Anything She Wants by Unknown Page A

the sash, but she wasn’t going anywhere, so at least I’d intrigued her.
    “I’ll dye your hair purple with pink streaks and we’ll go raid some thrift shops to find us both some clothes.”
    “It’ll be like Freaky Friday ,” she said, drawing me close. The velvet and satin of her dressing gown was soft against my breasts. She stroked the small of my back, sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t think I want to relive my youth, Vee.”
    My heart sank. It was such a good idea. “Please, Alex. It won’t be permanent.” I bent and opened the cabinet of the vanity, pulling out all the hair color I’d purchased on a whim. I selected dark auburn for me. Purple and pink for her.
    She lifted the packet of pink hair color and read the label. I could feel her wavering. She finally sighed and shook her head, handing me the dye.
    “If it doesn’t come out, do you promise to pay for a trip to the salon?”
    I felt a grin nearly split my face. “Anything.”
    * * *
    Oh, Vee. I don’t think I was meant to find this quite so soon. I have a feeling you were going to come back to this notebook while I was in my office, writing, but it has been a busy few days.
    Right now you’re asleep, sprawled out in bed, oblivious to the world. You sleep like a child still, though you are an adult. Is it because you’re so carefree? I can just see the back of your head from my spot in the worn leather armchair you love so much. Your dark auburn hair cascades over the pillow and it still doesn’t seem real.
    I did help you dye it, even though I mourned every strand of blue covered by the conservative color. But I did it, wiping the dye from your ears so it wouldn’t stain, making sure we covered every inch. I didn’t recognize you when we were done—the sophisticated young woman. Once we found you some clothes to fit your new look, you could have been someone else. And in subtle make-up, dark, muted lipstick, you could pass among the young professionals of Wall Street or Fifth Avenue with ease.
    I stopped writing for a moment and rose from my chair, tiptoeing to the side of the bed, watching your chest rise and fall. I smoothed your hair off your forehead and you smiled in your sleep.
    My own hair, now a dark purple with a few strategic pink highlights, falls over my forehead as I sit writing again, for you. I’m glad I did it, though I still have that twinge of worry that I look ridiculous, like some poor old lady trying to re-live her youth.
    “If Betsey Johnson can do it,” you’d reasoned as you made me sit on the edge of the tub, applying hair color with the skill of a master, “so can you.”
    “Betsey Johnson has an excuse,” I’d replied. You stuck out your tongue and I started to laugh.
    “Don’t move!”
    The purple speckles on the bathroom wall will always make me smile. I didn’t think my laughter was so physical.
    While I showered, you tidied up—or so I thought. I’ve obviously been writing too much if you had time to dig in my closet and find the old combat boots I’d tucked away. Don’t think that I’m angry, because I’m not. It just means that we ought to spend more time doing things. When you read these words, come tear me away from the computer. I’ll probably need it.
    You had an entire outfit laid out for me when I emerged, and it brought back memories. Torn jeans, safety-pinned together. A skin-tight black tank top. A studded belt. And, a leather jacket almost exactly like the one I’d had, the one stolen from me a few weeks after Lucie died. You’d studied that one photo of her and me, and recreated my entire look.
    My hair is better now than it was back then. It’ll grow on me, likely just in time for it to fade back to my normal color.  
    You watched as I dressed, anticipation in your eyes, lips parted. I could see the lust, the appreciation. You licked your lips as I slid the jeans up my thighs, over my bottom. When I was fully dressed you came over and we looked into the full length