She's All That (34 page)
The phone trills again. “If you call here again, I'm calling the police!”
“Lilly? It's Max. Am I safe, or is the San Quentin warden coming for me?”
I breathe out deeply. “Max, hi. I have big hair. I'm going to have big hair next Saturday.”
“I have a broken leg. I'm going to have a broken leg on Saturday. Anything else you want to lament?”
“My mother is a freak of nature from the non-maternal side of hell.”
“My mother is convinced that I need a nice Jewish girl to settle down withâand soonâor I will turn into a pumpkin.”
“I'm Italian. Christian. With big hair. Obviously, I can't help you.”
“Close enough for government work.”
“I suppose you didn't call to hear me whine?”
“No, but I like to hear you whine, Lilly. You do it with such flair.”
“You think?”
“Listen, I'm going to be late for the fashion show. Is it all right if I arrive a few minutes after the fact?”
I'll admit, his question leaves me with a sting of rejection, even though I'm sure he has a logical and real excuse. I'm just not in the mood. “Sure. You arrive whenever. My Nana can ride with Nate.”
“Nate?”
“My upstairs neighbor. He paid for my sewing machine and the computers. I'll see you if you get there, okay?”
I start to hang up the phone, when Max shouts, “Wait!”
“What?”
“I have something to do beforehand. I'll be there. I promise. There won't be a single after-party where I'm not there for pictures, all right? The
Chronicle
can announce our engagement the next day if it makes you happy.”
I giggle and feel better, pretty much. “We don't have to take it that far. Thanks for calling, Max.”
“Lilly?”
“Yeah?”
“Quit worrying. I'll have the limo pick up your grandmother and I'll meet you there.”
“Thanks. Bye.” I hang up, disappointed but not surprised. It's time for that shower. I'm going to wash away the remnants of civilization and revert to the cavewoman lookâand then, I'm going to design a hat, followed by a wedding gown fit for a princess.
S
tepping out of the shower, I feel relief. I am finally going to see my hair in all its glory. I am going to embrace the real me. It's the first step toward real and significant change! I slop smoothing crème on my hair and anti-frizz serum, and then I pick up the titanium hairdryer. “This is the first day of the new Lilly Jacobs!”
Bending over, I dry the back and roots, and just let the hot air cleanse me from all my negative emotions. (I feel like Poppy!) Bad hair did not ruin my life. Bad hair was only a figment of my imagination, made up to ease the pain of a mother who didn't love me, a Nana who didn't understand fashion, and a series of milquetoast boyfriends who didn't marry me. “I am Lilly Jacobs, woman of the twenty-first century!” I say out loud, and I flip my hair up and gaze into the mirror. “Oh my gosh! I am hideous! I am Simba grown up with a mane that would rival the largest African lion.”
“Lilly,” Kim pounds on the door. “Are you ever coming out? Hannah needs to go!”
When I emerge from the bathroom, I slink out of the doorway, waiting for the first glimpse at my true hairstyle. I think you'd call it “cotton ball with an attitude.” No one looks up from any sewing machine. “Here I am,” I finally say.
A quick glance, and then everyone's back to work.
“This is my real hair.”
“Cool,” Hannah says.
“What do you want, a standing ovation?” Kim asks.
Forget it. You can't get blood out of a turnip.
I settle down on my futon with my sketch pad, and I start to dream about the perfect gown for Morgan's lithe figure. She's like Cate Blanchett, wispy yet muscular, and dresses were made for her little body. I don't have time for a lot of detail on the gown, so the shape will be everything. The shape and the placing of the darts so it hugs her perfectly. Kim and the girls are gossiping, and I close my eyes and realize nothing is coming. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.
I realize I need quiet. I can't be creative with the sewing machines buzzing, the stereo blasting, and more women being cut open on the big screen. There's something unnerving about the beauty of a wedding gown against the background of sliced human flesh. Call me crazy, but it's not working for me. I can't use Nate's place because the smell will get to me. I can't be creative smelling that dog.
I decide to do something that is completely not in my character. I am going to the spa. Okay, it's not completely out of character, but by myself? Just me? That's out of character. Not on Morgan's dime, but on my own (borrowed) dime. Granted, I guess it's sort of on Morgan's dime, since I am currently borrowing from her, and my various and assorted credit cards, but this time I am paying it back, and she will be thrilled when she sees the outcome. The wedding dress that will make her long for a groom she's in love with, not one she's saving from an impending death.
I throw a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt in a bag. “I'm leaving. I need to work.”
“Whatever,” Kim says.
“See ya,” the other two girls chime.
After a short taxi drive, I arrive at a local hotel. It has a spa that has always been like Calgonâit takes me away when I really need it. I have an overnight bag and my sketch pad. And most importantly, an old ski hat I wore in college.
The spa is not fancy by spa standards. It has linoleum floors in a world of travertine, and gaudy chrome fixtures in today's brushed steel environment. I get to the front desk, and Lars recognizes me immediately. “Lilly! It's been ages since we've seen you.” He lowers his tone. “I imagine this means Sara Lang is not nice lately, no? She is such a bad, bad woman!”
“No, she's fine. I'm just very overwhelmed, and I need to come up with the gown of my life in the next three days.”
“I have a room for you!”
Generally, the hotel is considered more of a day spa. But there are a few rooms, and Lars doesn't advertise them. I have actually cleaned the rooms before, as a way to earn my keep, and it has ingratiated me to him forever. He has always asked me about the scents of new products, and appreciates my “expertise” there as well.
“It's only for a night, Lars. And no spa treatments this time. I just need the quiet.”
“Fair enough. I will make sure your room is sprayed, and the tabletop waterfall is running. Just give me a minute. I know you're my smelling girl!” he says, touching the tip of my nose. “What is the hat about? Not stylish, no? It's summer.”
“Long story.”
I get to my room and look around.
This is my secret.
My hiding place, where no one can find me, and my creativity can soar to new heights. When I'm here, I am not a failure. I am in the presence of God with my praise music playing, and the good scents flowing. I haven't made much time for God lately, but luckily I am not forgotten. Though I probably deserve to be.
Quietude is the way I can really hear. It's the way that design comes to me, and then flows through my fingers. After making myself a cup of chamomile, I light a candle and cuddle up in the French armchair by the window. Clicking Play on the CD, I allow the sounds of nature to fill the room⦠and I am in the zone.
Although the room smells divine, I have brought my own sensory therapy from the Origins store. It's really expensive, but the citrus infusion of their “Sleep Perchance to Dream” is just what I need as a muse. I spray it heartily in the room and feel the scent rain down on me. Morgan always puts a sprayer in my goody bag and says she gets it free, but I know she goes and buys it. One day, very soon, I hope, I'm going to show her that believing in me was worth all her investment.
I start drawing frantically, and within minutes, the form of Morgan's perfect gown emerges. It isn't shantung silk at all! It's a mixture of silk and satin, and strapless, no less! I wouldn't have imagined! It flows perfectly, and there's no veil. A veil will only get in the way. I'm so anxious, I reach for my cell phone.
“Morgan, you there?”
“Yeah, Lilly, have you set me up with anyone new today?”
“Can you guys come home? Not home-home but to my little hotel? Do you remember the one where I used to escape Nana?”
“That one on Sutter?”
“Yes!”
“We're on our way home now. What's up?”
“Just stop by, okay? I have to go out and get fabric. But I'll be back. When will you be here?”
“Six?”
“Shoot! I forgot to get dinner for the girls,” I remember. “Okay, I'll be back. Just get over here.”
I call and make arrangements to have Chinese food taken up to the loft. I will hate to see my Visa bill next month, but no good business ever happened without expending significant venture capital, did it?
The fabric outlets are closed today.
I'm going to have to pay
retail.
But I can't afford to wait overnight. I need it now because once Morgan gets in the doorway, she's mine. I'll have her draped and pinned before she even has time to say no. In fact, the answer won't even occur to her.
It's then that the guilt comes like the seventh wave.
What
am I thinking?
Morgan can't possibly get in a wedding dress this week. I suddenly remember all the tears, and the loss of the man she was going to marry. Then there's Stuart mauling her for a photo opportunity. Getting Morgan into a wedding dress is not going to be easy, and worse yet, it's not going to be easy on my conscience. I've lost it. Today, I
became
Sara Lang, San Francisco's Jeweler, and my Nana all rolled into one scrawny, frizzy-haired package.
N
o!” Poppy shouts. “There is no way I'm getting in a wedding dress! It's bad luck for the groom to see you before the wedding.”
“What wedding?” I ask.
“Precisely! Do you want to relegate me to a life of no prospective grooms because I dressed up in a gown that I have no business in?” Poppy crosses her arm, and Morgan looks away.
“Sara is usually ready for her shows weeks in advance. I don't have the finale dress or a model, and I've got five days. I don't have time to beg. Please, Poppy.”
“I'll help you get the diamonds from my dad,” Morgan offers, and then for the first time today, she really looks at me. “What happened to your hair?”
I reach for my hat. “I thought you said I had great hair!”
“Yeah, well, I guess it's been a while since I've really seen it. I don't remember it being quite soâ¦so⦔
“Puffy,” Poppy finishes for her. “You probably need more Omega-3s in your diet, Lilly. That would help the texture.” She reaches out for my hair, and I push her hand away.
“Stop! When I told you I had bad hair, where was the support when I wanted pickles and some commiseration? â
Felicity made a mint on that hair
,' I believe was what you said, Morgan.”
“We thought you were exaggerating,” Poppy says with a shrug.
Which apparently means I wasn't exaggerating. This is not good.
“What did you do to it?” Morgan asks, as if I tried to get it looking like this.
“I just blow-dried it with the dryer you gave me.”
“Did you point the dryer down the whole time?”
“Well, no, I was in a hurryâ”
“Lilly, no wonder you're frizzy. That hairdryer is not a toy. It's serious business. Go wash your hair again. You need to let it air-dry and then dry it a little after the serum has worked in. You know all this. You can't rush hair; it's like fine wine.”
“My hair is definitely more like sour grapes. Anyway, I don't have time to worry about it, and if I go in there and wash my hair, you might leave, and you can't leave. Poppy has to be in a wedding gown Saturday night. A wedding gown that I can't make until I measure her in thirty-four places.”
“Lilly, why can't you get a real model?”
I don't want to admit that I thought I was getting Morgan. I promised Sara Lang, in fact, because it just shows the kind of friend I am. I've done a lot of stupid things in my time, don't get me wrong. But I am not putting myself above Morgan. I've watched her dad do that to her for an age.
“Please, Poppy. I'll never ask you for anything again.”
Morgan looks at me and lets out a ragged sigh. “Poppy, remember that Stuart Surrey rammed his tongue in my mouth because of her.”
“I really thought he wanted his tongue in
my
mouth,” I say sheepishly.
Poppy holds up her hands. “You're giving me bad energy here. Stuart Surrey needs to keep his tongue in his own mouth. Do you know the amount of bacteria he has in there? A human's mouth is worse than a dog's.” She looks at our disgusted faces. “Really.”
“I'm gonna throw up!” Morgan rushes to the bathroom.
“Thanks a lot, Poppy!”
“There are thirty-seven unique types of healthy bacteria in the human mouth to aid in digestion and kill disease-causing bacteria. But when you mix that withâ”
“Stop!” I rush to the bathroom door and pound on it. “Let me in. I need Listerine, and now!” Morgan lets me in, and we both rinse with the Listerine provided by the hotel.
We come out minty-fresh.
“All right, Poppy. We have put up with this long enough. You don't get dates because you freak people out with your talk of energy and bacteria and yeast,” Morgan tells her.
You
go, girl.
“Let's just eliminate those words from your casual conversation, okay? You keep the alternative stuff at work, and we're all good.”
“What are you mad at me for? Lilly's the reason Stuart had his tongue in your mouth.”
“Which I didn't realize was quite so disgusting until you enlightened me.”
