Chloe
Because my hair’s going to clog the drain, and there’s no way she’ll miss that, I tell Dalia, my hairdresser, the cancer news. The brush that’s been raking layers of flesh right off of my scalp stops midair. Dangit, just when it was starting to feel good.
“Oh, Chloe, baby, no!” When she resumes the brushing, it’s delicate. Each stroke finishes with an, “Is that okay? Not too hard, is it?”
When I explain what I want, how I want it to look, and the purpose, her horrified eyes find me in the mirror. “They’ll think I’m some kind of butcher if I do that, Chloe. Can’t we just cut it short, kinda cancery?”
But I won’t be deterred. “I’ve never had my hair short, not once in all the time she’s known me. If I show up with a Dorothy Hamill bob, you might as well add a sign around my neck with an expiration date, because she’ll know the minute she looks at me.”
My hair’s always been my thing. I hold up a wilted curl. “No, keep the length. Just do something with it, I don’t know, work your magic. Just make it look thicker any way you can—layers, bangs, whatever. Just don’t cut the length.” I point at her in the mirror.
“I got it, I got it. Get your skinny ass up and head to my bowl then.” Shaking her head, she follows. “But for the life of me, I don’t understand the red roots.”
I lean back, close my eyes, and just let her do her thing. “It’s camouflage.”
I watch Dalia blow my hair out. I can’t say it’s her best work, but it’s just what I asked for. If my plan works, Lola will be too distracted by my hair to notice the rest of me.
As I turn my head, I glimpse it. “Dalia, can I have the mirror?” I need to see it.
She turns my chair with solemn eyes, adjusting my hair, but it’s so thin, I already see it. The radiologist’s tattoo. It’s a square tattoo on the base of my skull. There are dots in random places. I don’t take my eyes off of it. “See that, Dalia? That’s my first tattoo, my only tattoo. And I didn’t even get a say in the matter. Those dots? Those are where they shot the laser beams of radiation.” I blow out a breath and Dalia looks like she’s about to cry. “Make me beautiful and make it snappy. Make it snappy.”
She grins. “You sound just like Roxy when you use that voice.”
Then I remember. “Hey, Dalia.” I turn in the chair and almost get a circle brush to the eye.
“Oops. Chloe, dammit, I almost took your eye out. Turn around.”
“Wait… Can you do me a favor?” I write down a number and hand over my wallet.
Lola
“Chloe, I just got a call from Dalia. Are you kidding me right now? How does one person lose her wallet twice in one week! I swear, I’m gonna tie it around your neck with a bell,” I say.
She’s so used to getting this type of call, she barely sounds fazed. “Oh, crap! I didn’t even know I lost it. Did she say she had it?”
“No, she said you left it at the McDonalds next door. Some kid came in and asked if you were there but wouldn’t hand over your wallet. It’s top security over there at Mickey D’s, I guess. They called me, your emergency contact. Can you go get it?”
“Not right now. I’ve got private appointments all afternoon. I might sell some art today! Would you mind…picking it up for me?” Ugh, she uses her pouty voice, which usually works, but not today.
“What? You know what happened with Matt. You’re not leaving me any time to get over him. I might have to extend mourning another week since you keep pausing my heartbreak to run all over town on madcap adventures for you. What about me? I’ve been dumped! Let me cry in piece please. Jeez, if you ever end up selling any of your paintings—to someone besides me—the first thing you need to do is buy someone to walk behind you and pick up the pieces. I’m quitting.”
“Well, I hope they put my wallet in the safe, but never mind! Not your concern. Sorry my life interrupted your…whine festival.” And I can just see her making stupid air quotes. “I’m sure that kid is going to keep it well protected. I guess I could go tomorrow and get it. Identity theft’s not real, right? Thanks anyway.”
“Wait dammit. I will go get it. You do you. Sell your pictures. I’ll get your wallet, but it’s not going to be till at least 4:30ish. That’s the best I can do to protect your identity, which you have so little regard for.”
Incredibly, she’s miffed. At me! “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to cut in.”
OMG. I inhale what I hope is strength, then exhale, and in a more pleasant tone, I say, “Chloe, it’s going to be gone by tomorrow. We’re talking high school kids with computers. By this time tomorrow, there will be five different Chloes shopping online at Forever 21. No, I’ll go, just so I won’t have to fix your credit fraud tomorrow. Give me Dalia’s address and hurry up! My boss is getting pissed that I’m on the phone and not typing.”
“It’s over on Sherman Way. The McDonalds is across the street.”
“I don’t know why she didn’t just call you, it’s your wallet.”
“I did tell her I had appointments all afternoon. Maybe she didn’t want to interrupt.”
“But it’s okay to interrupt my life.”
“I know. I love you. Is everything else okay? How’s the mourning coming?”
“Good, good. I should be able to take this black veil off soon.”
“Ha-ha, Drama Mama. That’s only if you’re a widow. In the nineteenth century. Oh, and I think you’ve got to have royal blood.”
“Oh, is that the only time?”
“I need to check my facts. Here, wait, and it’s…a big fat yes.”
“Sure, sure.”
I hang up just as my boss looks over the top of my cubicle again. When I look up, an excuse on the tip of my tongue, he’s not even looking at me. Just my tits. Ugh. I hate this damn job. I stare at him ogling my breasts till he notices my eyes.
When he catches me catching him, he’s flustered. Tries to come up with some work reason for inspecting my boobs. I hold up a hand, and while I’ve got him backpedaling, I say, “I’ve got to leave early today.” He tries to interrupt me, but I finish with, “So get an eyeful, old man.”
And it’s no one’s fault but my own when he fires me.
As I pull out, I don’t even have a tear to shed for that job. That’s the least of my concerns right now. No, my main concern is not Matt, the asshole ex, or my leering ex-boss. I’ll be rehired by his gropey brother on Monday anyway.
None of that matters, though. Top of my worry list is Chloe. I’ve given her room, just like the experts on Intervention said. I’ve been letting her make her own mistakes, and this month’s been a doozy. Between the water fountain debacle and the constant shell game she plays with her wallet, I’m surprised no one else seems to notice.
I’ve never complained about the pot, not when she just took it up last year, but now she looks like she’s into heavier shit. That stops tonight.
When I get to McDonalds, the fry cook looks from me, a blonde with blue eyes, to the picture on her ID, a redhead with green eyes. He looks back and forth so long the fries start to smoke.
“I don’t know,” he says, like he’s on the fence.
“It’s an old picture,” I say before I snatch the wallet. Surprised, I see two twenties in the billfold and hand him both. “Right?”
Mason
When I don’t hear from Chloe by 1:00 I text her.
I know you’re all done using me for now…but I’m starving. Can I come get you?
After thirty minutes with no answer, I try again.
Did you mean second lunch? Are we eating or what?
Feeling like she’s totally blowing me off, I reach for my phone again. Back off! Less is more.
A heart pops up. It’s sparkly!
Meet at the Last Drop. Oh, I’ll be the one in the Dodger hat.
Hat? Guess her hair appointment didn’t go so well.
I text back. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t know you, stoner? How’s 30 minutes’ sound? Oh, and I’ll be the one in t
he Angels hat, ‘Cause haloes rock.
She sends me a
……
The beer I just ordered is already empty. If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be passed out by the time she shows up. I shrug. She said she was high, hope she doesn’t mind if I’m drunk. She knows I’m a lightweight.
There she is. I see a blue hat exiting the backseat of a car. I get up and hold the front door open. Her limp’s more pronounced today. She looks up into my concerned face. “Don’t ask about the hip, and yes, it was worth it.”
“I’d say it was a good conjugal visit if your hip’s out of joint. Over here.”
She really should have a cane. It looks like her left leg is made of glass and she’s afraid to put weight on it. I take her elbow, supporting her weight. “Don’t get handsy, handsome.”
I throw my head back and laugh with relief. “Yes, ma’am.”
I guide her to the booth. “I’m starving.” I wave the waiter over. “You hungry?”
I don’t give her a chance to say no. “A double order of chicken wings, please. A couple beers, Amstel?”
She turns to the waiter. “Liquor’s quicker.” She holds up four fingers and says, “Make sure it’s Dixon Line, thanks.”
“Chloe, you couldn’t be more badass if you tried.” She grins for a second, then it’s gone.
“Stop obsessing and start eating.” I point to the mountain of chicken wings that show up.
She shakes her hands out. “I’m so nervous!”
“Do a shot!”
The shots come. She passes two to me and takes her own. “Double tap,” she says and downs both. I do the same with much less gusto.
She watches and gives me such a sweet smile before saying, “Don’t let a sick girl drink you under the table in the same week that your Gram did. You’ll never recover from the shame.”
The waiter brings another round and extra napkins. “Anything else?”
Chloe’s eyes twinkle as she asks for chips and guacamole.”
“What is it with you and avocados?” I don’t get it.
“Allegedly.” Her hand flat on the table, like she’s swearing on a stack of bibles, is the cutest thing. “I may or may not have spilled on your white pants at my brother’s graduation party.”
Then it comes to me. “As I remember it, you didn’t spill on me. You used me as a napkin.”
“Oh my God!”
It’s obvious she doesn’t remember, so I help her. “Someone who doesn’t know you very well put you in charge of carrying out the food.”
“I put myself in charge of it. I was just trying to help.”
“Or sabotage your brother’s party. You dropped salsa on the stairs, half the chips landed on the lawn, and the guacamole slopped out of the bowl.”
Then it hits her. “I was scooping it back into the bowl! I didn’t know where to wipe my hands, so I turned, and all I saw was white. I thought you were handing me a towel, or you were part of the tablecloth. Either way, your pants looked as good a place as any to wipe my hands. Sorry about your pants, but I mean, who wears white to a backyard BBQ?” She laughs and I join in.
“I didn’t know it was that kind of party, Chloe. Your parents were throwing it.”
“What kind?”
“The kind you need a change of pants for.”
She finds this hilarious. Her cap slips as she laughs, and I see it. “Hope you got a discount on that mess, because they forgot half your hair!”
“It’s camouflage.” I nod and knock back another shot. I know what she’s trying to hide. My mom belonged to that same club. Had the same markings and everything.
A shadow crosses her face. “After tonight, there will be no more Chloe the artist. Only Cancer Chloe, the walking dead.”
The same shadow my mom’s face wore. I ramp up my goofy. I’ve got this.
“Luckily for you, I’m a big zombie fan.” I wink and pass her another shot. “Let’s get shellacked, shall we?”
“Yeah, I think you need it. You need to build up your tolerance, Gramma’s boy. Bottoms up.”
“Ouch, Chloe, don’t hold back.” I knock back my own glass.
“Friends never do.”
Chloe
“Excuse me.” No matter how hard I try to act like this isn’t happening, nausea always manages to smack me in the face and bring me back to reality. I barely make it into the stall before everything comes back up.
Ugh, I lean on the absolutely filthy door of the bathroom, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When I’m sure that’s it, there’s no more, I pull a seat cover off the wall, wipe drool from my mouth, and sink down on the toilet to pee.
It burns like hell and feels like I’m urinating sand. I’ve gotta make sure to drink more water. Maybe I should carry around a jug like Mason’s.
I pull my oral bag out, but it’s not the good kind.
I wash up, brush and gargle, and keep looking at myself. I’m not looking my best these days. The black hair might be accentuating my negatives instead of my positives like I’d hoped for.
I spit one last time and pull out my nausea medication. It dissolves under my tongue, leaving a spearmint chalk taste in my mouth.
Mason
I’m feeling no pain watching ESPN with Chloe.
“I’m not dying a virgin, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I was staring too hard. Whoops, act normal idiot.
“I was wondering where the head is. Gotta take a leak.”
She smirks.
“But if you’re offering…” I leer back at her.
“As if!” She beams, her eyes bright.
“If only!” I yell back, turning into the bathroom. I hear her laughing back at the booth.
I realize I’m whistling while I pee at the urinal and shut it down. I don’t need to bump into one of my never have I ever’s while whistling Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
I tuck in and wash up, noticing the time. It’s 4:30! I’ve been sitting, shooting the shit with Chloe for the last two hours. I turn the corner and watch her take a handful of multicolored pills and chase them with a beer.
She watches me over the glass as I watch her. I turn away, signaling the bartender, holding up a two. I’m drinking too much. Time with Chloe reminds me so much of the time I didn’t get with my own mom.
“Hey, rock star, you need another shot?” She flashes devil horns on both fingers.
“And a couple more shots,” I say as I sit down. “Can you believe it’s already 4:30?”
Panic crosses her face. “Lola’s gonna be here at 5:00. Shit, is my cancer showing?”
“No, but your drunk is. Cheers.” I slop half the shot on Chloe’s hand. “Party foul. Pardon me Chloe.”
She tilts her head and uses her tongue as a cloth. “I’m used to it, Mase. Ronny spills shit on me all the time. Humph, and they say I’m the messy one. For all the homeys!” she hollers nice and loud before pounding her own shot back.
“Man, I haven’t seen Ronny in months. Last time I saw him was here. With a really hot lady friend.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
“I’m sorry to inform you, my brother has no girlfriend, but he’s good. Just left actually. I went to see him off a few nights ago.” She looks down at her lap and whispers, “I don’t know if that was the last time,” she says before looking up at me, her unguarded eyes full of loss and never beens. Thankfully, she closes them. “Please don’t let that be the last time.” Praying for time.
My fucking heart breaks in two, my cue. “Chloe,” I say like she’s in trouble. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those drunks.”
She sighs, a small smile on her lips. “The kind that gets all drunk and starts talking crazy?” she asks, peeking from behind her closed lids.
“No, the kind that cries in her beer. Are we drinkin’ or what?”
“Drinkin’,” she says, finishing off my beer for me.
“I think I look too skinny.” She stretches her shirt,
but making it look bigger only makes it more obvious.
“Here, put this on.” I pull my sweatshirt over my head. “Camouflage.” I wink. “I want it back though.”
She’s thrilled to hear me use her words. Knows I’ve been listening.
I catch her rubbing her stomach. “You want a ginger ale?”
She nods, and I summon our server. Since the dinner crowd’s starting to filter in, it takes a minute.
“What can I getcha?”
I order a ginger ale.
“For you?”
I shake my head. “I’m done, shot glass turned over, done.”
Chloe jumps in. “Just bring another round. Liquid courage, remember?”
How is she still standing? I fear all the trips to tinkle might really have been trips to hurl.
When our drinks arrive, we end up with eight shots, two beers and a ginger ale.
I laugh and push the shots towards her.
“Well, I can’t drink all this. Can you drink half for me, pretty please with sugar on top?”
“When you ask like that…” I tilt my head back, and Sparklett’s bottle the fresh beer.
She’s giggling, “Not too much. not too much. Leave me a sip.”
……
I see two of Chloe…trying to use a crayon on her forehead? “For a second there, I thought you done drunk me under the table, woman. Till you started using your forehead as a coloring book.” I chuckle, trying to focus on her. I throw up my hands and give up. Tilting my cap back, I smack my forehead. “Draw me a unicorn.”
She giggles. “It’s just more distraction. Hey, do you wanna meet them?” Her eyes are hard to read, guarded.
She lowers her voice. “They’re going to come in and take over. They always do. That’s why I love them. It might get a little, I don’t know, I mean, I might be radio silent...”
She’s not ready for her two worlds to meet. I get it, but I still can’t help feeling anxious, as I ask, “You’re not weaning me yet, are you?”
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