by C. M. Stone
…
A newborn baby cried from a delivery room down the hall. Hardly an unusual sound in a maternity ward, but enough to remind Jackson of where he was. He drew back, his hand still in hers for the moment. Anyone else and a bit of emotional support between coworkers wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, but they weren’t anyone else and he was feeling a lot more than just support after losing a patient.
No other coworker had ever taken his hand and asked him how he was after a bad surgery, either. Or fed him cupcakes. Or called him ignorant in front of the chief. Darla was unique.
Reluctantly, he freed his hand. The loss of that small connection felt so much bigger than it should have.
“I appreciate your concern.” The words were formal, meant to push distance between them even if that was the last thing he wanted.
Darla’s deep brown eyes were full of concern, carefully watching him. “Should I go answer Mr. Miller’s questions on my own?”
“No, I’ll come with you.” The finer points of keeping a body builder from pushing himself too hard were better handled by an experienced surgeon. He got up from the bench to go with her. Maybe explaining himself a little to Darla would help. Not about Amy, not at work, but some of the difficulty of opening up again. He hadn’t always been this way. And for some reason, he wanted her to know that.
“You know those busy, long shifts when you never get a chance to stop for meals?” he asked.
There was no concern in her eyes now, at least. She stared at him in confusion. “Yeah?”
“And you know how your blood sugar crashes and eventually you’re so hungry even when you can finally stop to get food, you just can’t make yourself eat?”
“Sure. It’s like going so long without sleep that when you get to bed you have insomnia. Things can be counterintuitive when we deny a need for too long.” She walked ahead of him into the elevator. “There’s only one way to deal with it.”
“And what’s that?”
“Just start again.”
He shook his head. Easier said than done, but he didn’t point that out. Pushing the metaphor any further would make it all too obvious what he was really hungering for.
Chapter Eight
For some women, shopping was a way to unwind. Retail therapy helped wash their cares away and make them feel like they had regained control of some little corner of their lives. Darla Morales was not one of those women. Clothes were too long for her short legs or transformed her chest into a loaf boob or created weird bumps and rolls on her stomach. Just checking the sizes and trying to figure out what would fit her was too stressful. After spending an hour looking at dresses in the mall, she’d given up. The very next saleswoman who walked up to her and asked, “Can I help you find anything?” had been presented with a credit card and a desperate plea.
Half an hour later she had a dress, stockings, shoes, and a whole new host of problems.
That was what brought her to her neighbors’ doorstep with a bag clutched in her hands and panic in her eyes.
Nikki looked her over, finely sculpted brows raising up nearly to her hairline. “Are you okay? You look like something’s wrong.”
Darla took a deep breath, then expelled every bit of oxygen on her next sentence. “I have to go to a formal fundraiser for the hospital, and I’m going to look like an idiot.”
“Oh.” The concern Nikki had shown moments before evaporated, and she leaned against the door frame. “So when is it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Nikki pursed her lips in thought. “Well…Rachel and I can’t help you tomorrow. We’ll be doing hair and makeup for Cirque du Soleil, but we could help you out tonight.”
From further inside the apartment, a voice called out, “Who is it, honey?”
“It’s Darla. She’s got some party to get ready for.”
Rachel came over by the door and gestured Darla in. “Susie’s just gone down for bed. Let’s see what we can do.”
Once Darla was inside, she set her bag down and drew the dress out. The saleswoman had assured her that the black was appropriate for a black tie event and would be flattering without being too daring. The gown was strapless with a heart-shaped bodice and a long, narrow skirt that flared slightly outward from her knees. A mermaid gown, the saleswoman had called it. Lace panels scooped in at the waist from the sides to make an hourglass shape, though to her relief her skin wasn’t exposed through the lace. The panels were lined with honey gold cloth that nearly matched her skin. There had been other dresses the saleswoman had shown her, but she’d spent more time than she wanted to admit wondering what Jackson would like. Something about the classic cut of the dress paired with the tease of the lace had seemed right. When he saw it would he give her another one of those looks that made it hard to breathe?
“It’s at a golf course, and I have to talk to donors. I thought I’d wear this?”
“Mm.” Rachel considered the dress. “We can make that work. If I show you how to do your makeup and Nikki helps with your hair, do you think you can repeat what we show you?”
“It can’t be that much harder than surgery, can it?” Even to her own ears, Darla sounded desperately hopeful.
The other two women laughed, not unkindly, and Nikki gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. “It’s hard, but you only have to know how to do it for one specific person. That’ll make it easier, since you won’t have to figure out different hair types and things like that.”
“I’ll get the wine!” Rachel handed the dress back.
Darla followed Nikki into the bedroom, where she was gently but firmly pressed down into a chair in front of their vanity. That uncomfortable feeling of her own reflection staring back at her made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“Sit there and let me get a good look at your hair, okay?” Nikki pulled Darla’s pony tail loose, making her wince, and then began fluffing out her hair. Once she seemed satisfied with that, she grabbed a hank of it to examine the ends. She tsked. “We’re gonna have to cut a lot of this off. Are you okay with that?”
Darla reached for her hair protectively. “You have to cut it off? Why?”
“Because you’ve abused it to hell and back. When was the last time you deep conditioned?”
“I…is that like when you leave the conditioner on for a long time?”
The mirror reflected a pitying look in Nikki’s eyes. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you how to take care of this?”
“No, my mom’s never been interested in stuff like that. My cousins were the ones in the family into hair care.”
“And what did your cousins tell you?” She began working a comb through Darla’s hair.
“You know, normal stuff. Shampoo twice, switch your shampoo every couple of weeks to keep it from building up a residue, leave your conditioner on for sixty seconds.”
“And what did your cousins’ hair look like?”
“Shiny, pretty.”
Rachel appeared to put a glass of wine into Darla’s hand. “You mean straight?”
“Um.” Visions of her cousins with their sleek, straight hair that they had to fuss with to ever make it keep a curl came to mind. They’d always expressed envy for her hair and how little she had to work with it. After all, she didn’t need to add curl, did she?
Rachel and Nikki shared a look. “You’ve basically got a lifetime of shitty hair care to make up for here. We’re gonna cut it, we’re gonna deep condition, and I’ll get you set so you can keep curlers in overnight and then do some very simple styling for tomorrow, but you’re gonna need a lot more lessons than this.”
An entire world she’d never considered was opening up before her, leaving her lost and a little exasperated. “I need hair lessons?”
“You can do some low maintenance styles, but you’ll still have to take care of it. You’ve got 3B hair. Do you know what that means?”
She shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “No.”
“Curly hair’s more fragile than str
aight. Every place where it’s curling into one of these little corkscrews? That’s a breaking point. You need to take care of it right to prevent that.”
“Okay.”
She downed her wine for courage, then went into the bathroom to wash her hair to Nikki’s specifications. While Nikki cut and conditioned and worked whatever hair magic she had, Rachel began working on her face. That, just like her hair, turned out to be more complicated than Darla had expected. Rachel wouldn’t even touch her face until her skin had been exfoliated and moisturized and then she began with shaping her brows. A tiny edge of panic began to curl around Darla’s heart, making her wonder if these elaborate rituals were what all women did every day, and she’d been failing at her gender since puberty. A lovely thought.
Rachel smoothed base on with a sponge and tipped Darla’s chin up as she blended her jawline. “Tell me how you usually do your makeup, so we stay in your comfort zone.”
Darla shrank a little lower in the chair. “I hardly ever wear makeup because I feel like a clown when I do.”
Nikki stopped wrapping her hair in rollers for a moment to lean around and meet her eyes with a teasing smile. “Are you sure you weren’t raised by wolves?”
At her panicked look, Rachel laughed softly. “It’s fine. I didn’t grow my hair out or put on makeup until I was eighteen and living on my own.”
Hearing that was like a balm for her nerves. She took a deep breath and relaxed on the exhale. If Rachel had learned it well enough to be a professional that late in life, she could be quasi-functional at it. “But I’ll have to wear makeup for this fundraiser.”
Rachel held Darla’s face still and began applying eyeliner. “Yeah, so I’m going to show you how to do it light, since we don’t want to do anything that makes you stop looking like you.”
“Isn’t not looking like me the point of a makeover?”
“No. If you wanted, I could do contouring and turn you into Eva Mendes’s twin, but that’s for show. What you need is confidence, and confidence comes from being you and feeling good about being you.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Then we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Following Rachel’s steps and techniques with the makeup left her head spinning like her first day in calculus. The step by step transformation of her face was fascinating to watch, even if the view was slightly blurred without her glasses. What she’d taken for effortlessly flawless looks in so many other people was rapidly coming into her own grasp.
“This is really amazing and so much more than I expected,” Darla said. “Is there anything more I can do for you for this? Do you need a babysitter some night or something?”
Nikki laughed. “If that’s what you want, we’d love to take advantage, but this is the kind of thing we do for fun.”
“It’s true.” Rachel swiped lip gloss across Darla’s lower lip for a final touch, then stepped back for her to admire in the mirror. “On our date night when we can’t get a sitter to go out, we’ll do ‘fashion montages’ where we cycle through all our formal wear and dance around in here.”
“You should join us sometime. I’d love to try on that dress you just got, and I have a couple you might like. There are even a few of Rachel’s dresses you might fit.”
Darla cast a skeptical eye on Rachel’s tall, thin frame. “Are they made out of spandex?”
Rachel turned to the side to strike a pose and grinned. “My hips are about the same size as Nikki’s. Being tall makes me look narrower than I really am.”
Nikki put a cap over the finished curlers in Darla’s hair. “This’ll help hold them in place tonight. Do you have a good bra for the fundraiser?”
Darla looked down at herself with a sigh. “I’m wearing one.”
“Which is fine, but you’ll need a strapless one for that gown. I think you’re about my size. Let’s try.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that when she bought the gown? She mentally cursed herself for never thinking of it, but accepted the bra to try on. It felt strange to wear a bra without the constant drag on her shoulders from the straps, and she fiddled with it for a few minutes before she felt satisfied enough to step out of the bathroom.
Nikki looked her up and down, then gently pushed back her shoulders and urged her into straightened posture. It didn’t feel like much of a difference until she looked in the mirror and saw the subtle transformation. If she looked like that in her scrubs, sharing the bench with Jackson in the hall might have ended differently. Possibly with them being fired.
“Oh wow,” she breathed. “Can I borrow this?”
“No, I told you to try it on just to taunt you. Of course!”
Darla smiled tentatively, finding it difficult now to keep her eyes off the reflection she’d wanted so badly to avoid before. “I was going to wear contact lenses to the gala. Do you think that’s…still me?”
Rachel handed Darla her glasses so she could see her reflection better. “Do you feel comfortable in them?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Then wear contacts. The point here isn’t to look like anybody else but you, remember.”
“But I’m…me. Shouldn’t I try to look better than that?”
“You should look like the best you there is.” Nikki topped off their wine glasses before sipping from her own. “Performers are okay looking like somebody else, but that’s on stage. You need to be you, and if you’re trying to be somebody else, that’s gonna show. You’re not a skinny girl with straight hair, so stop acting like you’re supposed to be.”
Hearing it put so baldly made Darla choke on her wine. She spluttered, eyes blinking rapidly to try to fight off watering and ruining her makeup. “After all that work, you’re saying it was pointless?”
“Not skinny doesn’t mean not beautiful. This is what you look like, Darla. Own it.”
Rachel took the chair in front of the vanity and leaned back with her long legs crossed while she sipped her wine. “You have anyone in particular you’re trying to impress at this thing?”
“I guess I need to impress everyone.”
“Mmhmm. I mean someone specific. You know, a special guy. Or woman. Or some other gender variation, I don’t discriminate.”
Unbidden, a mental image of Jackson popped into her head. His dark brown hair and those intense green eyes that made her squirm. His full lips that frowned far too often. His deep infectious laugh that she rarely got to hear. Yes. She wanted to impress him.
“Come on.” Nikki gave her a prod on the shoulder. “There’s gotta be somebody.”
Just trying to picture how Jackson’s gaze might darken and intensify with lust made her cheeks burn in a blush. “No.”
It was silly to expect anything. She knew that. Getting involved with him wasn’t even an option, really. But they’d be away from work and alone for a while in his car. Who knew what could happen?
Chapter Nine
It wasn’t a date. Yes, Jackson was at a woman’s door and dressed in a tuxedo and was going to drive her to a place where drinking and dancing would rule the night. She would, hopefully, be a bit dressed up herself. If all went well, the evening would be pleasant. It still wasn’t a date. Telling himself that did little to ease his anticipation, though.
The door opened inward and for a few seconds his brain scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing. Even in scrubs, it had been clear that Darla had a lush figure, but the gown she wore might as well have been sewn especially to hug her curves. Her shoulders were bare and looked golden and inviting in contrast to the vivid black of the dress. Lace dipped in at her waist and curled around her breasts and he had to stare for a moment to reassure himself it was only cloth he saw behind the lace and not her bare skin. Even with that in mind, he couldn’t shake the places the visual sent his mind. Was the skin of her stomach and breasts the same warm tone as the cloth, or was it a shade paler from not being exposed to sunlight?
“Hi.” Her voice sounded uncertain, and he for
ced his eyes up from the dress and her body to her face.
Her hair was down and swept to one side, the black curls brushing her shoulders looking softer and glossier than he remembered them. For the most part, her makeup was subtle enough he hardly noticed it, except for her lips. He knew that red wasn’t natural, though he couldn’t complain. Her lips looked full and ripe and sweet as berries. He’d always found the cliché of a woman taking off her glasses to reveal her hidden beauty to be stupid, but as he met her dark brown eyes he recognized a far more compelling side to the loss of her glasses.
It was, in a way, one step closer to being naked.
“Wow. You look…amazing.”
Only when it melted away did he notice how much tension she’d been holding in her body. Her smile was one of relief, but the invitation in it made him feel a different kind of tension entirely. “Thank you. You look nice yourself.”
“Are you ready to go?”
She nodded and shut the door behind her. Keeping his eyes off of her was more difficult than he’d expected while he led the way to his car. The dress and styling was all nice, but he’d known she was beautiful before. Something else had changed, something more subtle. Was there a little bit of a sway to her hips? A confidence that had been lacking before? Her shoulders were squared, her spine straight, but it didn’t look stiff or affected. Whatever had done it, he approved.
At his car, he unlocked her door for her and held it open. Instead of getting in she stared at it.
“This is your car?”
He finally managed to tear his eyes away from her to look at the car. There wasn’t anything wrong with it that he could see, other than it being an older Chevrolet Impala. It ran well, which was the important part. His sister Eliza had insisted on getting the damage from her fender bender in it fixed, though he’d told her not to worry about it, so it had a fresh white paint job.