hairspray. Apparently, in Portia’s world, the environment could be damned, as long as every single hair on my head fell into place. She circled around me, looking at her hours of hard labor, when a huge grin spread across her face.
“You look perfect!” She clapped her hands.
“Great!” I feigned enthusiasm. “Perfect for what?” She held one finger up to me as she yanked the comforter off my bed and draped it over the full-length mirror. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes because, in just a few short minutes, all of your questions will be answered.”
I had my doubts.
She dug through the top drawer of my dresser until she found a pair of black, lacey panties. She tossed the undergarment my way, and I held it up with confusion.
“Strip, put those on, and lose the bra.”
I started laughing. “Um, excuse me? I’m not going to get naked in front of you.”
“You and your modesty. I’ll turn around and close my eyes, but just do as I say, all right?”
I had trusted her this far... Although, I was beginning to question my judgment on that. When my clothes were a heap on the floor, I clutched my arms around my bare breasts, trying to cover what I could. “Okay, I’m naked.”
Without turning around, she gave her next instructions. “In the side pocket of the large bag on the bed, you’ll find some jewelry, put it on.”
“I couldn’t do this while I was still dressed?” I asked, digging through the bag until I found the items. She sighed. Clearly, I was wearing on her patience, but I wasn’t sure why. I had jumped through every hoop she had asked me to, with very little resistance. Mild pestering—yes... but resistance? Not so much.
“Are you done?”
“Yes, I’m done. I’m now nude with jewelry and some skimpy undies.” I shivered, raising goose bumps on my bare flesh.
“Good. Now close your eyes.”
“What? No!”
“Olivia, ten more minutes of your cooperation is all I’m asking.”
I closed my eyes tightly. “Fine.”
I heard the distinct sound of a zipper, followed by a lot of shuffling. I was startled when her voice came from right next to me. She instructed me to take a seat on the bed. She pulled a pair of strappy heels onto my feet. Great! High heels, lacy panties, and no bra... I was beginning to feel a lot like a stripper.
“All right, next part might be a wee tricky.” As I rose from the bed, she grabbed me by the shoulders, turning me slightly. I felt her brush my left side before she spoke again, “Okay, you can lean on me while you do this, the stool is on the other side, but I need you to step in”
Step in... I could only assume this meant that, whatever had been hiding within that black garment bag, was about to be pulled up over my body.
I teetered, leaning heavily on her back with one hand, the other arm I kept across my naked breasts. I stepped carefully into the garment as she guided my foot, repeating the process. She shifted around behind me, pulling the material up over my hips. I pulled it up the rest of the way, to cover my chest, while Portia zipped it up.
“Keep your eyes clos
ed, for just a few more minutes.”
I heard more shuffling before she reached out to take my hand, leading me across the room. She positioned me, yet again, and I shifted my weight impatiently from leg to leg. The anticipation was killing me. I really wanted to know what we spent the previous two hours doing and, better yet, why.
“All right, open your eyes!”
I did as she instructed, just as she whipped the comforter off the mirror with the finesse of a magician pulling a tablecloth. I gasped at the big reveal. The reflection staring back was a chick that looked a heck of a lot like me, but infinitely better. Portia had done my hair in a loose up-do with tiny, lilac-flower accents and tendril ringlets that cascaded down over my shoulders. My makeup looked like it had been done by a professional. She gave me dark, smokey eyes and my lips looked full, pouty, and very kiss worthy from just a hint of burgundy gloss. I looked “camera ready” and had to refrain from spouting the cliché line—I’m ready for my close up, Mister Demille.
Above my shoulders looked fabulous, but what absolutely blew my mind was the attire below. Portia had dressed me in the designer gown from the window display, which I fell in love with on our birthday shopping spree. The black chiffon, sweetheart bodice hugged me closely, revealing just a hint of cleavage and flowed down into a lilac taffeta A-line skirt with a black, rose-patterned tulle overlay. The choker at my neck matched the pattern of the rosettes on the tulle, with a tiny, lilac-colored, teardrop charm hanging perfectly in the hollow of my neck. I lifted the hem to take a peek at the strappy black heels which, much to my surprise, were very comfortable on my feet. Dropping the skirt back down, I pointed to the reflection, gawking at Portia in awe.
“What the what?”
She smiled. “I know, right?”
Portia stood beside me, our reflections beaming back at one another. She took a few moments to straighten and fluff out the hem of my skirt. With a quick peek at her watch, she began to gather the supplies, used for the magical transformation, still strewn about the room. She paid little attention to me while cleaning up.
“Uh... Portia?”
“Yeah, babe?” she responded absently, while winding the cord around a curling iron and tossing it into the big bag.
“I’m kinda all dressed up with nowhere to go. Mind telling me what all this was about?”
“For your date, silly”
“What date?”
“The surprise date I orchestrated with Drake, who will be here in...” she took another glance at her watch, “about ten minutes to pick you up.”
“Wait... what?”
“It’s been in the works for a couple of weeks and last night we put the finishing touches on our scheme. That was the reason he couldn’t hang out with you. We were plotting and conspiring.” She rubbed her hands together, like she was some sort of super villain.
“You two hung out last night? Did I miss something? When did you become Team Drake?”
She played with the zipper on her magic bag of cosmetic tricks, not looking at me, as she heaved a heavy sigh. It was the sigh of someone about to unload a heavy burden. It was confession time and my stomach tensed.
“Well, the thing is... I kinda, sorta, haven’t been totally, one-hundred-percent honest with you. Drake is Zane’s best friend. And since I’m kinda dating Zane, I’ve hung out with Drake a few times since everything happened between you two.”
“You what?”
“I wanted to hate him for you, I really did, but he seemed like a genuine guy. After he broke up with his girlfriend, we got to talking, and I truly believed the one-night stand thing was a lapse in judgment, but not indicative of his true character.”
“Oooh-kaay.” It was all I could think to say because I wasn’t sure how to feel.
“One more thing.”
My voice was a little shaky when I replied, “Yeah?”
“About the birthday party, Zane was a patsy. I invited Drake, hoping you two would make a love connection again.” She cowered, pressing her fingers to her lips.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hit or hug her. It was a sweet and profoundly romantic notion, but it could have blown up in her face and taken our friendship to the grave in the process. She’d been lying to me and I can’t say that didn’t sting a little, regardless of her motives. Before I really had a chance to allow it to fully sink in, she added, “I never would have done it, if I didn’t know with complete certainty that I was doing the right thing.”
“And how did you know that?”
She crossed the room, taking my hands in hers. “Because of the way you looked at him the night you met. I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you did with him. I knew he hurt you, but I hoped there’d be a way for him to find redemption and get back into your good graces. You have to believe I never would have gone behind your back if I had even a microscopic doubt that he wasn’t good enough for you. I just really wanted to see you happy, so please don’t be mad at me.”
She was sincere, but damn, it was really hard not to feel betrayed. Wasn’t there a female equivalent of bros before hoes she should have been following? Regardless how everything worked out, shouldn’t the feelings of her friend come before the feelings of her quasi-boyfriend’s best friend, no matter how cool of a guy she thought he was?
“Are you mad?” she asked, sheepishly.
I was still trying to process, so I sidestepped until I could sort out my feelings on the matter at a later time “I guess not... but promise next time you’ll drop all the secrecy and talk to me first.”
“I promise,” she hugged me, “but there’ll be no need if Drake is your soul mate.”
I plastered a smile on my face because, deception aside, I hated to burst her bubble, especially after she had gone to all the trouble dolling me up for the past two hours. But I had a strong feeling it had all been for not—if a love connection was what she had been hoping for.
I hadn’t confided in anyone I thought Drake was treating me as a good pal, rather than a woman he was courting. Even with this whole super-secret “enlist one of my friends” date thing, I still had suspicions nothing changed. Portia said they started planning a few weeks ago. Which was about the time I began thinking he’d changed his mind about me. He must not have told her yet.
Truth of the matter was—we weren’t soul mates. We were just friends. So, there I stood, dressed to the nines, with my dear friend Portia, the hopeless romantic, waiting to go “hang out” with my buddy, Drake. It knocked the wind right out of my pretty little sails.
I looked in the mirror again. Portia really had worked some magic and the dress was so lovely. I twisted, throwing my head over my shoulder, to get a better peek at the back of the dress. It fit me perfectly. It was such a bummer that it was going to be, essentially, wasted.
“I can’t believe you bought me this dress. I’ll pay you back.”
“No need.”
I was getting ready to argue the point when the doorbell rang. She threw my bedroom door open in excitement. She bowed to me, sweeping an arm towards the hallway. “Your prince awaits, my lady.”
“What about the mess?” I asked, turning back to the room, eyeing the cosmetics and hair styling products still cluttering the room.
“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it. You just go have fun.” She shoved a tiny clutch purse into my hand and gave me a light squeeze. Before she let me go, she whispered in my ear, “I’m sure you can find a creative way to pay Drake back for that dress.” When she pulled away, she gave me a mischievous wink before disappearing back into my bedroom.
Fantastic, he’d paid for the dress, probably before his change of heart. Yeah, I could think how I’d pay him back, same way I paid any of my other friends back... with cash.
His back was to me when I opened the door. I almost didn’t recognize him but, when he turned around, my knees went wobbly. He was dressed all black tie, but the tux was anything but traditional. Gone were the usual lapel and collar. The jacket had a sleek, elegant d
esign with buttons running all the way down its length. The left breast had a single pocket and peeking out was a silk pocket square, in the same shade of lilac as my gown. Underneath the jacket, he wore a vest that was the same complimentary shade of lilac, that made his eyes seem to shimmer. Black pants finished off his attire, which hugged his backside in just the right way. My mouth was agape and I quickly snapped it shut again thinking, Men this beautiful should not exist in real life.
“Wow.” His voice hitched a bit, “You look so beautiful.”
He moved slowly towards me, with one hand in his pocket and the other resting against his heart. I meant to respond with something similar or a Right back at ya, but what ended up coming out was significantly more embarrassing,
“You look delicious.” I slapped my hand over my mouth and felt the flush rise in my cheeks, when he started to laugh. It was bad enough he’d heard it come out of my mouth, but I could hear Portia also snickering from the back of the apartment. “Wow, could I be more of a whore? I’m sorry.”
He was still laughing as he closed the distance between us, pulling my hand away from my mouth. “It’s all right.”
“It’s all right if I’m a whore?” I joked, trying to ease my own embarrassment.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, I like whores.” He closed his eyes tight as I burst into laughter. “Yeah, I heard that about a second too late. Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Are you ready to go?”
I nodded. He pulled my hand up into the crook of his arm and held it there. I knew I was going to have a good time, despite not knowing what was in store for the rest of the evening. As cliché as it sounds, I felt as if I had stepped into a fairy tale. But I knew I was just waxing poetic because, in those stories, Prince Charming always wants the princess. In reality, I still desired a man who no longer felt the same way about me. Maybe Tore and Devon were right, I was going to get hurt. However, it was already too late for anyone to stop it.
Prayer for the Dead (Revenants in Purgatory) Page 13