Sadie Hawkins Day

by Sydney Michelle

 

Chapter Six

 

"May Thou show us the way, the truth and the light. Thou lovest us even when we are willful and disobedient; Thy Holy Ghost sustains us even in times of troubles. We praise Thee for Thy presence within, especially in this, Thy solemn covenant.

"Amen"

"Loretta, Jaimie looks a little out of sorts. I suspect he overindulged on your hospitality. Perhaps I should take him to the restroom too."

"Perhaps you're right. I ought to check my last patron. Down the hall on the left."

Blake led me by the hand. I was puzzled. I didn't really feel uncomfortable, at least not that way. But it was a good idea to empty the tank.

Blake tried a handle, found an empty, opened the door. "Inside!"

What happened? Major Hot Lips had returned, and she was not playful. Blake shut the door, gestured to sit on the throne. My first time in panties felt awkward. Panties to my knees? Or down to my ankles? The back of the smock caught behind my tail. I was acutely aware that with a headful of curlers I could no longer say what I was wore was no different than a painter's smock.

"What is it with you, Jaimie? I leave, you're happy as a bug in a rug. I come back, you act like a petulant three year old. To look at your face, you'd think you were about to be shot. And that comment of yours. You might as well have told Jean he looked a freak. And he wanted so much for you to tell him he really looked nice."

"It's just . . ."

"No excuses. Stop copping an attitude. You done?"

I nodded, gave the lily a shake and stood up.

"Take off your smock."

I was stunned, started to protest, thought better of it. The smock lifted smoothly over my head, hardly catching the curlers. I stood still, fearful in my girdle. I flapped in the wind, thick, but no longer strained. The panties were still around my ankles. I bent over.

"Leave them alone."

I stood back up. Surely she won't parade me through the salon naked?

Blake drew closer, so close our bodies almost touched. "What are you feeling now?"

"Afraid. Ashamed." I paused. "Alone."

Blake's hand took mine. "Poor Baby. Why are you frightened?"

"Because Jean looked good. And he acted like he really liked it, and I was afraid that . . ."

"What? You can tell me." Her breath was soft in my ear. Her other hand covered me and I expanded. "Afraid you'd like it too?"

My arms stole around her, under her arms. She felt so good up close. "Uh-huh. Loretta had talked me into a hairpiece and it felt really good under the dryer. So I'm afraid if she does me, and I look really good, I'll like it too much and you won't want me."

"Does this feel like I don't want you?"

Her lips brushed mine, her tongue slipped in my ear. Sore lobe and all, I responded. She stroked my hose. She clutched me, stroked me, and I held her tight. Fingers pressed curlers, turning my head. Her mouth covered mine, her tongue slipped into me. I grew rapidly between us, her palm pressed home. I stiffened, came, came with fingers pressing curlers into my head.

"Now then, Sugar-Bear. Do you still think I won't love you? Let's get you cleaned up. I'll have to get Loretta to run a razor over your face. Can't have five o'clock shadow."

I sat down, exhausted, relieved, thrilled, while she gave my groin and thighs a bird bath. The door knob rattled.

"A few minutes." Blake finished, pulled up my panties. "Sugar, I have a surprise for you."

I looked up, unable to move, wondered what she had in store for me, willing to do whatever she wanted. She brought forth a white box from the bag, about the size of a shirt box.

"Open it."

"What is it?"

"If you'd open it, you'd find out."

I held the box on my knees, spread tissue, lifted. It was a dress, obviously a dress, Forest Green with a russet and burnt sienna leafy print, a high scoop neck and long sleeves. "For me?" I croaked. It was a rising pitch, dry throat, didn't quite make it croak, a "ribbit" not a bull frog.

"Of course for you. It was on sale, and I just couldn't resist. Put it on."

"On?"

"Of course on. What did you think you should do, silly, carry it like a flag?" Blake looked at me, peeved, then embarrassed. She bent down before me. "I'm sorry, that was stupid. You're going through a lot. Here, I'll help."

And she did. It was an A-line and zipped in back to the waist. The sleeves weren't full length, but three quarter, loose above my wrists. The skirt hung to the bottom of my knees. She plucked and pulled, settling the material around me, then helped me back into the smock.

"Hhm. I'll run get you some dark pantyhose. But you really must lose the European look."

"The what?"

"Your hairy legs. They're not shaggy, but they should be, how can I say this? Smooth. But we need to get you back in the chair. Just be nice and look interested. Loretta must think the earth opened and swallowed us up."

At that moment, that seemed like a peachy-keen idea.

 

§§

 

Loretta saw us come up in the mirror. She spoke to us without turning around or missing a stroke on the blonde sitting in the chair. "Have a seat. I'll have Mandy out in a jiffy. This is actually better. I won't have to stop to comb her out."

The blonde turned her head just enough to see us in the mirror. She wiggled her hand slightly in greeting. "Hi. I'm Mandy Cordova. Sorry to steal Loretta, but she said she could squeeze in my comb out."

"Nice to met you. I'm Blake Jones and this is my friend, Jaimie Blair. I'd love to chat but I have to run get something for her."

"Go right ahead. Lots of height, Loretta. You know Bertie likes it big and beautiful."

"Never fear. You'll have enough volume to bounce him off the ceiling without a pillow. Hurry back, Blake. I'll start Jaime in about ten."

Blake touched my shoulder and was gone. In the mirror I could see the face of the woman who had been next to me under the dryer, her hair no longer in curlers, but being back brushed into a growing halo around her head. She closed her eyes and held her head very still, moving only in response to Loretta's touch. Her precisely done face was in bliss.

I sat still, trying to be feminine, inconspicious, hands in my lap, feet tucked back. I didn't want to look as though I had never seen this before, but I didn't want to miss anything either.

Loretta shook out her hands beside her side. "How's this for starters?"

Mandy opened her eyes, turned her head back and forth, smiled. "It should get me through the night. Go ahead and smooth me out."

"You really should try top dog, Mandy. That way you might cut back to once a week."

"And miss getting all hot and bothered so when Mister Quick 'n' Easy comes home he'd leave me all flustered? No thank you. This way, a few sniffs and kisses and the right touch and the second time around for him, he's taking his time and I get over the top."

"Careful, Mandy, you'll embarrass Jaimie." Loretta began smoothing the mane, starting by turning under the ends of the bottom layers.

Mandy looked into the mirror. "No. I won't. It's just girl talk. Are you married, Sweetie?"

I shook my head, afraid my voice would give me away.

"Well, let me tell you, when you are, we ladies of the club always compare notes." Her crimson nails, even brighter than mine, touched the curve behind her ear. "A little wider, please Loretta. About half way to my shoulders."

Loretta used a comb with long wire teeth to pick her hair, pulling the mass outwards. Then she sprayed, then resumed brushing, stopping to spray each layer. As Loretta moved from side to side, at times I could see the back of the do take shape, smooth, gleaming, enticing onlookers to touch it. Then Loretta began the top, smoothing strokes, lifting with the comb, checking the height in the mirror. I tried to imagine how it felt to have such a do, a gravity defying mass of crowning glory, no less than three inches off her head.

Blake came back as Loretta applied a final coat, masking Mandy's eyes. "Wow!"

"Glad you approve." Mandy sat there grinning, checking her line with the hand mirror. "I know it's dramatic, maybe a little brazen, but a wife's gotta do what a wife's gotta do." She set down the mirror, fumbled in her purse. "Before the wedding, he can't keep his hands off you and he's always trying to get into your panties. On the honeymoon, he can't live without you, can't get enough of you. Then he's back to work and you're off the pedestal. Then he's tired, it's been a hard day, and could you just feed him and wake him when it's time to go to bed? If you can't get him to sit up and take notice, pretty soon you're nothing but grass under his feet. That and a combination maid and beer fetcher. Excuse me, ladies, but I like a little more life in my man." Mandy handed Loretta a bill. "Excellent as usual. If he doesn't chase me until I let him catch me, it's not your fault. Maybe a new perfume?" Then Mandy was gone, waving to one and all.

"Is she always so garrulous? Even Blake was astounded.

"C'mon, Honey, let's get you started." I moved up to the chair. "Oh-h, nice dress. I approve, but let's get that smock off and get a cape back on you. No, but her husband's been working on a big project and she's a little under-serviced and frustrated. God may have rested on the seventh day, but if men don't get more than that, they're not worth killin' Sundays. Nothing personal, Honey. Face first?"

"Uh-hmm. Jaimie ought to do your styling justice."

"One sweet sophisticate, coming up." Loretta sat me forward, laid the chair back a quarter, then helped me lie back. Her face loomed over mine, her thumb smoothed my eyebrows. "Don't worry. When I'm done, you won't even know it's you. But you'll like it. Promise."

That was just what I was afraid of. Liking it.

 

Chapter Seven

 

"Then the Lord God said, 'It is not good that man should be alone; I shall make him a helpmate as his partner.' So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to come over him, and he slept; then He took one of his rib bones and closed up his side with flesh. And the rib bone that God had taken from the man He made into the woman, and brought her to the man. And the man said:

'At last this is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh;

And she shall be called Woman, for out of Man she was taken.'

"Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother, and cleaves to his spouse, as they become one flesh."

"When we're done, he'll be lovely, fit for you to escort to the Dance."

As though everything I'd been through weren't enough, doing my face for the first time was the topper. I lay there, hardly daring breathe while Blake and Loretta conferred on my face and fate. Brow shaping, definitely, not too dramatic, lose the strays above the bridge. Color must wait. A razor swipe, then blend. Accent the eyes, de-emphasize the nose, play up the cheekbones a tad, make the lips just the slightest bit fuller. And a little blush: just enough not to look dead. Sparkles? Maybe for the Dance. Eyelashes? Definitely. Not too thick, natural looking. Play up those green eyes. Ears? Better let new holes heal.

"Comfy? I could make a towel pillow if your rollers pinch."

"I'm fine."

Loretta went to work. Her arm felt good on my forehead. Then she plucked. And plucked, and plucked. It's good it wasn't to be dramatic, because what she did stung like dickens. Cool gel soothed my jaw, lip, neck, followed by stretch and scrape. Then thick lotion, on my cheeks, on my brow, into my hairline. Soft dabs and strokes, working it into my skin. Some fanning, then something stroked my brows. Blake's voice murmured. Darker. Further out. Brushes and daubs, feathers floating across my face.

"Hee, tickles."

"Try not to scratch. Tell me where if you have to." More tickles, on cheeks, brow, chin. Something firm, but soft, like a finger, traced the tip of my nose. "Open your lips. Just a little."

Something moist, cool touched the edges, running a line. More touches pulled my lips.

"Okay, let that set. Close your mouth, but don't crimp. Open your eyes, just a little."

I saw Loretta's intense face through laced lashes. Something touched a lash. I blinked.

"Hold still. Look past me." More touches, one eye, then the other. "Open wide. Look up." More brushes, a finger tip pulled my eyelid wide, brushes on lower lids. "Close 'em. Not tight." Coolness on my lids, beside my eyes. Pressure, very light against my eyes. Stroking, soft pressing. "Eyes down." More pressing. "Look up. Raise your brows." A soft gentle press, followed by a light rub. "Open your eyes a little. A little wider so the lashes part." Again, Loretta's furrowed face, this time with a silvery gleam. A touch, light as a feather, against my lid above the lashes. Another. "Look all the way up." The same on each lower lid.

"Breathe." I must have turned purple. "Almost done. Open your lips. That's it. One last coat." Cool, waxy on my lips, fingertips pressing my cheek, Loretta's face close to mine, so close her smooth, black hair blocked the light. Her sweet face close to mine. "Blot."

"Yot?"

"Yes, blot. You don't want your lipstick to smear." My lips pressed down, tissue between them. "Good girl."

Loretta raised the chair. The room spun; I was woozy. There were so many people. "Wow!" Wow? "Look at yourself, Jaimie."

Loretta turned the chair to the mirror. A woman sat there, in a burgundy cape over a dark green dress. Auburn hair was up in curlers, curlers that surrounded an enticing face, regular, with depth of features. The eyes were striking, green pools set off by long, dark lashes, doorways to the soul. The lips were full and moist, sensual but genteel. Jaimie Alba Baird, the unremarkable male Marian the Librarian, was deep behind the mask of Lady Jayne, Belle of Ozarkoma.

The world appeared in the reflection. They were all there, Blake and Shelby, Drew and Jan, Nikki and Jean. Jan and Jean wore skirts and sweaters, faces glowing with excitement.

Shelby made a sweeping bow at my side. "May I ask the favor of a dance, and might I inquire as to your glass slipper size?"

I held out my hand, pinkie up. "You'll have to ask my escort, the noted duelist, Blake d'Aine, but all homage is due to milady's skill."

"If your entourage would give me room to finish?"

Blake squeezed my hand. "Back up, everybody, and let a master work."

Loretta executed a bow, brush and hand across her breast. "Up, no bangs, curls on top?"

"Yes, please."

Curlers flew from my hair. "When you're done, we'll match your hairpiece. That way we get a good color match." She brushed my hair, vigorously on the sides and back, sweeping it up, softly on top, twisting the brush for curl. "If you want a French Twist, you'll need to let your hair grow. For today, let's get you into two ponys, crown and top."

Loretta talked while she worked, keeping me relaxed and involved. My butterflies flew away; the process intrigued me despite my misgivings. My hair was caught, separated, twirled, sprayed, pinned. And then I was done, a last mist of spray; Loretta stepped back, arms spread, said, "Voila!" moved aside. "What do you think?"

I was speechless. My hair swept under curls trailing off my crown, pinned toward my forehead. The curls invited, implored fingers to become lost in them. My face looked longer, less round. It was awesome.

"Is he dead?"

"Asleep?"

"I might bring Sleeping Beauty to life." A shadow passed over me. Lips pressed mine.

"Uhm-m." I blinked, pulled back. "Blake?"

"Yep, he lives. How do you like your look?"

"It's, it's . . ." My hands rose to my head, patted my curls. I stroked spray stiff sides, cupped my hands, moved them out, tried to imagine my hair bigger, out to my ears.

"Beautiful?" Blake's face swam into focus. "Do you like it?"

I blinked, smiled shyly.

"Congratulations, Loretta. You managed to strike him dumb. That's a rare event."

"I don't talk that much!"

"That's because her mouth usually has yours stopped. Does the salon have a camera?" Drew would think of that.

"Sure. We do before and afters of most of our makeovers. Let me get his shade matched."

I sat still, hands crossed in my lap, hardly daring breathe 'less the illusion in the mirror disappear. Loretta produced a ring of hair, all colors from platinum blonde to jet black. She put tufts to my head, one after another, spread the strands of one to lay in line with my hair.

"What's that for?" Jan's voice floated over my shoulder.

"To blend the hairpiece. If Jaimie's to have full curls for the Dance, we'll need a cascade for the back or a wiglet for the top." Loretta checked a tag, made a note.

"Oo-oh, nice. Are they expensive?"

"Depends. Long human hair, especially European, can be pricey. But synthetics or Oriental human hair is not so much."

"Wouldn't Oriental be black?" Jan was curious.

Loretta plumped, adjusted a pin. "Dye. It comes in all shades. Would you like something?

"Could I, I mean, would you recommend I get one?"

"Your hair's shoulder length. For big pretty curls, you should have one. How about a medium Oriental wiglet? It's versatile enough to see how you like it without costing a fortune."

"Pictures?" Drew was persistent.

"Could someone find Adelaide? I'll be busy for a bit."

"I'll go." Nikki got up. "Don't do anything drastic while I'm gone."

"You're done, Honey. Would you hop into the next chair while I work with Jan?"

I pushed up, swayed. Blake steadied me. She kissed me lightly. I smiled shyly, grateful for her support.

Loretta began placing swatches against Jan's wavy page. "How long would I need for spiral curls, say six inches long?"

"You wouldn't?" Jean was astounded.

Jan raised his chin a little. "Why not? Jaimie's getting one. If I'm to dress, I might as well know how it feels to be done beautifully. Would you like that?"

Now I was the excuse for my so straight arrow roomie to trail deeper down the garden path. I glared at Blake: she had gotten me into this.

"Why wouldn't I want a hot date?" Drew sounded hesitant.

"But would you like me in fancy curls?"

"You may need a different gown, but why not a fancy date? Sure. Go for it."

Loretta noted the tag. "You need three inches for every inch of one inch tight coil curls. For eight inch spirals, you need two feet of hair. Even in Oriental hair, that's steep. If you start with fifteen inches, it will still be versatile and give you the feel of extra hair. Of course if you just have to a thick curl trail down your shoulder . . ."

"Ready? I should have thought of photos earlier." Adelaide arrived, camera in hand.

"Start with Jaimie. We'll finish with group shots."

Drew helped me from the chair, fumbled with my cape. I glared. Being documented in a dress and curls was not my life's goal.

"Is fifteen inches enough?" Jan sounded doubtful.

"It would give you a nice drop. Or big barrel curls on your crown. If we put it on top . . . Oh, yes, that would be plenty."

"If you say so. Could I see it next weekend?"

"Sure. I'll set long curls to try a couple of things. Can you come in Friday afternoon? If I hadn't had cancellations, I would have been totally booked. If you switch to me, I'll have both hairpieces done."

"I'm ready for him after a couple more pictures." Adelaide motioned for Blake to stand behind me, one hand draped over my shoulder, her other holding mine.

"How about you?" Loretta looked at Jean.

"Go ahead, Jean. Don't be left out." Nikki's smile broadened.

"You think I should?" Jean's brow wrinkled.

"Yes. Think beach. A sweet ingenue, if you please." Nikki was taking charge.

"For a first Prom? That's fitting, How about a wiglet? Long enough for petal curls down the back of your head?"

"That's fine, I suppose."

"You don't sound very certain."

"I don't have any experience. How would I know?"

"Remember what you've liked. I'll get you a ten inch chestnut wiglet. If you come Friday afternoon too, Adelaide could do you. Would you like that?"

Jean looked at Nikki. She nodded. "If she has time."

"She will. Let's just check our books before you go. Now get ready to be shot."

It didn't take long for the grand finale, "new girls" in front, "escorts" holding us around our waists, heads on our shoulders. Even though I was still mad at Blake, it was nice to be held.

While our ladies got our appointment times and our credit cards were raped, Shelby used Transformations's insta-print to run off our photo shoot. "Poor, poor, pitiful me. No pretty head for my shoulder."

"So call him. You aren't going to read Contracts today anyway."

"True, regrettably true, Drew. Seeing all this beauty bloom has driven away all taste for dusty tomes."

"Once more into the breach, dear friends! Avaunt thee, wenches, shopping awaits and time and tide waits for no woman."

 

§§

 

We swept down upon our ladies' favorite shoe store, three corsairs with prizes in tow, Shelby peeled off for her cell phone. I hoped three bodies with fresh feminine hair styles and professionally applied makeup but wearing loafers or athletic shoes would not attract undue attention. No attention at all was what I really wanted. I focused on the back of Blake's head, determined to avoid eye contact.

In the store, Blake and Drew collared sales women while Nikki settled us into seats. We shed shoes in record time. Hose encased toes was what the clerks saw as they measured us. What they produced were satin pumps, white satin to dye to match our dresses, with enclosed toes, stiff heel vamps with ankle straps, and tapering heels. They looked like three inches of murder, and we wobbled as if nothing supported our feet. But our attendants approved, so we were stuck.

We were back in our seats, feet installed in shiny black heels, opened toed, when Shelby returned to announce that Jodi would finish in a couple of hours. The prospect of another fly in the web did not make modeling shoes for the next half hour any less painful. All were black, but I never dreamed there were so many variations in uppers. Solid, pierced, or patterns of strips, what they had in common was pinching our toes together for a "small foot." Our women decided we needed pedicures. And that a solid upper would be most versatile.

Properly shod, we sauntered forth into the world. Wobbled was more like it, holding arms and juggling packages. Shelby was kind enough to help as we straggled to the cars. Virtually alone with a jewelry counter nearby for over an hour, it was a miracle she only had one parcel.

At the townhouse, we unloaded purchases into the bedrooms. That was easier said than done since we had never been in heels before, much less mounted stairs in them. It's amazing what you can accomplish on tiptoe.

Shelby was anxious, pulling clothes from her closet, laying out a small bag. Her bed was covered with indecision as our women urged us downstairs. She stopped long enough to kiss each of us on the cheek. She said we had turned out very nicely and we should have fun tonight. Evidently she did not plan on making a return trip before morning.

We packed into Nikki's mini-van, Nikki driving, Jean riding shotgun. Before Nikki had always given Jean the keys, but this time she drove. Blake and I were in the far back, me pinned against the window. We hadn't made it to the street when Blake's hand slipped under my hem. "I like knowing how it feels to run my hand up your skirt."

So I was wearing a dress and heels; I was still irked. "Stop that!"

Jean turned around under his seat belt. "If you children can't behave, we'll have to leave you behind."

"Sounds good to me." Blake kissed my neck.

"Mama! Make her stop! She's kissing me!"

The load laughed. "If we left them behind, they'd just get into more trouble. We wouldn't want a shotgun wedding, would we?" Nikki pulled into the street.

"Where are you taking us? Or isn't a wife allowed to ask?" Jean really got into the part.

"Dinner. You deserve it after today. Where would you like to go?"

"Someplace dark." Jan cut to the chase.

"Romantic." Blake stroked my thigh.

"Not too dark!" I could see myself being molested in some dark booth.

"Let me restate: what would you like to eat?"

"French." Jean liked double entendres.

"Beef." Jan, true to form, was traditional.

I tried to think of someplace that would not be filled Saturday evenings, where we could get in and out quickly. "Chinese!" The Bamboo Garden was perfect. The post beer bash crowd kept it open to three. It didn't draw a crowd since it was rumored to have bested the Pied Piper at reducing excess rodent populations. The chance to split orders won out.

The parking lot was mainly empty. We had no trouble getting a corner table, drawing no interest except for our young Oriental waitress, long hair in a loose coil on the back of her head. "An' what will y'all be havin' this evenin'?" Her ancestry was Far East but her accent was strictly Mason Dixon.

"You could have picked a place with more class for our first date," Blake hissed in my ear.

"What do you mean? We've been out before. Lots."

"But not since our engagement, with you dressed so nicely."

"Blake, we've got to talk."

"Later. Pass me an eggroll."

We were groped under the table. When I got up to "go," Jan and Jean followed me. I hesitated, but the universal logo was a sign. We filled the Ladies with skirts and talk. Our women were marine animals, the eight armed variety.

"I just don't know what's gotten into Nikki. She's always been so proper in public."

"Maybe it's our getting in skirts. Drew's trying to take advantage of me. All I want is to get back and let her."

"Jan!" It wasn't like my roomie to talk of a conquests.

"Why not? It's not like we haven't, and tonight we don't have to flip with Shelby and Jodi for the hideaway. Besides," Jan dropped his eyes, "I haven't come down since the salon."

"You too? I thought it was just me." Jean touched up his mouth.

"Let's get out of here. There's a fireplace calling." We didn't linger. The Bamboo Garden was not a place to linger anyway, in case something had gotten off temp.

Those little overpriced bundles of firewood wouldn't warm your pinkie, but they can warm your heart. Lights off, flames flickering, we alternated between sipping hot chocolate, Jan's special recipe with a little extra, and dancing in the dark. Blake put on strings, movie music from the thirties. We got our first lessons in dancing, backwards and in high heels. Actually it was more swaying and clinging, but there were a few backwards steps and slow turns. Before long we all lay against the couch, cradled in our lovers' arms, nothing but sighs and whispers.

When we came inside, I was irked at Blake, determined to talk. When your skirt bunches up and your slip is half way up your thighs, and she finds a wonderful new spot inside your elbow, talking can wait. Besides, your girdle pinches.

"Blake, Honey, let me get into something more comfortable."

"Just stay out of my closet."

We kissed. I tasted her. "My bags are upstairs."

I tapped Jan's foot, motioned my head upwards. He followed, pulled Jean off Nikki. We huddled at the top of the stairs.

"This better be good. Five minutes more and we'd have been in bed." Jan was flushed.

"Don't you want to try on your purchases? We could find out how lingerie feels from the other side. Go for doubles?"

Jean's eyes lit up. "There's that little red nothing."

Ten minutes later we trailed back downstairs, paused at the foot of the stairs. Our women were in slips, grouped around the fire. The light bounced off Nikki's blonde pile as she poked the fire for the last stick. Drew touched her and she looked over her shoulder. "Wow. Oh, wow!"

I drifted beside Blake; long black waves floated about my ankles. I lowered myself to the rug, drifting down more gracefully than I knew, tracing her neck with the backs of polished nails. "Now where were we, Lover?"

She swallowed hard, slid an arm around my waist, lowered me to the floor. Her fingers traced my face, brushed my curls. "Here, I believe." Her lips covered mine.

For awhile, all our cries and whispers drove each other on. Then I heard only our moans. And then there was only our squeals as we joined, our sighs as we relaxed. The light of the fire died, but passions revived, stoked gently by soft caresses. I was led upstairs, willingly trailing behind. Fingers lost in my curls guided me, and then led me, and I was again a good wife, cleaving to her beloved, and we were one. And I was content.

 

§§

 

"C'mon, Jaimie. Time's wasting. Do you need an invitation on a silver platter?"

I pouted. "I just don't see why this is necessary."

"Don't be obstinate. You're fortunate Thelma is back in town and was kind enough to give you an hour. She can't make you a pageant princess in that time, but you can get a few pointers in how to move and address an audience. Just one or two things may be enough to win us the prize."

"Us?"

"Certainly us. You have to make the appearance, but without my urging . . ."

I'd be a happy camper. "This has been an awful lot of effort. We could have paid for the trip with what we've had be spend."

"Air fare, condo, and rental car? I don't think so. Besides, we're making memories."

"Memories? How about nightmares?"

"Are you still ticked at me for having you dress? But you look so lovely in it."

"Thank you, it is nice. Yes. I'm still mad. Every weekend has been trips to the salon, and shopping, until my straight arrow roomie practices putting on makeup in the evenings and gushes about how nice his hair looks with curls."

"Jealous?"

"He does look nice. No! That's not the point! You're making me do something without discussing it."

"You could always quit. But the dance is next weekend, and after all you've been through . . ." Her lips brushed mine and I got weak in the knees. And also weak in the head.

We were at Thelma's condo just in time. She shared a place with three other women, needing somewhere to unpack when her schedule permitted. Fortunately they were all out. Shopping for next weekend's dance, undoubtedly. Thelma kissed Blake's cheek and politely shook my hand. My fingers actually, steadying me in a curtsy.

"How's our girl?"

"Doing very well. But if you could give Jaimie some pointers, he can practice this entire dress rehearsal weekend."

"Is this the dress?"

"I picked it up yesterday from Scherazade's. It seems to fit fine."

"Walk across the room, then twirl."

I did as instructed, strangely proud that I no longer bobbled in heels.

"Try not to walk like a cow. A perfect glide is too much to expect, you'd need weeks walking with a book on your head, but remember you should move only from the waist down. Don't schlump like a runway model: they have to make the material move."

For the next hour I was drilled in the "basics" of moving gracefully: sitting, standing, walking without looking down, and smile, always smile. Ten minutes were taken up with curtsy practice. Thelma thought a good curtsy might put me over the top since the most the others would do was bob. Sinking down at the knees without exposing your bosom, or my padding, is tougher than it looks. My calves were screaming.

"Surely this won't be her hair?" It dawned on me that Thelma had not addressed me directly the entire time except to give me instructions. And I was always "her."

"What am I, chopped liver? Loretta has a mini-cascade for me for the dance."

Thelma smiled. "Sorry, Jaimie, but I'm so used to leaving details to my escort, I just fell into the habit of talking to Blake. How will your hair look?"

"Swept up under spiral curls on the top and crown. Tendril curls at my hairline, and ears, and nape. A little volume on the front and sides."

"Oh-h, that sounds nice, very romantic. You will love the feel of curls brushing your skin. Blake will have to kiss every one of those curls before the night is done. Even if you don't win the first prize, I'm sure you'll be a winner anyway. Now dance for me."

That left me confused and my face showed it.

"How well you dance together will be part of the judging. You have been practicing?"

Blake held out her hands and I moved to her. It was still strange, following her lead and moving backwards most of the time. It's not that I had much experience to unlearn: most of my dancing had been to sort of stand in one spot and wiggle. College beer busts don't provide a lot of room to move.

Thelma counted, humming something with a moderate beat. Blake guided me backwards through a turn. The coup de grace was a spin. It may have looked awkward, but I was pleased to get through it without falling on my nose.

"Ahem."

"Not good?" Blake was disappointed.

"It isn't a dance contest; it's just to get you on stage. Just move together, stay apart, and smile. Don't try anything like spins or dips. If you had more time, maybe. Try again."

Once more around the floor, Thelma correcting our hand positions and spacing. In the turn, I cocked my head back, partly to see where I was going and partly thinking it looked nice.

"No, no, no! Keep it simple. It isn't a ballroom contest. Look in her eyes. Be fascinated with one another. Just don't bump into each other. Define an area and work your way around it turning at the corners. Changing the direction of your turns is as fancy as you should get. Follow the press of her arm. Blake, be sure she knows which way you're headed. Don't make it up as you go along."

Once more and Thelma thought we would pass muster.

"Alright, walk before us, head turned, and smile. You're on stage for the final judging."

Once, twice, learning to stride out so the my leg flashed through the slit in the skirt, arms swinging for balance. And smile, girl, smile.

"Now what are you going to say? Keep it simple."

"Say?"

"You must say something, Don't vamp, don't throw it away, don't make it deadly."

I looked blank. Thelma looked perturbed.

"I haven't much time. Try, 'I'm Jaimie Blair, and I'm pleased to be here.' That's safe."

Pleased? I mouthed the words.

"Project a little. At least cover the noise of your knees knocking. And smile big"

I repeated the phrases, stretching my mouth until the corners cracked.

"Okay, once more and I have to call it a day. Dance once around the square, divide and curtsey, walk across the stage beaming, say your line and curtsey once more."

We did, and I did, trying to remember everything in order, not to bobble, to move gracefully. It helped to look at Blake. She would smile and I felt better.

"You should do fine as long as there isn't a ringer in the crowd. Now go, you two, and enjoy yourselves. I have to get ready."

We gathered our things and kissed Thelma on the cheek as we left. Blake thanked her profusely. I was mixed between wrung out and strangely grateful, but my thank you was genuine.

 

§§

 

"So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"About the dance and contest. Do you think you'll make it through it?"

"I never knew there was so much to it. It's just walking and smiling." I covered Blake's hand. "Thank you for talking Thelma into helping. At least I won't make a total fool of myself."

"Let's get you to the salon. A wash and set makes you feel better."

It did. It really did. Lying with your head back in the bowl, fingers massaging your scalp, as your hair gets squeaky clean, defines relaxing. For the first time, all eight of us were done together, all getting a preview of our ball 'dos. There was a bit more for us guys: besides having our hair curled, a lot of hair got ripped from our bodies. Our arms and legs were waxed, our brows plucked and dyed. I swear Loretta and Adelaide took a perverse pleasure in inflicting pain so we would "appreciate what it takes to be beautiful."

Our ears were healed enough to take hoops or shrimp, or bangles or drops. We all had our hairpieces in. Even Jodi had relented to a postiche. It wasn't elaborate, big soft overlapping curls on his crown, but it did let him wear his hair up. Jodi has the best neck of any of us, and when he got used to necklaces, it showed off well. That is when he isn't wearing a turtleneck to hide the hickeys Shelby keeps giving him.

Done to the nines, dressed like a million dollars, we emerged from Transformations sure the prizes were ours. A little stop at Scherazade's didn't hurt: the clerks knew how to ooh and ahh and make us feel sensual and alluring. The girls even took us to dinner, a real restaurant, not 'za or suey or bar-be-que. We looked attractive, we felt attractive, and, boy oh boy, did we want to be attractive. When we got back to the townhouse, we practiced dancing, and walking, and turning on the old animal magnetism. The first time your woman loses her fingers in your curls, pulls your head back, and drills for oil, you can almost hear the 'spro-oi-ing.' After that night, our doubts about entering the Sadie Hawkins contest were swept away.

 

 

 

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