Glamour (27 page)

But Sally never liked to leave Mona that long. So once a month, she had gone into Fisk’s and had her eyebrows plucked. Five bucks, but worth it. She liked that sense she was treating herself. But she’d never go there for anything else. Not worth it; Mrs. Elaine Fisk, a fat woman into velour pantsuits and diamonds at all times, really knew as much about style as she did about advanced calculus.

Which was why this was such an attractive prospect. Far better than a Korean place, where the canny owners knew their business, or a fancy store with up-to-date magazines and tinted-glass windows. Fisk was perfect, Sally had decided. A central spot, and a blank canvas.

“My son speaks highly of you,” Elaine Fisk said.“Says you are a very proper young lady.”

Her stern eye danced over Sally’s breathtaking outfit. Elaine couldn’t work out quite what was so sexy about it. The jeans weren’t too low waisted, nor the shirt unbuttoned....

But just looking at Sally made Mrs. Fisk uncomfortable; she wished she hadn’t eaten that second muffin for breakfast.

“Leo’s been so kind to me,” Sally said sweetly. “He’s a credit to you and Mr. Fisk, ma’am. Y’all have raised a real gentleman. Everybody says so.”

That did it; Elaine liked nothing better than to hear Sally Lassiter talk that way about her Pookie, her little baby. And maybe Sally could shake things up, she thought, vaguely. Not that Elaine cared about making money, nothing so vulgar! But her friend Sheila Gunn had recently abandoned her place, not even coming for coffee anymore—she said Betsy-Lou had messed up her trim and taken off two extra inches!

“Well, I could certainly use somebody to sweep the floor, maybe get me a couple of cushions, wash hair in the basins,” Elaine conceded.

“Actually, I want to be your beauty therapist.” Sally stood firm. If she didn’t get it right now she’d never get another chance. “What I’d like to do is work with you on a new vision for Fisk’s. Your beauty parlor will be
the
place in town, Mrs. Fisk. You’ll have the ladies fighting each other to book a slot.You may have to change your phone number, because all your friends will be
begging
for appointments. . . .”

Elaine looked skeptical. “And how are we going to do that? What do I use to attract all this attention?”

“Me,” Sally said, proudly.

“Honey, you don’t have two cents to rub together.What could you know about fancy cosmetics?”

Sally didn’t flinch.“You remember all the stories? A couple of years ago I used to know everything about them. And you know, Mrs. Finch, I was in L.A., and we mixed with the top Hollywood celebrities . . . I can tell you all the style secrets.”

“Hollywood Dazzle!” Elaine cried. “That’s the new name for the store!”

Sally bit back a smile. Hell, at least the woman was getting enthusiastic.

“We should stick to what we’re known for. Nobody’ll buy that down here. At least, not yet,” she added, diplomatically.“This is your place so it should reflect
you,
Mrs. Fisk. How about this—Rodeo Girl.”

“Rodeo Girl!”

“It’s down-home, it’s sassy, it’s pretty, it’s us.”

“I like it,” Elaine said excitedly. “And so I’ll start doing the treatments. More treatments! We can offer makeovers . . .”

“We’ll need a little money. Just a little. Some paint, some new lights . . . letters for the storefront . . .”

“My husband will give me that.” Elaine waved her fingers dismissively, lost in the dream. Her store, her place, the hottest thing in town. But then her eyes narrowed, and she looked back at Sally. “But just because
you’ve
got style, how can I tell if you’ll be good in the store? You would look good in a potato sack.We don’t make a lot of money here . . . I don’t think I can give you more than minimum wage; we are taking losses. . . .”

“I want a thousand dollars a month.”

Elaine Fisk’s eyes widened, and she laughed.

“Young lady, you are plumb crazy talking like that. We don’t even take a thousand dollars in a month. Not even half. . . .”

“But we will. Much more than. Look, Mrs. Fisk.You’re a beautiful lady yourself,” Sally lied.“But when was the last time you had a real romantic date with Mr. Fisk? Tell you what.Why don’t you let me style you? I’ll show you just how good I am.You’ll look ten years younger. He’ll think he’s romancing your little sister!”

“He better not,” Elaine Fisk said darkly. But it was a tempting pitch. “Okay, I’ll try it.”

Well. This would be a challenge. But Sally gritted her teeth. She could certainly make Elaine look if not good, at least better.

“We’ll start with hair and makeup,” she said. “No cutting—just styling. And then we’ll go shopping for a new outfit. I’ll do your nails and brows. The whole bit. Why don’t you come on over here, and we’ll start with washing your hair.”

Elaine hesitated.

“And I give a fabulous head and shoulder massage,” Sally tempted.

“Alright. I’ll try it.” Elaine waddled over to the washbasin and sat down. “Although I’ve no idea why I’m agreeing to this.You certainly are a sweet-talker. . . .”

Sally hastily ran the warm water into the basin and wet down her new boss’s hair. She didn’t want to give Elaine the chance to change her mind.

“My stars,” Elaine Fisk murmured. “Oh, my goodness.”

She put one hand to her mouth, then lowered it again. She gaped at her reflection.

“I can’t believe it. It doesn’t even look like me.”

Although she was twenty years younger, Sally stood back, beaming like a proud parent. Of course Elaine wasn’t about to win any prizes in the Miss Texas pageant, but still....

Her heavily sprayed, stiffly backcombed hair was softly washed, blow-dried, and styled into a long bob around her face.The layers of thick mascara that only a young woman could get away with had gone; Sally allowed her one coat of brown mascara to pick up the blue in her eyes. Similarly, the ugly rouge on Elaine’s cheeks, and the face powder that caked in every wrinkle, were replaced with a sheer antiaging formula that tightened up her skin a little, and a neutral blush which Sally cleverly used to design cheekbones that really weren’t there.

The vile pantsuit had been replaced by an expensive, well-cut dress in a heavy fabric, which made Elaine look stately rather than fat.The flashy diamonds Sally had swapped for some luminous, cheap freshwater pearls, and she’d picked out a lace shawl to complete the effect; and finally, the masterstroke, a pair of sturdy, stacked heels, which forced Elaine to stand differently and stretch as she carried herself.

She looked younger—thinner—
better
.

Elaine couldn’t contain her delight.

“Mark is going to go wild,” she said. “Oh, Sally, you’re a genius. . . .”

“Just wait until you send your friends out looking like that,” Sally prompted. “I want to offer makeovers, hairdressing, and a styling service if they pay enough—for the elite customers, two hundred dollars a session. I’ll go shopping with them and show them what to get.”

“Oh, yes—yes certainly,” Elaine said, dreamily staring at her reflection.

“Ask Mark for a budget to renovate the store. And I want to throw an open day on Saturday. Free makeovers. Believe me, that’ll get them talking.” Sally was almost dizzy with her success, high on her plans and dreams. She
could
make it happen. “If they want me to make them up they have to give us their mailing address and sign a consent form to receive special offers. . . .”

Her new boss wasn’t listening; she was turning around in front of the mirror, absorbed in herself.

“You know, this dress looks like what Oprah wore on the Grammys. Except for I’m a white lady . . . but it’s so
sexy,
” Elaine hissed, lowering her voice. She blushed.“Do you think you could come shopping with me for lingerie?” she whispered.

“Sure.You’d look great in . . . a teddy. Or baby-doll nightdress,” Sally managed.“But first, you should hire me. I wrote up a contract. A thousand dollars a month plus basic health-care benefits . . .”

Sally produced a neatly folded, typed document from her handbag. Elaine signed it without even a murmur, then went to her desk, took out her checkbook, and scribbled in it.

“Delighted, dear,” she said.“Say, could you look after the store for me this afternoon? I want to go and surprise Mark.”

“Of course. Just give me five minutes while I call Mom,” Sally said.

She ran out the front door, an annoying little bell tinkling, and went straight across the street to the bank. Not that she didn’t trust Elaine, but a thousand dollars seemed like a small fortune. She wanted to bank it right away.

She returned shortly and told her new boss,“You go on home, Mrs. Fisk. I’m in charge here.”

Elaine drifted out, dousing herself in perfume as she went; Sally had put her on to Chanel No. 19, a lighter fragrance, since she knew perfectly well Elaine was addicted to the nozzle.

She looked around the store. Dingy, drab, and underused.Well, she could change all that. Sally moved to the back to grab a broom. In the morning the two hairdressers would come in, and she’d start to teach them how to do a real blow-dry.

I’m in charge now, Sally thought, and it was the first bit of real optimism she’d felt in ages.

And things changed. Not overnight; Mark Fisk, stunned though he was at his wife’s appearance, moaned over the fifty thousand dollars she wanted for the renovations—Elaine’s place had never been more than a drag on his finances.The two current employees were jealous of Sally, and tried to rebel, until Elaine laid down the law. The builders and decorators were lazy, and it was a constant struggle—and the grand opening was mocked and jeered by women in the street.

But Sally persevered. She had to. She had a job now, and a purpose. Even if everybody else was lazy, she worked like a demon: painting, decorating, sourcing cool artwork and fancy mirrors and bronze letters three feet high, designing and redesigning the ad for the local paper. And if the renovations took three months, well, that was plenty of time for Hartford to get good and curious.

When the grand opening happened, all Elaine’s friends were there, as well as several curious teens from the high school. Sally had trained the other two girls in beauty basics, properly, and left them doing pedicures and neck massages while she flitted from chair to chair, flash-styling the small-town girls in ten minutes each; plucking eyebrows that hadn’t been touched for decades; wiping away bright, ugly makeup and replacing it with neutrals; blow-drying out previously gelled-up hair; showing housewives addicted to plaits and buns what natural styling looked like.

The oohs and aahs from the mirrors didn’t put any cash in the coffers, but Sally had faith.There was no business as sound as beauty. If you could show women you made a difference . . .

And the store, after all that hard work, was amazing. Rodeo Girl looked like it belonged on Rodeo Drive. Gone were all the yellowing magazines and peeling paint and the old-style radio blaring out traffic and weather updates. Sally had installed tinted windows, sleek new graphics, a sexy logo of a rodeo chick in heeled boots and a tie-under shirt. Banks of televisions were tuned to CMT, the country-and-western version of MTV, with buff unshaven cowboys and modern western divas slickly belting out their hits.

It celebrated Texas—and it celebrated style. Hartford had never seen anything like it.The older ladies booked the place up almost immediately, and their daughters scrambled for appointments. Sally was busy, nine to five, every day, and sometimes on weekends as well. It was exhausting, but it was a rush. And her salary enabled them to afford little luxuries.

After a month or so, she began to get sizable tips. Instead of wasting the cash, Sally banked it. She didn’t know exactly where she was going yet, but she was sure of one thing. She was not going to stay here.

Elaine Fisk basked in all the glory and took all the credit. Sally didn’t mind, as long as she kept getting paid. And Elaine allowed her to keep all the tip money, which almost doubled her basic salary. As long as Sally’s first priority was to keep Elaine looking good, the owner didn’t complain. Her husband was actually getting money back after the third month, so he was happy. And, watching Sally work her magic on the small-town women of Hartford, Elaine discovered a vestige of pride in herself. She confided in Sal that she wanted to lose weight, and Sally put her on a walking regimen, something she could do quietly, without her catty friends noticing. Sally told her where to pick up good, ready-made salads. After a while, Elaine dropped a dress size, then two....

For the first six months Sally’s life moved into a routine: working, banking her salary, learning on her feet. She spent her spare time at home, looking after Mona as best she could. Sally felt guilty, at times, that she couldn’t turn her mom around the way she was shaping up Elaine Fisk. But fighting Mona’s depression and alcoholism would require Sally to be there full-time, and she had to make choices. Right now, Rodeo Girl was letting her save some cash and giving her a better education than a third-rate college could ever provide.

Sally tried not to think too much. She let her days fill up, her savings account slowly increase. It was easier to cope that way.

“Look at her,” Leo Fisk said.

His Porsche was parked across the street, with three of his buddies riding along.The top was down, and they stared at Sally as she sauntered out of the front door, kissing Lucy Drew on the cheek.

“Dude, which one? Lucy’s hot now,” his friend Barry replied.

“Come on.” Leo was scornful. Certainly he wouldn’t say no to Lucy Drew, with that cute new haircut and the figure-hugging clothes and dramatic, pouty lips Sally had given her. But Sally Lassiter was a whole other league.

He’d been watching her coming in and going out of his mom’s store for months now. The original plan was to drop by, hang around, watch her doing menial tasks like sweeping the floor . . . he vaguely thought that would be sexy . . . and have Sally flirting with Leo, begging him to notice her. After all, without his say-so, Mom wouldn’t have hired her.