Vermilion by Nathan Aldyne Page B

shambles,” she whispered.
    â€œWorse than usual?”
    â€œThe strap on my new brassiere broke, right in the middle of ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.’ I was so humiliated I couldn’t even finish, and it was a request. Half of me was up here where it should be, and the other one was down there around my girdle. Then, when I was in there”—she pointed one broken green nail at the stall—“I was putting Mama’s Helper back in, and the damn thing fell in the toilet! Oh, Clarisse,” Trudy moaned, “I think I’m being punished for all my unpaid parking tickets. I haven’t had to stuff my brassiere with toilet tissue since my high school graduation!”
    Clarisse wanted desperately to ask whether Trudy had graduated from high school in drag, but she forbore in consideration of Trudy’s distress.
    Trudy straightened herself, put on a brave face, and turned to the mirror. She smoothed the material of her dress over her hips. She studied her breasts critically, and adjusted the left slightly, moving it to the side. Then she moved the other in the same direction. “Honey,” she said, “if I thought this bra would fit you, I’d take it off right now and strap it on you. Aren’t you uncomfortable bouncing around like that? Don’t take this the wrong way, but they’re not— discreet , if you know what I mean.”
    Clarisse rolled her eyes and pursed her mouth. She drew her coat closed. “I rent more flats if I don’t wear a bra,” she said tightly.
    Trudy shrugged. “As long as you don’t mind a little curvature of the spine, I guess it’s all right. How do I look?”
    Trudy turned slightly to one side, and then to the other; Clarisse looked her up and down appraisingly. “Fine,” she said, “you’re just where you should be. But where’s your lipstick?”
    Trudy looked away, and touched her mouth nervously. “I gave it up—New Year’s resolution. A little fat girl at the cosmetic counter at Filene’s told me lipstick was out this season.” Trudy pulled absently at the curls at the back of her wig.
    Clarisse opened her envelope and pulled out a comb; she ran it slowly and thoughtfully through her thick black hair. Out of the corner of her eye, through the mirror’s image, she watched Trudy examining her lashes and straightening the wide collar of her green blouse.
    Clarisse put the comb away, and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She uncapped it and turned the tube up; carefully she applied it to her lips. She felt Trudy’s eyes on her.
    â€œNice color,” said Trudy.
    Clarisse smacked, and smiled broadly to test her outlines. “‘Savage Cerise.’ Only at Bonwit’s.”
    â€œI wonder if they would have the shade that I used to wear all the time,” said Trudy. “It was darker than yours, and brighter, and it had maybe just a little purple in it. It was so hard finding something that went with green.”
    â€œWhat is it called?”
    Trudy shrugged. “I don’t know. Vermilion something.”
    Clarisse turned and looked at Trudy. “You’ve worn it for five years, at least. How can you not know what it’s called?”
    â€œWell,” replied Trudy, “my wife used to buy it for me, half-dozen tubes at a time, and mail order. Nobody could beat Rochelle when it came to color-coordination. I wouldn’t think of leaving the house until she had looked me over. Well, when Rochelle knew she was about to—pass over—she ordered two dozen for me. She asked if I wanted her to order more, but I said no, that by the time that I had used them up, I’d be dead of grief. I’ve run out now, or almost—I’m saving the last tube for whoever does my face for the coffin. I’d order more myself, but the dog went wild after Rochelle—kicked off—and ate all the order blanks.” Trudy