by Mary Carter
“Candygram!” a loud voice rang out. It wasn’t coming from downstairs; someone was at the door to the flat.
“Candygram?” Ava was trying to stall so she could recognize his voice.
“I’ve always wanted to say that.” Peals of laughter rang out.
She hadn’t been sure about the voices, but she sure recognized the laughter. “Franco?” Ava said.
“And Georgie.”
Ava opened the door. They stood, looking fresh, as if they had gone to bed at a decent hour after a nice cup of herbal tea. Gone were the lavish outfits, hairpieces, and makeup of the night before. Instead, each was wearing a tracksuit and runners. Georgie’s was purple; Franco’s was bright orange. Franco was just as beautiful as a bald man. His smile was infectious. Ava glanced down at her horse pajamas. “Did you forget something?” They were each holding bags, and plastic bins, and held them up in unison. Tinfoil sat on the top of Georgie’s box.
“Let us in,” Franco said, pushing his way in. “We brought product.”
“Product?” Ava said.
“I used to do hair,” Georgie said. “And today I’m going to do yours.” They immediately commandeered the kitchen, setting down their stuff, and arranging things to their liking. Franco pulled a chair over to the sink while Georgie whipped out a black apron and put it on.
“Ta-da,” he said.
“You want to do my hair. Here?”
“Luv. We felt so sorry for you last night.” He put his hand on his heart.
“You did?” Why did he say it like it was a good thing?
“We talked about you all night long,” Franco said. “Everyone did.”
“Wonderful news,” Ava said. “Thanks for that.”
“Don’t be a poor sport,” Franco said. “Everyone loved you. Your sketches were the hit of the party.” Ava. The hit of a party. Words she never imagined hearing. But she couldn’t help feeling she was more of a freak-show attraction than anything else.
Georgie began to run his fingers through Ava’s hair. “I can’t imagine not being able to get my hair done. Running out of the salon mid panic attack with your foils still on.”
“It was the most frightening thing we’ve ever heard,” Franco said.
“Really?” Ava said. “Not all the stories of how death is waiting at every London corner?”
“It was your hair gave us nightmares,” Georgie said. He placed his hands on Ava’s shoulders and guided her to the chair. “You just sit your ‘before’ self down.”
“Who says I want an ‘after’ self?” Ava said.
“Man up,” Franco said. He handed Georgie a very large, very sharp pair of scissors. “We’re going to cut.”
“And highlight,” Georgie said.
“Highlights? I don’t want highlights,” Ava said.
“What about streaks of dark red?” Franco said to Georgie.
“Brilliant,” Georgie said. “Like mahogany.”
“Mahogany?” Ava said. She didn’t like the sound of that. “Like a piano?”
Franco towered over her, holding a makeup brush. “Georgie is going to do your hair; I’m going to do your face.”
“Please don’t ever say that again,” Ava said.
Franco threw his head back and laughed. God, what would it feel like to be him? So confident and carefree. Surely he’d taken his share of prejudice and abuse, but he was totally comfortable in his own skin. Not just that. He flaunted it. “We’re going to bring out your inner slut.”
“And then we’ll try to coax out your outer slut,” Georgie added.
Ava shot out of the chair. She hadn’t prepared for this. She liked to prepare for things. “I love this idea,” she said. She held her hands up and slowly started to back up. “But I’m just not ready to confront either of my sluts.”
“We’re your sluts now, luv,” Franco said. His long arms shot out. He pulled her in and pushed her down in the chair again, whipped out an apron, and threw it over her.
Ava tried to pull it off, but he was already tying it tightly in the back. “What about next week?” she said. “I’ll check my calendar.”
“You don’t have a calendar,” Franco said.
“Next week is too late,” Georgie said.
“Too late?” Ava said. “Am I dying?”
Franco laughed and punched her in the shoulder. “After all those cocktails last night, I certainly am.” He pinched his cheeks as if they weren’t already glowing.
Ava gripped the arms of the chair and squeezed her eyes shut as if she were about to rocket into space. “I need time to think about this. Look at pictures in a magazine maybe.”
Georgie was setting up little plastic bottles. A chemical stench soon overpowered the tiny kitchen. Georgie shook one of the bottles, and beamed. He definitely had cruise director teeth. “We have just landed an ongoing Friday gig at the hottest club, just two little old blocks away, and you are going to be our guest of honor.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Just two little old blocks away. Is that all? All Ava had to do was reach up and grab the scissors. Then plunge them into his heart.
“I see what’s going on here. You think you can cure me with a new hairdo.” Ava stood. “I’m your new pet, am I?”
“You need a drink,” Franco said.
“Get the agoraphobic girl outside. Maybe all she’s been missing all these years is a few piano streaks in her hair.” Ava stood her ground, and made direct eye contact without smiling, but Georgie and Franco didn’t look away.
“What if it was all you were missing, luv?” Franco said.
“All Cinderella needed was a few rags, and a pumpkin,” Georgie said.
“You’re grossly underestimating my condition,” Ava said.
“We saw you in Beverly’s dress last night,” Georgie said.
“You know all her outfits?” Ava said. Heat rose to her cheeks. What did they think of her? Wearing a dead diva’s dress.
“Do you know why Beverly was such a great actress?” Franco asked.
“Scotch?” Ava guessed.
“She’s got you there,” Georgie said.
“She was never herself,” Franco said. “Beverly Wilder was always playing a role.”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of sad?” Ava said.
“Sad? She was the most alive person I’ve ever met,” Franco said.
“And talented,” Georgie said, running his finger lovingly up and down the blade of the scissors.
Ava inched back toward the chair. “Did she ever talk about me?” “All the time,” Franco said. “She loved you to pieces. That’s why we’re here.”
“Exactly,” Georgie said. “So shut your gob and let us work our magic.”
Franco pushed her down in the chair for a third time. He leaned down and spoke directly in her ear. “If you get up one more time, I’m using chloroform.”
“Very funny.”
“Try me,” he said.
Ava folded her arms. Georgie began pinning little chunks of her hair to the top of her head. Franco was beautiful and Georgie was meticulous. If they couldn’t help her, who could? “Bring it,” Ava said. The pair cheered. Georgie began to apply color to various strands, wrapping them in tinfoil. The smell was hideous and he had a bit of a rough touch. Still, she dared not cry out or complain. She couldn’t believe that they had actually come over here to do her hair. She wasn’t going to complain.
Franco put on music, and pulled an enormous bottle of wine out of his bag. “Juice time,” he sang. He poured everyone a generous glass. Georgie was deep in concentration, but Ava happily took hers.
“It must make it hard to date,” Georgie said about fourteen foils into it. “Never going out on the prowl.”
“He wants to know if you’re a virgin,” Franco said.
“I do not,” Georgie said. “It just occurred to me that your beaus would have to make house calls.”
“True,” Ava said. “That’s why I only shag delivery boys and old-school veterinarians.” Georgie and F
ranco gasped in unison. God, drag queens were fun to be around. “Kidding,” Ava said. “I’ve never shagged a veterinarian. But the Domino’s boy? Now he comes in thirty minutes or less or it’s free.” Ava laughed. Franco and Georgie just stared at her. “Lost in translation.”
“Pity,” Franco said.
“But I did have a boyfriend. He was a police officer.” Good old Cliff. Was he still married? Had he found a new mistress? One he would be forced to take to movies and motel rooms?
“We heard,” they said in unison. Shit. Hillary and her big mouth.
“I love a man in uniform,” Franco said. “And out of it,” he added with a wink.
“Were you in love?” Georgie asked.
“No,” Ava said. “Just lust.” Jasper flitted across her mind. She felt heat rise into her cheeks. Maybe I’m falling in—
“We’re going to let this sit,” Georgie said. He took off his gloves and picked up his wine.
“So. What about the London men?” Franco said. “Anyone catch your fancy?” His voice was suddenly an octave higher. Ava’s alarm bells went off.
“I’ve barely left the apartment,” Ava said.
“Notice how she avoided the question,” Georgie said.
“Oh, I noticed,” Franco said.
“You seemed pretty chummy with Jasper last night,” Georgie said. He topped off Ava’s wine. Ava glanced at their wineglasses. They looked as if they hadn’t been touched. In fact, Franco was sipping out of a bottle of vitamin water. What were they doing to her? Why wasn’t she drinking vitamins?
“He’s a friend,” Ava said.
“Handsome fellow, wouldn’t you say?” Franco said.
“I’d say,” Georgie said. “What do you say, Ava?”
“It’s hard to believe Jasper and Hillary were ever a couple,” Ava said. She tried to sound casual.
“You say that as if they’re over,” Franco said.
“They are over,” Ava said. Franco and Georgie exchanged a look. “Aren’t they?” Of course they were. Jasper was falling; she was falling. A net. Were they falling without a net?
“Is anything ever really over?” Franco said.
“Yes,” Ava said. “When things are over, they’re over.” What was going on here? She’d better be careful or she was going to give her feelings away. What was it about getting her hair done that made a woman want to divulge every secret underneath the sun?
“Somebody has a little crush,” Franco said, clapping his hands together.
“On Hillary?” Georgie said. “You’re gay?”
Franco swatted Georgie. “Not Hillary.” They turned to her at the same time.
“Jasper,” they said in stereo.
“Shit,” Ava said.
Franco jumped up and down. “We got it! We got it!”
“Oh, he’s going to love you when we finish with you,” Franco said.
“Let’s not get her hopes up too high,” Georgie said. Franco and Georgie exchanged a look.
“What?” Ava said. “What was that?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . You don’t really want a British man, do you?” Franco said.
“Why not? What’s wrong with British men?”
“Where do we start?” Georgie said.
“Wait. Are you talking about straight British men or gay British men?”
“Honey, we’re talking about Brits of both sexes. You don’t want us. We’re not Downton Abbey.”
“We don’t always have straight teeth.”
“Or big dicks.”
“We’re pompous.”
“Boring.”
“Workaholics.”
“Snobby.”
“Very dry sense of humor.”
“Show her.”
“How many barristers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
“Why would we screw in a lightbulb when we have a perfectly good bed?”
Ava’s head was starting to hurt, and truth be told, her scalp was starting to burn. “Should we rinse this off now?”
“Not yet,” Georgie said. “I’ve got you on a timer, darling; don’t worry about a thing.”
“What about a Latin man?” Franco said. He began to sway his hips, à la tango-for-one.
Ava drank more wine. It almost seemed as if they were on a mission to turn her against Jasper. It was as if . . .
Hillary sent them. Oh, God. The hair. Had he done something hideous to her hair? Georgie wouldn’t do that, would he?
Hell hath no fury like Hillary Swanson. Was she going to be bald? Ava knew she didn’t have the kind of head that could pull off bald; she just knew it. Was this what she deserved? Who cared what she looked like when nobody was going to see her anyway?
“Take them off,” she said, reaching for her foils. “Take them off.”
“What’s the matter?” Georgie asked. “Are you having a panic attack?”
“More wine?” Franco said.
Ava snatched Franco’s vitamin water out of his hands and drank the rest of it down.
“That was rude,” Franco said. “I’m only half-hydrated.”
“Rude is pretending to be my friend. Rude is making me go bald.”
“Bald?” Georgie said.
“What are you doing to me?” Ava said. Georgie and Franco put their hands up, as if surrendering. “I thought you two liked me.”
“Of course we like you,” Franco said. “Why else would we be here?”
“Hillary,” Ava said. “And don’t you even think of lying about it.”
Georgie sighed. “You don’t want to cross her.”
“So she did send you,” Ava said.
“We have minds of our own. Your hair is going to be fabulous. But yes. She suggested we do a little reconnaissance.”
“And she helped us get the gig at the club. The club that’s only two little blocks away.”
“Why is she doing this? She’s the one who dumped him,” Ava said.
“Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder,” Georgie said.
“What is the deal with you and Jasper?” Franco asked.
Ava didn’t have to speak. Her face did it for her.
“Oh my God,” Georgie said. “You’re in love.” Franco clapped. Georgie swatted his hands away.
“We won’t tell her,” Franco said. “We’re on Team Ava.”
Team Ava. She’d never had a team before.
“We’ll tell her you have a mad crush on Jasper, but he flat out rejected you,” Georgie said.
“We’ll tell her Jasper is still madly in love with her. That will turn her off.”
“Tell her Jasper is going to quit his job as a barrister to become a stand-up comedian,” Ava said.
“No,” Franco said. “It has to be believable. Can you imagine?”
“Is there any possibility that you’re a lesbian?” Georgie said. “We could go with that one too.”
“Especially if we butch up her hair,” Franco said.
“You are not butching up my hair,” Ava said. Georgie began removing foils. “Right?” Ava said. “Right?”
“How about this? We won’t butch up your hair if you promise to at least try and make it to the club on Friday. You can take a taxi if you wish.”
“Of course,” Ava said. Georgie and Franco cheered. Idiots. There wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to their club. Georgie continued with her hair, Ava drank the rest of the wine, and Franco pulled out a flyer for their club and stuck it on the fridge with a magnet that read: Upstage Me at Your Own Risk.
CHAPTER 26
Ava stared in the mirror long after Team Ava had left. She stood, naked and alone. Her hair was cut in long layers, angled in toward her face. Streaks of dark red made her eyes look darker, almost green. She still recognized herself, but it was like staring at an alter ego. Bad Ava. Sexy Ava. Daring Ava. “The possibilities,” she whispered. She tried on a black silk nightgown of Beverly’s. There was no doubt it had been dry-cleaned and never worn again; the tag was still on and plastic was still
over it. The woman certainly did dress young. She only kept it on for a few seconds before slipping on sweatpants and a T-shirt. She picked up her sketch pad and headed for her emerald stool. She sat and stared out the window. It was foggy again today. She hadn’t seen Deven outside his place in a while. She hoped he was okay. Vic was going to eat him alive. Yet he wanted her to, didn’t he? Would a peaceful world ever exist? Where you didn’t have to worry about crime, or prejudice, or lovers who just wanted to bulldoze you? Probably not. It was too bad the good people couldn’t win out. She had met plenty of good people in London. Some strange ones too. Like everywhere, she supposed. But how was she to know? Ava had been so few places. She concentrated on sketching the scenery. It was too foggy to see the details of any particular person. She started with the London Eye. God, she couldn’t imagine why on earth people would want to ride that thing. Then again, was it much different from looking out these windows? Ava imagined what it would feel like if her flat were rotating. Oh, God. Yes, it was much different. Nauseating. She’d might as well call it: The-London-Eye-Will-Never-Ride-You.
“You were quite a hit with my friends,” Queenie said. Ava jumped, then turned around. Queenie stood dressed in his black ball gown from the party but wig gone, makeup smeared underneath his eyes, yet he was the one who gasped. “Georgie.” His hands did cartwheels. “Georgie did your hair.”
“What do you think?”
“You look like a different person.”
“I know.”
“You look incredible.”
“Thank you.” She wasn’t going to mention that she had Hillary to thank. And that she couldn’t wait for Jasper to see her.