Bright Young Things by Anna Godbersen Page B

out loud as the dark locks began to fall into her lap.
    “Better already,” Kate said dryly.
    Letty squeezed her eyes tighter. Cold metal slid against her neck, and then she felt more hair fall down her back. Her face went numb and there was a buzzing in her ears, and she lost the sense of time passing. When it was over, she only knew because Paulette said, “There!” and set the scissors down.
    The room seemed brighter when Letty lifted her lids. Fay passed a hand mirror to Paulette, who handed it to Letty. More than two-thirds the length of her dark hair was gone now, and it framed her neat, pale heart of a face. A row of bangs drew a straight line across her forehead, bringing out the iridescence of her complexion. She appeared more grown-up and more fragile at once; her neck had never appeared so slender. In the reflection, she could see Paulette, eyes bright and expectant, watching to see if Letty liked the new cut, and Letty did attempt a brave smile. But then her bottom lip trembled, and she knew that she was going to cry. She stood and hurried to the front door.
    Outside the sky was a lazy arch of tranquil blue, and neighbors went about their business. All Letty could hear were her own rough breaths as her little legs carried her down the block. By the time Paulette caught up with her near the corner, her cheeks were streaked and damp.
    “Oh, honey, I wouldn‧t have touched your hair if I‧d known you cared so much!” her new friend exclaimed, frowning with exaggerated sympathy as she reached forward and began to blot the tears away.
    “I don‧t!” Letty had to bring her arm up to cover her face. “I don‧t care that much.”
    “No, ‘course not. You‧ll like it tomorrow, I promise.”
    A final sob worked its way up through Letty, and when her shoulders had relaxed again, she felt Paulette take hold of them and spin her around.
    “Look!”
    Letty did as she was told. They were standing in front of a barbershop, and in the reflective window glass she saw a girl she barely recognized. All the elements of her appearance had been altered by the bobbing of her hair, and what might before have come across as slight and girlish now seemed petite and rakish—sophisticated, even. The sorrow ebbed, and for a moment there was only a quiet empty inside. Her long silken hair was gone, and her best friend was gone. All the old familiar places and people, whether comfortable or hurtful or dull, were very far away, and she didn‧t have the money to return to them even if she wanted to. A sensation of weightlessness came over her, and her lips parted.
    “I wasn‧t crying about my hair,” she said, and the shadow of a smile crossed her face. Until that moment, she realized, she hadn‧t really stepped out of her old name, and for the first time she glimpsed Letty Larkspur in that shopwindow. She had lost many things, but she could see herself more clearly all of a sudden. There was a glistening in her eyes when she turned around to face Paulette. “I feel so light!”
    “Well, you look gorgeous.” Paulette smiled and reached forward to adjust the new girl‧s bangs.
    “I‧m sorry for being such a ninny. It‧s just that all of a sudden Ohio, and everything, seemed so far away.”
    “Well, that‧s ‘cause it is far away,” Paulette deadpanned. “Though pretty soon you‧ll forget there‧s anything or anybody west of Twelfth Avenue.”
    Letty, who wouldn‧t even have known how to get to Twelfth Avenue, could only nod.
    “You know, I‧m not from here either. Kansas. I can‧t even remember which train I‧d take to there anymore, or how I used to talk. I took up with a waiter from the Plaza when I first arrived—he‧d spent a long time listening to how fancy people talk, and he taught me to pronounce consonants, thank heavens. Before that …” She trailed off and crossed her eyes clownishly, which brought both girls to giggles.
    “And, oh! I made you run out in your nightclothes, didn‧t I?”