sentence, Joey seemed to get more irate…and more convinced that he would make her a masterpiece. “This one’s going to be an ass-kicker,” he said, eyes narrowed and eyebrow ring glinting. “That prick, that absolute prick. ”
It felt good, Sarah realized, as several pink-clad women deliberately eavesdropped, then started giving their opinions. There was something about salons, good salons, that was like group therapy and a very nice slumber party all rolled into one.
But as they continued to talk about Benjamin, it hurt her heart…yes, that prick, that absolute prick. Four years engaged, five years together, and he couldn’t live with her? That was disturbing. She felt tears welling up, and tried to think of other things, but she couldn’t and gave up. The women simply nodded to her and shared stories, which helped slightly.
“Don’t waste any tears on that asshole,” Martika said firmly. “You’ve been doing fine all these months without him, right? And to be honest, he’s just been using you.”
“I know,” Sarah said, trying not to move her head as Joey snipped and yanked at her hair. “It’s just that I’m used to him using me.”
“Oh, honey, I know that one,” an older woman in the chair opposite chimed in.
“Well, now you can get used to being independent,” Martika said, and several other women nodded firmly. If they’d all stood up and broken into a spirited version of the new Charlie’s Angels song, Sarah wouldn’t have been the least surprised, it was that sort of day.
Taylor smiled with delight. “You know what this means. Wardrobe. ”
“I’m unemployed now, Taylor,” Sarah pointed out, then it suddenly occurred to her…she was in a salon in Beverly Hills. She had heard rumors that somebody had paid one hundred dollars for dim sum for one in this town. Good God, she was going to be on a budget from here on out. What the hell was she doing?
As if reading the panic in her eyes, Martika put a strong hand on her shoulder. “You won’t be unemployed for long.”
Taylor put a comforting hand on her other shoulder. “We know it’s hard,” he said, and his voice was soothing. “Still, at the very least let us think about what you ought to be wearing. No offense, girlie, but every time I see you in that Eddie Bauer denim dress, I just want to cry.”
“For me, it’s that sundress with the flowers,” Martika volunteered. “The Laura Ashley PTA one.”
Sarah pulled her lips tight, offended. “I don’t see anything wrong with what I wear.”
“Of course you don’t. I’m sure Benjamin approved of all of it.”
Martika had her there, so Sarah kept her mouth shut.
Like a couple of excited schoolkids, Martika and Taylor tore through old magazines that Joey was about to throw away, only keeping the most recent of everything. Lots of them were in Italian or Czechoslovakian, with women that looked like cats and shot hateful glances at the camera. “What do you think of this?” they would say periodically. Sarah kept saying she wasn’t sure. Apparently, they thought that meant “perfect!” because that would be inevitably yanked out.
She spent the better part of an hour under a hair lamp with foil on her head. Joey had now entered the insanity with Martika and Taylor, and was tearing out magazine pictures and comparing things. Sarah couldn’t hear what they were saying, justwatched as they gesticulated wildly. Patrons were taking sides. It was turning into a free-for-all. Sarah tried to read the magazine in front of her and pretend she had nothing to do with all the proceedings. After a grueling long time, Joey finally pronounced her done.
“It was not easy,” he said, in a tone usually reserved for Oscar acceptance speeches, “but I think we can all agree that it was worth it.”
Sarah looked at the mirror, and her mouth dropped open.
She looked frosted, was the only way she could describe it. Her usually ashy-honey blond hair now had all these streaks,
It felt good, Sarah realized, as several pink-clad women deliberately eavesdropped, then started giving their opinions. There was something about salons, good salons, that was like group therapy and a very nice slumber party all rolled into one.
But as they continued to talk about Benjamin, it hurt her heart…yes, that prick, that absolute prick. Four years engaged, five years together, and he couldn’t live with her? That was disturbing. She felt tears welling up, and tried to think of other things, but she couldn’t and gave up. The women simply nodded to her and shared stories, which helped slightly.
“Don’t waste any tears on that asshole,” Martika said firmly. “You’ve been doing fine all these months without him, right? And to be honest, he’s just been using you.”
“I know,” Sarah said, trying not to move her head as Joey snipped and yanked at her hair. “It’s just that I’m used to him using me.”
“Oh, honey, I know that one,” an older woman in the chair opposite chimed in.
“Well, now you can get used to being independent,” Martika said, and several other women nodded firmly. If they’d all stood up and broken into a spirited version of the new Charlie’s Angels song, Sarah wouldn’t have been the least surprised, it was that sort of day.
Taylor smiled with delight. “You know what this means. Wardrobe. ”
“I’m unemployed now, Taylor,” Sarah pointed out, then it suddenly occurred to her…she was in a salon in Beverly Hills. She had heard rumors that somebody had paid one hundred dollars for dim sum for one in this town. Good God, she was going to be on a budget from here on out. What the hell was she doing?
As if reading the panic in her eyes, Martika put a strong hand on her shoulder. “You won’t be unemployed for long.”
Taylor put a comforting hand on her other shoulder. “We know it’s hard,” he said, and his voice was soothing. “Still, at the very least let us think about what you ought to be wearing. No offense, girlie, but every time I see you in that Eddie Bauer denim dress, I just want to cry.”
“For me, it’s that sundress with the flowers,” Martika volunteered. “The Laura Ashley PTA one.”
Sarah pulled her lips tight, offended. “I don’t see anything wrong with what I wear.”
“Of course you don’t. I’m sure Benjamin approved of all of it.”
Martika had her there, so Sarah kept her mouth shut.
Like a couple of excited schoolkids, Martika and Taylor tore through old magazines that Joey was about to throw away, only keeping the most recent of everything. Lots of them were in Italian or Czechoslovakian, with women that looked like cats and shot hateful glances at the camera. “What do you think of this?” they would say periodically. Sarah kept saying she wasn’t sure. Apparently, they thought that meant “perfect!” because that would be inevitably yanked out.
She spent the better part of an hour under a hair lamp with foil on her head. Joey had now entered the insanity with Martika and Taylor, and was tearing out magazine pictures and comparing things. Sarah couldn’t hear what they were saying, justwatched as they gesticulated wildly. Patrons were taking sides. It was turning into a free-for-all. Sarah tried to read the magazine in front of her and pretend she had nothing to do with all the proceedings. After a grueling long time, Joey finally pronounced her done.
“It was not easy,” he said, in a tone usually reserved for Oscar acceptance speeches, “but I think we can all agree that it was worth it.”
Sarah looked at the mirror, and her mouth dropped open.
She looked frosted, was the only way she could describe it. Her usually ashy-honey blond hair now had all these streaks,
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