Ginger stared at herself. Her hair, which had always been one of her assets, looked like it had gotten thin. It was straight, lank, the color of dirty water, and lying against her too-thin face. She thought she resembled an Afghan hound. “I don’t care,” she said.
“I care,” Ray Anne said, jumping up from the manicurist’s table. “She needs some highlights, a couple of shades. Maybe throw in some lowlights. Bring out the bright in that strawberry blonde. And for the love of God, let’s get some kind of shape in there! Layer it. And when you’re ready to blow it out, don’t save money on the mousse. Women in our family need a little body in our locks.”
Char met eyes with Ginger in the mirror. She raised one brow. “That okay with you?”
“Sure,” she said, listless.
Ginger couldn’t deny that it felt good to have someone’s hands in her hair, massaging her scalp. It had probably been a year since she’d had a color and cut. But she paid no attention whatsoever; she was doing this for Ray Anne. If it made Ray feel that she was doing something to help, fine.
But an hour and a half later her mouth dropped open at the sight of her own reflection. Her hair was shaped along her jawline, a little shorter in the back, and it looked full and thick. The highlights made her look sun kissed and healthy. It was an easy style to maintain—a circular brush, a blow-dryer and some styling mousse. Not that she’d bother.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Ray Anne said, satisfied. “Now, wax her brows back into shape.”
From there they went to Macy’s to the makeup counters and Ray Anne went straight to MAC. It had not missed Ray’s attention that Ginger hadn’t packed cosmetics. Nor did she wear any. And every woman, Ray Anne said, can use a little help now and then. “My God, this stuff costs a fortune!” Ginger said. “I just buy my stuff at the grocery store!”
“Yes, I know, precious. I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that. That stuff turns you orange. Now, we don’t need to buy the full monty at the expensive counters, but there are some things you can’t do without. Your moisturizer, base, powder, lip color and mascara. That cheap mascara clumps. You need the right colors for your skin and hair. We can get things like blusher, eye shadow and lip gloss at the grocery store.” Ray Anne sat her down in a chair and gave orders to the saleswoman in her black smock. “Do her up.”
It was transforming. Ginger didn’t exactly feel happier in her heart, but when she looked at herself she didn’t feel like a walking corpse. “Amazing,” she said to her own face in the mirror.
The image that came to mind was when she was getting ready for the baby’s funeral and her mother sat her on the closed toilet lid and put a little color in her cheeks and on her lips, saying, “This is nothing more than a little superficial frosting, but it makes you look a little less like you died with the baby.” And Ginger had cried so hard, she couldn’t sit still for her mother’s ministrations. She had wanted to die with her baby, it was that raw in her chest.
But this was somehow different. All Ray Anne wanted from her was a little attempt to reenter the world of the living. It was so easy to lie in bed, to never leave the house, when every time she looked at herself she saw a dead woman.
Ray Anne’s phone rang a few times while they were out and she briskly answered that she was spending a day with her “niece” but would look through her listings when she got home and follow up.
While they were at Macy’s, Ray Anne whisked Ginger through lingerie.
“Do you have a preference in bras and panties?” she asked. Ginger merely shook her head and Ray Anne sighed. “I don’t want you trying on clothes until you have the right underthings and those baggy granny panties aren’t going to lay right under a nice pair of pants.” She poked through some brands and types—bikini, high cut, boy shorts. She handed three pairs to Ginger. “Try these on while I have a look through the bras.”
Ginger did as she was told. She was a little startled by the difference in her body with silky, colorful panties that fit. By the time Ray Anne arrived in the fitting room with bra samples she was able to say something positive. “I like them all.”
“Well, that was easy.” Ray Anne handed Ginger four bras to try. Then she took all of the underwear with them to the women’s wear department next door. Ray Anne didn’t even bother selecting but went straight to the saleslady, who she apparently knew. She asked to see a few things in Ginger’s size.
“I’d take that to be about a four,” the saleslady said. “Is that right, dear?”
She had been a ten or twelve. Her hips had been wide, her booty a little on the big and round side and she’d always had this issue with her thighs. And that was before she’d been pregnant. She had no idea what size she was now. “Sure,” she said.
Ray Anne made her put on new underwear, giving the saleslady the price tags for purchase. Then she took Ginger’s old underwear away and Ginger had the feeling she was never going to see them again.
The saleswoman put Ginger in a pair of slim jeans with a plain white silky tee and, over that, a pink denim bomber jacket with silver buttons. She had to stand up on her toes to be tall enough for the hem of the jeans but the effect was, well, shocking.
“You look eighteen,” Ray Anne said.
In fact, she did.
Next, another pair of jeans, different brand, a black blouse, a white V-necked sweater. Not a heavy sweater—lightweight for spring and summer. Again, amazing. Then came black pants with a tunic-style long-sleeved top. Sleeves pushed up, it was so pretty. It was something a person could wear out to dinner, if a person ever went out to dinner again in her life. A few more slacks, a few more tops, a few more jackets or sweaters.
Then the saleslady held up a dress. “I wish you’d try this on,” she said. “I’ve been dying to see it on someone with your figure. It’s so streamlined.” It was dark purple with yellow piping across the shoulders to the edge of capped sleeves and down the side seams. There was a gold, slightly glittery pattern embossed on part of the front. It was diamond shaped and in an abstract design, from right below the mandarin collar to right below the waist. It was the most beautiful thing.
“Oh, I don’t need a dress. Plus,” she said, looking at the tag, “it’s much too expensive.”
“I care,” Ray Anne said, jumping up from the manicurist’s table. “She needs some highlights, a couple of shades. Maybe throw in some lowlights. Bring out the bright in that strawberry blonde. And for the love of God, let’s get some kind of shape in there! Layer it. And when you’re ready to blow it out, don’t save money on the mousse. Women in our family need a little body in our locks.”
Char met eyes with Ginger in the mirror. She raised one brow. “That okay with you?”
“Sure,” she said, listless.
Ginger couldn’t deny that it felt good to have someone’s hands in her hair, massaging her scalp. It had probably been a year since she’d had a color and cut. But she paid no attention whatsoever; she was doing this for Ray Anne. If it made Ray feel that she was doing something to help, fine.
But an hour and a half later her mouth dropped open at the sight of her own reflection. Her hair was shaped along her jawline, a little shorter in the back, and it looked full and thick. The highlights made her look sun kissed and healthy. It was an easy style to maintain—a circular brush, a blow-dryer and some styling mousse. Not that she’d bother.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Ray Anne said, satisfied. “Now, wax her brows back into shape.”
From there they went to Macy’s to the makeup counters and Ray Anne went straight to MAC. It had not missed Ray’s attention that Ginger hadn’t packed cosmetics. Nor did she wear any. And every woman, Ray Anne said, can use a little help now and then. “My God, this stuff costs a fortune!” Ginger said. “I just buy my stuff at the grocery store!”
“Yes, I know, precious. I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that. That stuff turns you orange. Now, we don’t need to buy the full monty at the expensive counters, but there are some things you can’t do without. Your moisturizer, base, powder, lip color and mascara. That cheap mascara clumps. You need the right colors for your skin and hair. We can get things like blusher, eye shadow and lip gloss at the grocery store.” Ray Anne sat her down in a chair and gave orders to the saleswoman in her black smock. “Do her up.”
It was transforming. Ginger didn’t exactly feel happier in her heart, but when she looked at herself she didn’t feel like a walking corpse. “Amazing,” she said to her own face in the mirror.
The image that came to mind was when she was getting ready for the baby’s funeral and her mother sat her on the closed toilet lid and put a little color in her cheeks and on her lips, saying, “This is nothing more than a little superficial frosting, but it makes you look a little less like you died with the baby.” And Ginger had cried so hard, she couldn’t sit still for her mother’s ministrations. She had wanted to die with her baby, it was that raw in her chest.
But this was somehow different. All Ray Anne wanted from her was a little attempt to reenter the world of the living. It was so easy to lie in bed, to never leave the house, when every time she looked at herself she saw a dead woman.
Ray Anne’s phone rang a few times while they were out and she briskly answered that she was spending a day with her “niece” but would look through her listings when she got home and follow up.
While they were at Macy’s, Ray Anne whisked Ginger through lingerie.
“Do you have a preference in bras and panties?” she asked. Ginger merely shook her head and Ray Anne sighed. “I don’t want you trying on clothes until you have the right underthings and those baggy granny panties aren’t going to lay right under a nice pair of pants.” She poked through some brands and types—bikini, high cut, boy shorts. She handed three pairs to Ginger. “Try these on while I have a look through the bras.”
Ginger did as she was told. She was a little startled by the difference in her body with silky, colorful panties that fit. By the time Ray Anne arrived in the fitting room with bra samples she was able to say something positive. “I like them all.”
“Well, that was easy.” Ray Anne handed Ginger four bras to try. Then she took all of the underwear with them to the women’s wear department next door. Ray Anne didn’t even bother selecting but went straight to the saleslady, who she apparently knew. She asked to see a few things in Ginger’s size.
“I’d take that to be about a four,” the saleslady said. “Is that right, dear?”
She had been a ten or twelve. Her hips had been wide, her booty a little on the big and round side and she’d always had this issue with her thighs. And that was before she’d been pregnant. She had no idea what size she was now. “Sure,” she said.
Ray Anne made her put on new underwear, giving the saleslady the price tags for purchase. Then she took Ginger’s old underwear away and Ginger had the feeling she was never going to see them again.
The saleswoman put Ginger in a pair of slim jeans with a plain white silky tee and, over that, a pink denim bomber jacket with silver buttons. She had to stand up on her toes to be tall enough for the hem of the jeans but the effect was, well, shocking.
“You look eighteen,” Ray Anne said.
In fact, she did.
Next, another pair of jeans, different brand, a black blouse, a white V-necked sweater. Not a heavy sweater—lightweight for spring and summer. Again, amazing. Then came black pants with a tunic-style long-sleeved top. Sleeves pushed up, it was so pretty. It was something a person could wear out to dinner, if a person ever went out to dinner again in her life. A few more slacks, a few more tops, a few more jackets or sweaters.
Then the saleslady held up a dress. “I wish you’d try this on,” she said. “I’ve been dying to see it on someone with your figure. It’s so streamlined.” It was dark purple with yellow piping across the shoulders to the edge of capped sleeves and down the side seams. There was a gold, slightly glittery pattern embossed on part of the front. It was diamond shaped and in an abstract design, from right below the mandarin collar to right below the waist. It was the most beautiful thing.
“Oh, I don’t need a dress. Plus,” she said, looking at the tag, “it’s much too expensive.”
