Soaring (9781311625663)

by Ashley, Kristen

  Okay, so it was off to the side.

  But it was awesome.

  I sipped. I munched. I bested nearly all the trivia that flashed on the screen and freely judged (mentally) the ridiculous ads, enjoying myself immensely, looking forward to losing myself in a movie, finding something I actually liked to do spending time with just me.

  Then it happened.

  The lights were already lowered, the trailers coming on, and I saw movement at the opposite entrance to where I was sitting.

  I glanced that way, expecting only to glance, but I didn’t just glance.

  This was because the latecomers were a couple.

  And one half of that couple was Mickey.

  My stomach got tight, my muscles contracted, and I stared as he walked in, his arm flung around the shoulders of a very tall, very buxom, very pretty redhead who looked not one thing like me.

  The lights were dim, I couldn’t study her to get a lock on her age, but many things were clear.

  She was way taller than me.

  She had way better hair than me.

  She was way better dressed than I’d ever be.

  She was way, way prettier than me.

  And, smiling up at a smiling-at-her Mickey, the biggest hit of all…

  She was out on a date with Mickey.

  I jerked my eyes to the screen, feeling like throwing up and hoping, hoping, hoping that he would not see me all alone at a cinema to watch a movie.

  Not long after, the theater went dark and I waited. I actually counted the seconds.

  When I figured the time was right, I carefully, quietly set my snacks on the floor (even though the sound system could drown out an exploding bomb). I grabbed my purse then bent double (even though the theater wasn’t close to full and I wasn’t obstructing anyone’s view, I still made myself as miniscule as I could) and I dashed to the stairs and around, running down the side hall and out of the theater.

  I forced myself to slow to a walk, a swift one, one that took me through the lobby, out of the cineplex and directly to my car as quickly as I could get there.

  I got in.

  I dumped my purse in the passenger seat.

  I started up.

  And I got the fuck out of there.

  I drove home and I shouldn’t have. I should have breathed deep. I should have gathered my thoughts. I should have calmed myself.

  I didn’t.

  But by some miracle, I made it home safely.

  And when I got home, I didn’t want to. I’d been avoiding it. The last thing I wanted to do considering the fragility that was me was that.

  But as had become their wont, my feet decided for me.

  So I found myself in my bathroom, flipping on the lights and positioning myself in front of my mirror.

  I looked at myself. I had to. I couldn’t avoid it.

  But I did it being absolutely certain I didn’t actually see me.

  Right then, my eyes refused not to take me in.

  And it was worse than I expected it to be.

  Not worse than it could be. My mother had drilled a regime into me since my fourteenth birthday, when I was allowed to wear light makeup.

  So I cleansed. I moisturized (daily and nightly). I exfoliated, and twice a week did this deeply prior to slapping on a facial.

  But other than that…I didn’t look after me.

  My shining, brunette hair had strands of gray. Silvery-gray that may, when it took over, be stunning.

  Right then, it made me look like I didn’t care.

  I had lines at my forehead, but not many.

  But my skin was sallow. My cheeks were sunken. My eyes looked huge and not in a good way. My makeup was there, but it was uninspired, doing absolutely nothing for me.

  And I already knew my clothes were conservative, high-quality and older than my years. I wasn’t a spry twenty-something and they were still older than my years.

  I looked past it.

  I looked like I gave not…one…shit.

  Because I didn’t.

  I had not gone for a proper facial since moving to Magdalene. I had not had a manicure or a pedicure. I had not had my hair cut even before I’d moved to Magdalene. And I’d never dyed it, the gray started coming in when Conrad left me (and, incidentally, I blamed each strand on him regardless of the fact that, at my age, it was time) and I’d left it at that.

  Robin had said things, cautiously, sensitively. Mother had said them too, not cautiously or sensitively.

  I’d acted like they didn’t even speak.

  I’d let myself go.

  Mickey clearly had different tastes, taller, possibly younger, trendily dressed, beautiful red hair (though his woman had big bosoms and I did too but that was the only thing we shared).

  But staring at the disaster that was me, it was no wonder Jake Spear didn’t even allow his eyes to wander to my hair. And it was no wonder that boxer in his gym paid no mind to me.

  I was no longer young.

  “But I’m not dead yet,” I whispered to my reflection.

  On that, I shrugged my purse off my shoulder so it fell to the counter. I dug my phone out. And I made the call I needed to make.

  “Hello, Amelia, how’s your evening?” Josie answered.

  “I need lunch.”

  There was a heavy pause before, “Sorry?”

  “You. Me. Alyssa. Lunch tomorrow. Emergency,” was all I could force out, my eyes still glued to the mirror.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, concern heavy in her tone.

  “No. No, I am far from okay,” I told her.

  “Do you need me to come over now?” she went on.

  “Lunch,” it came out as a squeak. I was losing it. I could feel it happening. “Tomorrow. Can you call Alyssa?” I closed my eyes tight, fighting my thoughts telling me I was being dramatic, selfish, thoughtless, demanding, weak. Telling myself these were good women, they’d get it. If I let them, they’d get me. I opened my eyes, whispering, “Please, Josie.”

  “Anything, Amelia. Anything you need,” Josie whispered back. Yes, a good woman. “I’ll call Alyssa. Are you going to be okay until then?”

  “Yes.” It came out hoarse. I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’ll be okay.”

  “Okay,” she said as if she didn’t believe me. “I’ll text you with where and when.”

  “Okay, Josie,” I replied.

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

  No.

  But I was sure I had to keep trying.

  At least for a little while.

  “Yes, I will be and Josie…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you,” I said softly.

  “As I said, anytime, Amelia. Anything.”

  Yes, I so very much liked her.

  I just hoped she would keep liking me.

  “See you at lunch tomorrow,” she continued.

  “See you at lunch, Josie.”

  We said our good-byes and rang off.

  Then I went directly to the garage and got some boxes, went to the kitchen and got the packing tape and went back to my bathroom.

  Unless they were absolutely necessary to remain clothed for the next two days, I boxed up everything.

  Everything.

  Clothes. Shoes. Belts. Handbags.

  I also tossed in all my makeup.

  I dragged it all to the garage, took a shower, got into the only nightgown I’d left for me and got into bed.

  It was early.

  It took forever to fall asleep.

  But I finally did it and wished I didn’t.

  Because when I did, I dreamed of watching Mickey marry a tall, beautiful redhead who was not me.

  * * * * *

  Rushing out the door before the furniture truck even pulled away after they made their deliveries the next morning, I drove hell on wheels into Magdalene.

  I parked on Cross Street.

  I hoofed it to Weatherby’s Diner.

  I immediately spied Josie and Alyssa sitting in
a booth, ready for me. I knew this because they were seated on the same side and three glasses of ice water were in front of them.

  And I ignored their looks of shock when they saw me walk in, makeup-less, hair pulled back in a ponytail and I knew looking pale and frantic.

  I slid in across from them as Alyssa breathed, “Oh my God, honey, you look like—”

  “I need a makeover,” I announced.

  Alyssa clamped her mouth shut.

  They stared at me.

  Then I jumped when suddenly Josie went flying out the side of the booth.

  This was because Alyssa shoved her out.

  Josie righted herself and whirled, eyes narrow, face full of fury, tone frosty. “What on earth?”

  Alyssa, who didn’t hesitate in exiting the booth she’d shoved Josie out of, waved in her face.

  “No time,” she muttered then looked to the long counter. “Marjorie. Three patty melts. I’ll send someone from the salon to pick them up in twenty.”

  “I don’t want a patty melt,” Josie snapped.

  Alyssa didn’t look at her. “Two patty melts and a Reuben.”

  Josie got close to her. “I don’t want a Reuben. I want a Cobb salad.”

  “Oh for ef’s sake!” Alyssa clipped. “Two patty melts and a Cobb salad.”

  Through this, I got out of the booth too and added tentatively, “I actually wanted a chicken Caesar.”

  Alyssa threw up her hands but asked a waitress who was apparently named Marjorie. “Got that?”

  “Got it, babe,” Marjorie replied.

  “And three Diet Cokes,” Alyssa kept going, doing this grabbing my hand and beginning to drag me to the door.

  We were out on the sidewalk and Alyssa was tugging me down it in the direction of her salon, Maude’s House of Beauty (Alyssa was a hairdresser who owned her own place, this, plus Josie having a career in the fashion world, why I enlisted their support) when Josie demanded, “Can you explain why you’re acting like a lunatic?”

  Alyssa stopped abruptly, causing me to crash into her, but she didn’t notice me.

  She had eyes only for Josie.

  “’Cause our girl here is beautiful,” she declared.

  I drew in an audible breath.

  But she was not finished.

  “But she’s broken.”

  I stared at her profile and held that breath.

  Alyssa went on, “I don’t know why. I just know that shit is real. And every girl knows a makeover is the start of pickin’ up the pieces. And I’m all over that.”

  She turned to me and it was then I noticed my vision had gone misty.

  “You wanna share, you sock it to me,” she offered. “You don’t wanna give it, it’s all yours to keep. But I’m doin’ this and so is Josie. I get your hair. Josie gets your makeup. And both of us get your clothes.”

  Suddenly, she lifted up a hand sharply, palm out to Josie and turned her eyes that way.

  She did this still speaking.

  “I know I walk on the skank side. I like it. It’s me. My baby likes it. Keeps him just like I want him to be. But I know better with our Amelia. You get the class but me havin’ my part doesn’t mean I’m bringin’ the trash. I’m bringin’ the va-va-va-voom ’cause with this girl’s tits and ass, she can be all over va-va-va-voom.” She turned back to me. “’Cept you’re takin’ off too much weight. Sister, you gotta eat.”

  And with that and not another word, she carried on charging toward Maude’s House of Beauty, hauling me with her.

  I was in her chair with a robe on before I knew what was happening and Alyssa wasn’t done bossing.

  She shoved a Surface in Josie’s hands and declared, “I got a one-thirty. This doesn’t leave much time but I’m gonna get her cookin’. You’re gonna be surfin’. Use the salon’s Wi-Fi. Password’s written on a piece of paper in my top drawer. Show her what you find. Show me. Email her links. Anything we wanna pick up at a store, we’re goin’ tomorrow.” She curled her hand around my shoulder. “Anything you wanna buy, babe, you get home, open those links and go crazy. Now!” she cried excitedly. “I gotta go brew up some magic. I’ll be back.”

  And she was off.

  I sat in my salon robe in her salon chair staring after her.

  Slowly, my eyes drifted to Josie.

  She was standing beside my chair, forgotten Surface held in her hands, her eyes where Alyssa used to be.

  “If you have other things—” I began.

  I stopped when her eyes cut to me.

  “There is nothing right now more important than what you need.”

  My vision again went misty.

  “This is—” I started again.

  “You picking up the pieces,” she finished for me. “And this is us, at your side, helping.”

  I felt the tear slide down my cheek.

  “I’m being selfish,” I whispered.

  Her head tipped to the side, her eyes filling with confusion. “How’s that?”

  “You both dropping everything so I can get a new hairstyle,” I explained and shook my head. “That’s me. Part of me at least. Selfish.”

  “May I ask, if you met me and I behaved like you’ve behaved since I met you, and suddenly I phoned you, making it clear you needed me, how you would feel?”

  Oh God.

  “Honored that you asked me,” I said quietly.

  “Indeed,” she replied firmly.

  “I’ve made a mess of my life,” I shared.

  “Join the club, Amelia,” she returned instantly.

  I blinked and another tear escaped down my cheek.

  What was she talking about?

  She was gorgeous. She was the most fashionable woman I’d ever seen. She was always turned out perfectly. She had Jake, who was nice and sweet and almost as handsome as Mickey and he was so into her, it wasn’t even funny. Her son was adopted, but he clearly adored her beyond reason. And Jake’s other two kids loved her the same way.

  She had everything.

  How was her life a mess?

  “I didn’t always have Jake and all that he brought to me,” she announced, as if hearing my thoughts. “I didn’t always have Conner and Amber and Ethan. I didn’t always have Alyssa and Junior. I used to have next to nothing. Then,” she leaned into me, her eyes holding mine, “with a good deal of help, at long last, and when I say that, I mean for me it lasted decades, I picked up the pieces.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “You’ll note, in saying that, when I did, I did not do it alone.”

  Another tear chased down my cheek.

  Josie watched it then looked back at me.

  “Will you give me the honor of letting me help you not go it alone?”

  Without the ability to do anything else, I nodded.

  She squeezed my hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Don’t mention it,” I whispered back, the only way I’d be able to speak.

  She started chuckling.

  “Back!” Alyssa cried, and Josie and I both jumped, Josie straightening away from me, my eyes going to Alyssa in the mirror. “Right, bringing you back to your original beauty with threads of blonde to make it exciting, just pieces throughout this mass of gorgeousness,” she stated, dumping the two bowls she had on the counter in front of me and gently pulling the ponytail holder out, my hair falling around my shoulders. “But around your face”, she flipped my hair forward, over my shoulders, then twitched some locks by my temples, “more blonde to highlight your pretty face. Sound good?”

  I had no idea. I’d never had highlights. My mom thought highlights were common.

  I didn’t care.

  Alyssa could do anything.

  Just as long as she helped me to a new me.

  “Sounds great,” I said softly.

  She smiled brightly at my reflection in the mirror, straightened from me and shouted to the room at large, “Ruby! We got a mission and we need to sustain that mission so we gotta get our order from Weatherby’s. I’ll ow
e you a bottle of tequila, you go pick it up. Tell ’em to put it on the salon account.”

  “The salon has an account?” a female voice I suspected was Ruby called back.

  At this point, Alyssa was pulling on plastic gloves. “Tell ’em to make one.”

  “You offer tequila, I expect Patrón,” the unseen Ruby declared.

  “Whatever. Hoof it. My bitches are hungry,” Alyssa returned, reaching to open a drawer filled with foils.

  “On it,” Ruby replied.

  Alyssa started sectioning off my hair.

  “What do you think of these?” Josie asked and I turned my eyes to the Surface screen.

  There was a pair of silver pumps on it that were simply extraordinary.

  “Maybe you should get my credit card out of my purse,” I suggested.

  “Size?” Josie asked, her voice smiling.

  “Six and a half,” I answered.

  She grabbed my purse and sat in the salon chair next to me.

  Alyssa twisted and clipped up my hair.

  And as time wore on, I found it was astonishingly easy to pick up the pieces.

  All you had to do was sit in a chair…

  And have good women as company.

  * * * * *

  “Are you ready for it?”

  It was hours later.

  It was thousands of online shopping dollars later.

  It was two sessions of makeup lessons (Alyssa’s salon did special occasion makeup and had a huge trunk full of it). This done in between me “cooking” and getting my hair washed out, Alyssa taking a client, then coming back to do a cut (with my side or back to the mirror), Alyssa taking another client, then coming back to do the style.

  Now I was done.

  Staring at the back wall, unable to see myself in any of the copious mirrors around me, I replied on a lie because I was anxious as anything, “Ready.”

  She whirled me around.

  I looked in the mirror and watched my face crumple.

  “Girl, do not start crying!” Alyssa fairly shouted. “You’ll mess up your makeup.”

  I took a breath in through my nose. I took another one in through my mouth.

  And I stared at me.

  Alyssa had cut in delicate layers, these making my now shining, gray-less, subtly highlighted hair less heavy. These layers were more distinct around my face where she’d feathered them down the sides and cut in a long bang that hung to my eyelashes and dipped lower at my temples. That and the increased blonde around my face giving my skin a healthy glow. And Josie’s expert makeup tactics that were all about proper use of color, perfect shading, all of this packing a punch, made my eyes pop even more than they used to do.