Under My Skin (10 page)

‘I don't think we'll stay,' Stan said to Melody, and Sally could have hugged him.

‘Don't be gay!' Melody snapped, adding homophobia to her repertoire. ‘You just got here. Stop being a loser and get a drink. We don't bite.' Some of the football guys sniggered, but one of them handed Stan a beer, which he reluctantly took.

‘Where's your bikini?' Eleanor asked Sally, wearing little more than dental floss herself. ‘Aren't you boiling?'

Sally flushed. ‘I . . . I'm not swimming today.'

‘Did you forget to wax or something?' Melody smirked. ‘Or do you go
au naturelle
?'

‘Mels, don't be shady,' Todd told her, and Sally's stupid heart fluttered. Melody didn't look thrilled at being chastised but let it drop.

As she took a seat out of the direct sun, Molly Sue spoke. ‘Donchya be listening to that bitch, OK? She ain't worth the salt in her bread.'

Not now, please
, Sally implored her.

‘You know what happens to girls like Melody Vine?' Molly went on regardless.

No.

‘Well, let me tell you, darlin'. She's a small town Barbie, and y'know what happens to them? They get forgotten at the bottom of the toy box. She'll either wind up stuck here for the resta her life, find a Ken and pop out a bunch o' rugrats or she'll head into the city like those girls who go to Hollywood to be the next big waitress. She's a big, fat nothin', darlin'. Ya don't gotta worry about her. I seen lots of hers come and go.'

She's got an agent.

Molly Sue laughed heartily. ‘Girl, that's
all
she got. She thinks the world owes her somethin' cos she's got a pretty smile. Her elevator don't go all the way to the top, if you catch my drift. You're ten times better than her, sweetheart. Cross mine and hope to die.'

Sally felt a little better. But Melody had more than just a pretty smile. She had
him.
Todd stood up and pulled his T-shirt over his head. It was a beautiful car crash and Sally couldn't look away. It was only May but he was already California-tanned, airbrushed perfection. How was his body so good? Had no one told him about chocolate? His chest was hard and defined, as were his flawless abs. She thought six packs were only for TV, but apparently not.

He picked up a bottle of sun cream and started to rub it onto his muscular arms. His eyes flashed in her direction and she whipped her gaze away, praying he hadn't caught her staring. She couldn't help it though, she had to look again.

When she looked at him, she ached.

‘Oh, girl, you got it bad!' Molly Sue chuckled.

It's not like that
.

‘Aw c'mon! You and me ain't got no secrets! The boy's a cutie! Don't be ashamed . . . I gotta say, darlin', you've had some pretty nasty thoughts about that one . . .'

Stop it!

‘I'm not judgin'! It's not like you can help it, sugar! It's how we're wired. We're red-blooded women, don't be sorry 'bout it! I could teach ya a thing or two!'

Melody massaged sun cream onto Todd's shoulders and Sally shifted uncomfortably. Jealousy stabbed through her ribs.
Oh, to be that cream.

Molly Sue giggled at the thought. ‘Ya want him real bad?'

Yes
, Sally admitted for the first time.

‘Then get after him, darlin'. 'Tween you and me, pageant queens like her never like gettin' their hair mussed up – all talk, no action.'

I couldn't. He doesn't know I exist.

‘Sure he does!'

He goes for girls like Melody.

‘What? Mean-as-a-snake girls?'

Looks like it.

‘That ain't the face of a happy camper. Look at him!'

Todd did look a little uncomfortable. If Melody was trying to arouse him, it didn't look like it was working. Melody treated Todd the same way she treated Eleanor and Keira – they were all accessories and nothing more. Like her Louis purse and Gucci shades, they told onlookers about her status and little else. Sally had seen the way Melody barked orders at him across the cafeteria stairs: ‘Todd, text your mum to tell her you'll be late!' and ‘Todd, you can't that night, we're seeing a film'. Maybe he wasn't enjoying it; maybe he was fruit ripe for picking.

Oh, as if. Dream on, Sally.

‘Cards on the table. You want him?' Sally could imagine Molly Sue's no-nonsense expression without having to see her.

If Sally did have him, she wouldn't know what to do with him but . . .
yeah. Yeah, I do.

‘Well, you've come to the right gal. We got this.'

What?

‘I wouldn't normally go 'round shopping in some other girl's store, but this bitch got it comin'. And anyway, that boy likes ya. I can tell.'

Yeah, right.

‘You don't see what I see, darlin'. You got something Melody Vine never had – mystery and enigma. That's currency! Just trust me. If you want Todd Brady you can have him.'

She was so entranced by the dimples at the bottom of Todd's spine, she didn't even see Jennie approach. ‘Sally? You OK?'

She snapped out of it. ‘Yeah, I'm fine.'

‘You looked a million miles away.'

‘Just thinking.'

Molly Sue spoke again, more quietly. ‘Girl, I gotta plan to get you the man. You on board?'

Todd held his hands behind his head, opening his chest wide. She'd never expected to find armpits sexy, but OH GOD.
Yeah
, she told Molly Sue.
OK.

The mirror on Sally's dressing table was lined with photos – her, Jen and Stan pulling faces with fake moustaches; one of her in an inflatable paddling pool when she was two; Dante; a grainy photo of her mother when she'd been beautiful. The carefree girl in that picture, her head tipped back in laughter, wasn't the mother Sally knew – she'd never seen her so joyful.

Sally looked doubtfully at Molly Sue in the mirror. Her new friend had migrated to her chest and Sally wore only her bra so they could talk face to face. ‘But this is stupid,' Sally said aloud, knowing her mum and dad were at church. She'd got out of it by saying she wasn't feeling well. ‘A haircut isn't going to make Todd like me.'

‘It's a start,' Molly Sue replied. ‘How long ya had this rope hangin' off the back of your head?'

‘I don't know . . . since I was little.'

‘Precisely, sugar! You want Todd to see you as a little girl?'

Ew, creepy. ‘No! Of course not!'

‘So trust me. You'll look like a whole new woman.
Woman
being the oper-a-tive word.'

‘I won't, but whatever. Anyway, it's just a haircut. I'll still be a massive loser. He wouldn't touch me with a barge pole.'
What did that phrase even mean?
Sally wondered. She'd heard her mum use it but had no idea what a barge pole actually was.

Molly Sue scoffed, fluffing her own sleek hair. ‘Never underestimate the power of the 'do, darlin'.'

Sally held back her plait and tried to picture what she'd look like with less hair. She gave up in disgust at herself. ‘So I turn myself into a Melody clone for a guy? That's healthy.' She sucked in her cheeks and pouted her lips like a duck, the way girls did on the front of magazines.

The pin-up rolled her eyes. ‘OK, sweetheart, lesson one: men think they're stronger than us every which way. We gotta use every gun in the gallery. Now I'm not some ten-dollar hooker sayin' you gotta sleep yo way to the top, but I
am
condonin' blindin' guys with a little glitter. If they're dumb enough to think you're nothin'
but
hair and heels, that's their funeral. We know different. It ain't about how you
look
, it's 'bout showing the world you're ready for battle. It's standin' up and gettin' counted, which ain't never gonna happen in those disguises you wear. Ya gotta stop hidin', girl.' The tattoo winked. ‘And who said anything about makin' you look like a supermodel? You're the brains,
I'm
the beauty in this set-up!'

Sally smiled despite herself. She couldn't believe how accustomed she'd become to Molly Sue. She'd slept all through the night and felt like a different person. Things didn't seem so otherworldly any more.

‘You ready?' Molly Sue asked as Sally grabbed one of Stan's old baseball shirts that she'd acquired and yanked it on over her head.

‘Pretty much.' Sally opened the lowest drawer in her dresser and took out the envelope containing her birthday money. She had a quick look and counted just over a hundred pounds.

‘That's not enough,' Molly Sue stated.

‘How is that not enough for a haircut?'

‘Girl, I think we need more than a trim, don't you? And we need some threads to go with the hair.'

Sally sighed. ‘My allowance is paid into my bank account, but that's supposed to be for university.'

‘When was the last time you spent your allowance? You buy, like, what, three DVDs a year? I think ya can splash out a little.'

‘I'm not supposed to use my card. My mum keeps it in a drawer in the study.'

‘Go get it,' Molly Sue told her.

If she put the card back quietly later, they might not even know she'd used it. Her mother would have no idea what a decent haircut actually cost. Sally started towards the study. ‘OK.'

‘Good girl. Let's get this show on the road.'

Sally stood on the pavement outside the salon. Molly Sue had suggested Ford & Co in the New Town Arcade, knowing it was regarded as the best in town – and almost certainly where Melody et al had their manes managed. However, Sally couldn't bring her feet to cross the threshold. It was like the deck of the Starship Enterprise: glossy, sleek, modern and so, so white. The salon gleamed. The men and women inside all wore black head to toe, including the tattoos on their arms.
I wonder if their swallows and anchors give them back-chat
, Sally thought ruefully. They all seemed to sport asymmetrical hairstyles that looked as if they'd been cut with lawnmowers. In other words, way,
way
too cool for Sally.

‘Come on, girl, let's move it!'

‘I can't. I'm too scared. I feel sick.' An old lady walking a pug glared at her as she passed.
She thinks I'm talking to myself!

‘You're not going to be sick.'

I am.

‘You're not, darlin'. I got ya.'

I don't know what to do. I don't know what to ask for.

‘You ain't never had a haircut before?'

Mum always trims it.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this is worse than I thought. Look, I'm gonna take over for a bit, OK?'

Sally backed away from the salon, aware the receptionist was staring at her.
What?

‘Let me in the driving seat for the next couple of hours. I'll do all the talkin'.'

You must be kidding! You might tell them to shave my head or something
. Sally had seen enough
Top Model
to know that one girl always lost the lot.

‘Oh, will you relax? Why the hell would I go and do that? Girl, you seen me . . . do I look like I don't know what the inside of a salon looks like?'

I don't know . . . it's weird.

‘It ain't weird. It's just while you get the cut done! Leave it up to me, girl! You stick to the books and math and I'll do the hair and beauty!'

Sally sighed. They were here now, might as well get it over with.
OK. How do I let you take over?

‘It's a piece o' cake. You'll feel me in your head, like ya do on your skin, and when you do, just let me in. It'll be like having a little daydream. You'll enjoy it.'

Sally couldn't pace like a weirdo outside the salon a second longer. Someone from school might see her.
Whatever. Please don't shave my head.
The thought of Molly Sue entered her mind. The cherry lips; the amethyst eyes twinkling; perfect white teeth. Sally embraced the idea.

‘OK, ya ready?' Molly Sue asked. There was a coldness in Sally's head, almost a headache but not quite. More like the brain-freeze you get when you eat ice cream. Molly Sue was in her head and Sally simply closed her eyes.

It was like falling asleep.

She could be dreaming.

Time was different. One step didn't necessarily follow the other. She was dimly aware of the receptionist;
yes, one of our senior stylists has a cancellation if you're happy to wait..?
A black overall being swung over her shoulders; a glass of champagne, a handsome guy with a nose ring and flesh tunnel in his left ear. He took her plait in one hand, a pair of scissors in the other and in three swift snips, the rope came away.

Then she really blacked out.

Images and snippets came to her. Water running over her forehead. Another pair of hands worked on her face – her eyebrows were under attack from what looked like two bits of string. Someone else sawed away at her fingernails.

More darkness.

And then gleaming light. She was back in the salon one hundred per cent. The lights were so bright she was momentarily blind. She rubbed her eyes. ‘So, what do you think?' The handsome hairdresser grinned down at her. He spoke with an Australian accent. ‘Just a little different, huh?'

‘Wakey wakey, darlin',' said Molly Sue. ‘Get a load o' yourself!'

Oh. My. God.
Sally was genuinely surprised to discover that the woman sitting opposite was, in fact, her reflection. She gasped. She was usually dubious of characters who ‘gasped', but she had cause to. Her hand flew to her mouth. She looked
so
different.

‘I'm blonde,' she muttered.

‘You certainly are,' said the hairdresser, who she somehow knew to be called Steve.

It wasn't white straw like Eleanor's hair, hers was now
golden
, falling in gentle waves off her face to just below her shoulders. It changed everything about her face. Her eyebrows, instead of two chubby brown caterpillars were now graceful arches above her eyes which, rather than grey, now looked blue for the first time. ‘Oh my God.'

‘OK, Sally,' said Steve. ‘You've got me sweating slightly . . .'

‘Sorry . . . I . . . I
love
it.'

‘And is it like her's? From
Satanville?
I did my best
.
'

Clever, clever, Molly Sue. It was
totally
the blonde version of Taryn's season four haircut. ‘It really is. It's spot on.'

‘Phew!' Steve continued to babble on about rebooking discounts or something, but Sally wasn't listening. She couldn't take her eyes off herself. She looked about ten years older. If she was so inclined, she reckoned she'd be able to get into Cellos in Old Town without ID, not that she ever would.

‘Did I do good?' Molly Sue asked.

You did really good.

‘Just call me Fairy Godmother. But we're not done yet. Now we gotta do the rags.'

It didn't occur to Sally that she might be in trouble until she was almost home, two glossy department store bags swinging at her ankles. She suddenly had the same nauseous feeling she'd had right after the tattoo – the
WHAT HAVE I DONE?
sensation. Her mum and dad were
always
telling her to brush her hair and her mum was
always
buying her hideously girly dresses that hung in her wardrobe with the labels intact. OK, they'd never said, ‘Sally, you should bleach your head,' but perhaps they'd like the new look?

Fat chance. As soon as Sally stepped through the front door all she could do was brace herself for the tidal wave.

Her mother swept in from the kitchen, the meaty smell of the Sunday roast filling the air. Pork and apple sauce. ‘Where have you been? You're meant to be ill —' She stopped. ‘Heavens above! What have you done to your hair? Oh, Sally!'

Her dad padded in from the lounge, the
Mail on Sunday
in his hands. ‘What's all the racket?' His face fell. ‘Oh, for crying out loud!'

‘It's OK,' Molly Sue muttered. ‘Just follow my lead.'

Sally started. ‘I got a haircut.'

‘Well, I can see that!' Her father barked. ‘And how much did that cost?'

‘Tell him it's your birthday money,' Molly Sue whispered.

‘Not much,' Sally lied. ‘And I used my birthday money.'

Predictably that calmed her father down. Her mother edged closer as if she wanted to clarify that it wasn't a wig. ‘Oh, Sally, it's a bit drastic . . . and you'll get terrible roots.'

Sally sighed. ‘Mum, I really like it.'

Molly Sue chipped in. ‘Tell her it's for the play . . .'

‘And it's for the play. I thought I'd look more like Audrey.'

That seemed to appease her slightly. ‘You look so grown up, though. I don't want you to be one of those tarty girls trying to get into Cellos on Friday nights.'

‘Oh dear God —' Sally rolled her eyes.

‘Do NOT take the Lord's name in vain.'

‘Mum! As if I'd want to go to Cellos! But I
am
going to university next year. I . . . I am a grown-up now.'

She saw her mum's eyes glass over. Molly Sue whispered, ‘Whoa, girl, bring out the big guns.'

Her dad relented. ‘Well, it's your money to waste.' He returned to the lounge with his newspaper.

Sally so wished there was some common tongue she could speak with her mother other than the strange semaphore they were stuck with. ‘Do . . . do you like it?'

Her mum sighed. ‘It's a nice job, I suppose. You look very different.'

‘That's the idea,' she whispered to herself, and Sally swore she heard resignation in her mother, like she too had now realised they were different species. The gap between them was becoming a chasm.