by Lee, Nadia
Erin
When Josephine and I walk into some fancy boutique, the skinniest Asian woman I’ve ever seen comes out. Her hair is cut asymmetrically and falls around her perfectly made-up face like a silky, inky waterfall. The midnight-black dress has a pale pink cherry-blossom print, and her feet are encased in glittering silver sandals.
She exchanges air kisses with Josephine. “Welcome, Josephine. So. What’s the occasion?”
“Turning her into a princess.” Josephine gestures at me. “Meet Erin Clare. Erin, this is Jun. She’s the owner.”
“Hello.” Jun’s dark gaze skims over me, making my skin crawl.
I hope this is the last round of Judging Erin. I don’t know how much more I can stand without feeling like I need to run and hide in a bathroom stall.
“Let’s get more comfortable before we discuss things further,” Jun says.
I would feel more comfortable if I were back in the office, but that’s clearly not what she has in mind. I just hope the “further discussion” won’t be as bad as the one Josephine and I had. And I pray the shopping part is quick and efficient.
Jun leads us into a gigantic room complete with four staging areas with three-way mirrors and a giant white leather couch. The room has a few vases full of fresh flowers, and it’s full of natural light and soothing cream and ivory. I start to see why people might hire someone like Josephine just for the calmer shopping experience. Mine normally involves flipping through clearance racks until I find something cheap and suitable. And it’s anything but calm when other bargain hunters are doing the same thing on the same rack. It can get competitive.
“Anything to drink? Dom? We also have a wide selection of white and red wines, some cocktails…” Jun offers as her assistant, who is just as sharply dressed, hovers nearby.
“No, thank you. I have to go back to work,” I say.
Josephine says, “Maybe some OJ for me and a mimosa for my client.” She turns to me. “Mimosas are really weak, so it won’t even hit you. But it’ll relax you and make you feel better. Besides, it’s part of the experience. Get your money’s worth. David expects it.”
I nod mutely. It seems like she really wants me to take full advantage of the situation. I’ll take a sip to make her happy. I doubt one sip will impair my work performance.
Jun gestures. The assistant vanishes, then returns with the drinks.
The mimosa is cool, with a nice, fizzy finish. Jun’s boutique probably doesn’t use cheap alcohol. This reminds me of the ring shopping I did with David. Shit. Are they going to think that’s my preference and insist on putting me in things that are as original and statement-making as the ring?
“Can I just get some clothes in the same style as this”—I point at my outfit—“and get going?” I say, channeling David when he’s in an interdepartmental meeting. Polite but firm.
“That?” Jun points at me with horror. “But that’s so…businesslike. No personality at all.” Her voice grows mournful. “It’s a terrible sin for any woman to hide her true self.”
No, it isn’t. You do not want to see how crazy I truly am. I force a smile. “My job isn’t in fashion.”
“So?” Josephine sounds scandalized. “That doesn’t mean you can’t do more.”
“Exactly.” Jun nods. “We’ll make you beautiful. And brilliant. You’re pretty. You should be noticed.”
My skin crawls a little more.
She raises a hand, fingertips pulled together, then opens them widely like a sunburst. “Shine like a star in a dark sky!”
“No!” I gasp.
Jun stops. “Excuse me?”
Josephine is also staring.
Oh my God. Why did I burst out like that? What would a normal person say? “I mean… It sounds great…?” I squeak.
“You don’t really sound convinced,” Josephine says, her head tilted.
“No, no, I’m convinced.” This must be how young Salem women felt when they were accused of being witches and had to decide if they should just drown and prove their innocence or swim and then get executed for using black magic. Screwed either way. “I just… I just want to be okay.”
“David said home and hearth. The kind of girl a man marries,” she says.
“Okay. Then let’s do that,” I say, desperate. “Home and hearth” sounds very calm and earthy. Not some brilliant fashion supernova in the dead of night. “Nothing drastic. I just want to be me. I mean, a slightly better me…but me. You understand?” That should placate these fashion barracudas. Or so I hope.
“Your man is being…” Jun shakes her head. “This isn’t about him, but you. You looking beautiful, you shining like a star. Home and hearth sounds so…drab. How are you supposed to shine while toiling away in a kitchen?”
“It’s totally possible!” I nearly yell. “I love baking.”
“Hard to shine when you’re covered in baking powder,” Josephine says. “But we’ll see.”
Jun snaps her fingers. “Let’s get started.”
More of her people come. I count, and holy mother of God, there are twelve. Twelve? I need twelve people to pick out clothes?
Soon I realize it’s more than that. They take me to a super-comfy chair. One starts trimming my hair, while two others start doing my mani and pedi. I squeak, but Josephine waves away my protest.
“It’s part of the deal. Can’t be a ‘slightly better you’ if you don’t do this.”
“Can I pick the color?” I ask, trying not to panic.
“Yes,” one of the people doing my nails says. “We have every color you could want.”
“Pink!” It’s sweet, inoffensive and blends in.
She nods at another woman, who brings out a huge tray full of pink nail polishes. Who knew there are so many different shades of pink? Can’t they use the bottle that says just “pink”?
“Any pink is fine as long as it’s pretty,” I say faintly.
Behind me, Josephine and Jun consult in low voices, while more racks are dragged in. Vivid colors flash by in my peripheral view. Red. Black. Honey gold. Yellow. Purple. And so many more.
I try to turn my head, but the stylist tut-tuts. “Don’t move unless you want to look bad. You need to trim your hair regularly to get it nice and bouncy. You have good hair, but it’s been neglected.”
“Sorry,” I say, feeling properly chastised. Her nametag reads, Becca. “Sorry, Becca.”
“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to yourself! If you don’t take care of yourself, who will? Nobody cares about you more than you.”
Not according to my dad or Warren. But she doesn’t need to know that. “Right.” Best to humor her, since she’s wielding scissors near my face and neck.
“So many women put others first, and then one day they wake up and have nothing, not even their looks. Their husbands are accomplished in their career and ready to trade up to a younger and prettier model, and their kids are finished with college and out of the nest. But the wives—now, they’re old and sad. Alimony is nice, but it’s a cold comfort.”
I start to nod, then catch myself. “I’m sure.” I give Becca a weak smile, not willing or wanting to tell her that I’m never going to experience what she’s saying because I’m never going to be with anybody for that long. Or have kids. Or even stay lucid enough in my golden years to know what’s going on.
“That’s why divorced women have makeovers. Shoulda done that throughout their lives!”
I debate if I should point out that I can never be divorced, since I don’t plan on getting married in the first place. But I keep my mouth shut because I’m supposed to be David’s fiancée.
“Your sister got a raw deal, Becca, but really, Erin doesn’t need to have that kind of things filling her head. She’s about to be transformed into a home and hearth goddess,” Jun says.
“With sleek sophistication,” Josephine adds, studying things hanging from racks.
“Sexy underwear and demure dresses,” Jun says thoughtfully.
“What k
ind of sexy underwear? I’m happy with what I have,” I say, not interested in discovering what Jun considers sexy. What if she tries to put me in something crotchless?
“If it’s as plain as your top and skirt, no,” Josephine says. “Trust me, I know.” She starts picking bras out.
“They probably aren’t even the right size,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “Thirty-two B.”
What…? “How did you know?”
She laughs. “Because I’m good at my job.”
I wait with dread while she starts picking out dresses. I wish I could get up and see what she’s doing, but I can’t move from the chair. The pedi lady in particular looks like she’s going to break my ankles if I move and mess up the work she’s done on my toenails. I look down and resist the urge to wriggle my toes. Holy cow. The shade she picked out is the sweetest and most ethereal pink. Despite my anxiety, I love it. My mani lady used the same one for my nails. I sigh, admiring my hands and feet. They’ve never been this pretty before.
Becca laughs. “You’re cute,” she says. “First time for a mani pedi?”
“First time since my mom passed away.” I lost interest in a lot of things after Mom died.
Her face softens. “I’m so sorry to hear that. But look how you’re feeling better already. Just a little TLC is all we need.”
Her friendly manner is contagious. I smile, my shoulders relaxing a little. “You’re right. Thank you.”
“Now, see what I’m doing here? How your hair moves? It flows better, lies better. More volume.”
I look at myself in the mirror. She’s right. It doesn’t look like she did a ton, because the overall style is the same as before, but my hair looks significantly better. Must be magic.
Josephine walks closer, gives me a critical once-over and nods. “Awesome, Becca. I love the way she looks now. Very chic.”
Becca curtsies. “Thank you. I always do my best work.”
I smile at that. She deserves to be proud.
Josephine looks at her phone, then frowns. “Huh. Change of plan.”
“What?”
“You’re to be yourself.”
“Be myself?” The words come out faintly. Josephine might as well have told me to leap into a shark-infested swimming pool. “What does that even mean?”
“Being yourself is just being happy with yourself, Erin,” Josephine says. “So it’s simple: choose items that make you happy.”
Jun has been laying out dresses. “Now, I picked out various items in jewel tones,” she says. “I’m certain you have tons of beige and other neutral shades.”
“I do, but…” I steal a glance at a bright magenta dress that is screaming my name. The shade is absolutely stunning, and the cut is stylish. I can imagine how flirty and fun it’s going to look. I just can’t picture myself wearing it because it’s going to grab attention. “It’s so…vivid.”
“Is that your only objection?” Josephine asks. “You’re blonde and pale. And you’ve got that pink mani and pedi, which I love. But if you put white or cream on top of that, you’re going to look washed out unless you have some accessories to counter the effect.” She sniffs. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think that’s what’s going to make you happy.”
I say nothing because she’s right about the status of my closet. And it’s not that blending in makes me especially happy—it’s that I want to prevent people from noticing me. That way if I ever do something weird, chances are better that nobody will see it.
Still, my gaze lingers on the dress. I loved wearing bright shades until my mom’s death… Mom loved vivid colors, too. Suddenly, I feel sad and nostalgic at the same time. I can never go back to when I was innocent and carefree. When I did what I wanted because it made me happy.
Josephine continues, “These will add some color, create some personality to your presence. This particular blue is excellent because it’ll bring out your eyes.” She gestures at a blue wrap dress.
“And you have amazing eyes,” Jun says. “Your eyelashes are quite long and thick, too.”
“Really? I haven’t done anything to them,” I say, feeling a weird need to explain and even defend their state. I don’t know why, but I’m terribly nervous about these women’s compliments.
“Wow. Girl, put some mascara on, and you’re going to look amazing.” Jun straightens from the wall and gestures at Becca. “Mascara, please.”
Becca brings out a brand-new tube from one of the drawers built into the wall.
Jun comes over and runs the wand quickly over my lashes. “There we are.” She stands back. “Wow. Look at you.”
“Holy shit,” Josephine whispers.
“Honey, you should’ve done something before,” Becca adds. “You look amazing.” She moves out of the way along with the rest of the women. “Just look!”
I do, then flutter my eyelashes. Oh my God. My eyes look huge. Not bug huge, but like a model on a fashion magazine. Almost like an anime girl. I blink a few times. Okay, I agree. Wow.
“On the house.” Jun hands me the mascara. “I’m certain you don’t have a tube. And honey, the first step to being happy is ensuring you’re comfortable in your skin and feeling pretty.”
“Thank you.” I’m genuinely happy with this discovery. I haven’t really bothered with anything to make myself noticeably pretty since my mom died. What little makeup I use in the morning is only so I don’t look actively terrible in the office.
And I wonder if Jun’s right. I’ve spent so much of my time trying to blend in and not stand out. It hasn’t made me happy or feel like I fit in anywhere. So maybe it’s okay for me to make myself a little bit pretty. How can joy in my heart over how I look now be such a terrible thing?
Jun smiles. “My pleasure. And Becca, get Erin a bottle of eye makeup remover. Also on the house.”
Josephine claps once. “Now. Let’s pick out what makes you a happy lady.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
David
–Dane: Why the hell would I do that? You should buy me and Sophia dinner.
–Me: I thought Sophia wanted a chance to get to meet me and Erin.
–Dane: She’s already met both of you!
Oh yeah. Shit.
–Me: I mean as an engaged couple.
–Dane: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And even if she does, you should be the one paying for or cooking the damned dinner!
I roll my eyes. I texted him over three hours ago after texting Josephine. He’s just getting back to me, which isn’t too surprising, since he’s incredibly busy. But for him to be so picky and stingy about a meal!
–Me: I’m trying to save you. You know how you always bitch and whine about your brother Mark’s cooking?
–Dane: It’s not bitching and whining. It’s telling the truth.
–Me: Well, if you want to eat something as bad as Mark’s crap, then yeah, I can host the dinner at my place. But if you don’t want Sophia to become deathly ill, just host it at yours!
–Dane: Fine. You better make it entertaining. When?
–Me: Tomorrow.
–Dane: Some people have a busy social calendar.
I snort. Dane used to have a busy social calendar, seventy-five percent filled with bimbos with huge tits and endless legs, and the rest filled with insulting—or “telling the truth to”—people just because he felt like being a dick. But now that he’s married with a child, he’s a homebody.
–Me: No problem. I’ll ask Sophia for availability.
There. The sole weak point in Dane’s armor. He should crack like an egg now.
–Dane: Tomorrow at seven. Don’t be late.
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. He’s being ridiculous, but he might actually not let us in if we show up late, because he can be that much of an asshole. Thank God Sophia is the light that drowns out his darkness. Or some BS of that nature Dane told me while drinking. I don’t know how he could say such a nauseating line. It’s like he’s l
iving a chick flick rather than real life. He wasn’t even drunk when he said it.
Now that the second step has been accomplished, I should be thinking about the third. I have to do it myself, since I can’t let Erin know what I’m up to.
–Me: One more thing. Can you hook me up at one of Mark’s restaurants? I need something tonight. For two, romantic and intimate.
–Dane: Get your assistant to make a reservation. That’s what she’s for.
–Me: Come on, man.
–Dane: Fine. Try Éternité at seven. Tell the maître d’ that I sent you. You owe me two now.
I fist-pump, grinning shamelessly. Dane is an asshole, but he can be a very generous and useful asshole.
–Me: Just lemme know.
There are a couple of tentative knocks on my door. “Come in.”
Nothing happens. “Come in,” I say more loudly, in case the person didn’t hear.
The door opens slowly. Then Erin walks in, her legs stiff. Actually, her entire body is stiff. But I barely notice that because of how she looks.
Damn.
I always thought Erin was pretty. Her smile in particular is gorgeous. But this… What she looks like now…
The way she shone so brilliantly at the charity auction was an aberration, or so I thought. She had makeup on, and she fussed a little with her appearance, so of course she looked good. But I was wrong. Her usually colorless and personality-lacking outfits were just muting her all this time.
She’s like a magnet that’s pulling at me. The wine-colored dress has a fitted bodice and a skirt that flares out around her thighs. A silver belt cinches around her waist, and her shoes are strappy sandals in the same shade as the outfit. She looks so much younger and more carefree, rather than the usual serious, somber corporate drone.
And something about her hair… It looks the same, but feels different. Just lighter and nicer.
The effect is stunning.
And her eyes. She didn’t do anything obvious that I can see—no eye shadow or anything—but they look bigger and more arresting.
My pulse is racing like an Olympic sprinter’s. I can’t come up with a single word to properly describe how amazing she looks. How much I love this new side of her.