handful of some kind of foam into her hands and rubs it all through my hair. Then come the hot rollers.
“So far, so good,” Jan says with satisfaction, and B.J. nods approval.
“Now for her face,” B.J. says, and reaches for a bottle.
They seem to take turns patting and smoothing things over my skin. Finally I say, “Isn’t that enough? This seems like an awful lot of trouble.”
“Keep quiet,” B.J. says. She picks up a blue pencil. “If you talk, we might make a mistake.”
“But—”
“You’re going to be our masterpiece,” Jan says, andshe giggles with excitement. “Wait till you see yourself, Stacy!”
I can wait. Believe me, I can wait.
“Wait till everybody sees you. Wait till Jeff Clinton sees you!”
“I heard the big exciting news about you and Jeff,” B.J. says. From the expression on her face I guess the excitement must have passed her by.
“It’s no big deal about Jeff,” I tell them. “He just offered to help me learn math. That’s all.”
“Stop talking,” Jan says. “I’m getting to your mouth.”
They make enthusiastic comments to each other, which I try to ignore. Finally they step back and grin at me. “Don’t look yet,” Jan says.
She takes out the rollers, pulls me from the chair, and leads me out of the bathroom back into the bedroom. “Put on your T-shirt before I comb your hair, so your hair won’t get all messed up.”
“But where are my jeans?”
“Here they are.” B.J. comes into the room, holding them out before her. “They’re still a little bit warm, but they’re dry now.”
It takes the three of us to get me into the jeans. I have to lie on the bed and wiggle and grunt and hold my breath until the zipper is up. “I told you they wouldn’t fit me!” I complain.
But Jan says, “Of course they fit you. They look just right now. Pretty soon you’ll learn how to put them on by yourself. You have to wiggle in just the right way to make it easy.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” B.J. says, and she helpsme sit up. Stiffly I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My knees can actually bend. “Good,” she says. “Now, don’t move until we finish your hair.”
As Jan brushes my hair I sneak a quick glance at the clock by my bed. “It’s already eight o’clock. We’re going to be late.”
“Of course we are. Nobody’s ever on time,” Jan says. “If we get there at eight, they’d think we were nerds.”
B.J. sighs. “Stacy, you’ve got so much to learn!”
Jan steps back. “What do you think?”
B.J. studies my hair, then pokes gently in one spot with the end of the comb. “Perfect,” she says, and reaches for the hair spray.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the spray hits my hair, but Jan cries, “Don’t ever do that, Stacy! It does terrible things to eye shadow!”
B.J. takes one of my hands, Jan the other. “Come look at yourself,” B.J. says. “The Sleeping Beauty emerges.”
“Don’t call me that!”
But Jan interrupts. “Not the Sleeping Beauty.
My Fair Lady
. That’s it. Stacy is like Eliza Doolittle.”
“No, I’m
me!
”
By this time I’m in the bathroom. They push me in front of the large mirror over the basin and stand on either side of me. “Well, look!” Jan says.
My hair is shaped so that the front strands barely reach my shoulders, and it’s full and wavy and soft. A few tendrils escape over my cheeks and forehead. I reach up automatically to push them back, but Jan grabs my hand. “It’s supposed to be that way,” she says.
The shadows under my eyes are gone. They’re under my cheekbones now, highlighting them. My eyes seem brighter, my lips softer. Jan was right about the red T-shirt. Red is my color. In the T-shirt and jeans I’m snug and straight and so rounded in all the right places that I blush and hunch my shoulders forward a little. B.J. still shines in her own orbit, but now I have nothing to complain about. I won’t need that paper bag after all.
I laugh. “Is that really
“So far, so good,” Jan says with satisfaction, and B.J. nods approval.
“Now for her face,” B.J. says, and reaches for a bottle.
They seem to take turns patting and smoothing things over my skin. Finally I say, “Isn’t that enough? This seems like an awful lot of trouble.”
“Keep quiet,” B.J. says. She picks up a blue pencil. “If you talk, we might make a mistake.”
“But—”
“You’re going to be our masterpiece,” Jan says, andshe giggles with excitement. “Wait till you see yourself, Stacy!”
I can wait. Believe me, I can wait.
“Wait till everybody sees you. Wait till Jeff Clinton sees you!”
“I heard the big exciting news about you and Jeff,” B.J. says. From the expression on her face I guess the excitement must have passed her by.
“It’s no big deal about Jeff,” I tell them. “He just offered to help me learn math. That’s all.”
“Stop talking,” Jan says. “I’m getting to your mouth.”
They make enthusiastic comments to each other, which I try to ignore. Finally they step back and grin at me. “Don’t look yet,” Jan says.
She takes out the rollers, pulls me from the chair, and leads me out of the bathroom back into the bedroom. “Put on your T-shirt before I comb your hair, so your hair won’t get all messed up.”
“But where are my jeans?”
“Here they are.” B.J. comes into the room, holding them out before her. “They’re still a little bit warm, but they’re dry now.”
It takes the three of us to get me into the jeans. I have to lie on the bed and wiggle and grunt and hold my breath until the zipper is up. “I told you they wouldn’t fit me!” I complain.
But Jan says, “Of course they fit you. They look just right now. Pretty soon you’ll learn how to put them on by yourself. You have to wiggle in just the right way to make it easy.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” B.J. says, and she helpsme sit up. Stiffly I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My knees can actually bend. “Good,” she says. “Now, don’t move until we finish your hair.”
As Jan brushes my hair I sneak a quick glance at the clock by my bed. “It’s already eight o’clock. We’re going to be late.”
“Of course we are. Nobody’s ever on time,” Jan says. “If we get there at eight, they’d think we were nerds.”
B.J. sighs. “Stacy, you’ve got so much to learn!”
Jan steps back. “What do you think?”
B.J. studies my hair, then pokes gently in one spot with the end of the comb. “Perfect,” she says, and reaches for the hair spray.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the spray hits my hair, but Jan cries, “Don’t ever do that, Stacy! It does terrible things to eye shadow!”
B.J. takes one of my hands, Jan the other. “Come look at yourself,” B.J. says. “The Sleeping Beauty emerges.”
“Don’t call me that!”
But Jan interrupts. “Not the Sleeping Beauty.
My Fair Lady
. That’s it. Stacy is like Eliza Doolittle.”
“No, I’m
me!
”
By this time I’m in the bathroom. They push me in front of the large mirror over the basin and stand on either side of me. “Well, look!” Jan says.
My hair is shaped so that the front strands barely reach my shoulders, and it’s full and wavy and soft. A few tendrils escape over my cheeks and forehead. I reach up automatically to push them back, but Jan grabs my hand. “It’s supposed to be that way,” she says.
The shadows under my eyes are gone. They’re under my cheekbones now, highlighting them. My eyes seem brighter, my lips softer. Jan was right about the red T-shirt. Red is my color. In the T-shirt and jeans I’m snug and straight and so rounded in all the right places that I blush and hunch my shoulders forward a little. B.J. still shines in her own orbit, but now I have nothing to complain about. I won’t need that paper bag after all.
I laugh. “Is that really
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