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“Oh, yeah. I do it constantly. It’s like a switch I can’t turn off. It’s as if people’s faces are hunks of clay, and I’d know just what I’d do with them if I were the sculptor.” Sean Ryan nodded. “That’s good. Okay, say you had to put together a kit by next Saturday to teach people as much as you could about makeup. What would be in it?”

“Maybe a mirror. And some samples. And makeup brushes and disposable sponges. Ooh, and instructions for the best way to apply makeup—so many people don’t have a clue how to do it, or even the right order to apply products. And a diagram of a face, so I could write down what to put where, and what brands and colors would work for them.”

“Great,” Sean Ryan said. “And what would the kit itself look like?”

“I don’t know. Maybe kind of funky. I could use the netting you can get by the yard, you know, wrapped around and tied into a bow, maybe with a makeup brush tucked in. Or maybe it should be more of a clutch or a box or even a tote bag. I think I’ll know it when I find it.”

Precious started running down the beach. “I’m sure you will,” Sean Ryan said. He pushed himself up to a standing position and reached his hand down to me.

I took his hand, and he pulled me up. He had a nice strong grip, but his hand was a little bit dry. Ahava made a nice hand cream just for men, but nothing worked like your basic Bag Balm. The rest of his skin was in good shape though. The eyes might be the window to your soul, but the skin was the mirror Summer Blowout

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of your health. Sean Ryan’s glowed like someone who took care of himself, inside and out. Maybe if I held on to his hand long enough, it would be catching.

“So now what?” I asked.

“So now you go put together a bunch of kits. I’m doing a college fair in Rhode Island a week from today. You can have half of my table.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Which half?”

He let go of my hand. I’d rolled up my black pants, since it was hot in the sun. I smoothed them back down. I had about five zillion pairs of black pants, and I was suddenly glad I wasn’t wearing any of the ones that bagged out in the back after I’d been sitting in them.

“Which half?”

I smiled. “I just like to be on the right side. Even the chair I use at the salons has to be on the right side of the others.”

“Are there any other unusual things I should know about you?”

I bent down and picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it as far as I could. Precious went flying after it, her brooch glis-tening in the setting sun. I kind of liked this dog thing. “Well, I never drink while I’m eating,” I said.

“You mean alcohol?”

I shook my head and bent down to pick up a sand dollar. I was really in the money today. “No, anything.” Sean Ryan picked up another sand dollar and handed it right over to me. “Any particular reason? I mean, are we talking religion here? Superstition?”

“Nah, nothing like that. When we were kids, somebody was always spilling something, so we were never allowed to have drinks at the table. So now I just can’t do it.”

“Don’t you worry about dehydration?” 60

C L A I R E C O O K

“No, I just drink a lot around meals.” Sean Ryan nodded. “Ohh-kay,” he said slowly.

“Come on,” I said. “That’s not that strange. I bet there are all sorts of odd things about you.”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m completely normal.” I shook my head. “Seriously doubtful.”

“Let’s see. I have to sleep on the right side of the bed, if that counts.” He looked at me. I looked at him.

Suddenly, it was as if my sex drive hit a roadblock. Maybe I was hormonally bipolar. And, not to mix modes of transportation, but I could see where this train was heading, and I was getting off at the next stop. The mere thought of going through all that again with a whole new person left me abruptly and completely exhausted.

I caught up to Precious and scooped her into my arms.

“Was it something I said?” Sean Ryan yelled after me.

I turned around. “Listen,” I yelled. “It doesn’t matter what side of the bed you sleep on, because we’re never going to sleep together. Got that?”

A couple walking along the beach in front of us turned around to look. Sean Ryan gave them a wave.

“For the record,” he said when he caught up to me, “I wasn’t asking you to sleep with me.”

“Yeah, right,” I said.

“I’m not even trying to sleep with you.”

“You’re not? Gee, thanks a lot.” I knew there had to be a way to get the conversation around to something else, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Sean Ryan held out his hands for Precious, and she jumped right over to him. She really did look like a flying squirrel. He held her up by his shoulder and started patting her back like he was burping a baby.

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“Listen,” he said. “I’ve already had a relationship with a recently divorced woman, and I am never going there again. So, how about you have a rebound relationship with some other guy and put him through hell. And in the meantime we can just be friends.”

I put my hands on my hips. “You have absolutely no idea how long I’ve been divorced. And where do you get off telling me I need a rebound relationship or anything else? You’ve barely met me.”

He stopped burping Precious and shook his head. “Hey, do you want to go get some dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know, the thing you eat at night? Without drinking anything?”

“What time is it?” I asked. I was suddenly afraid to look at my watch.

“I don’t know. It must be after six, though.” I grabbed Precious out of Sean Ryan’s arms and got ready to run. “You don’t happen to remember how long wedding receptions last, do you?”

• 9 •

“HANDSOME HUNKA BURNING MAN, THAT BROTHER

of yours,” Esther Williams said as Mario walked by. I’d made her up before I took her pink rollers out, so a little bit of teasing and spraying and she’d be good to go for at least another week.

“Sorry, Esther,” I said. “He’s already married to Todd.”

“They can do that now?”

“Sure they can. At least in Massachusetts. You know that.”

“Damn shame. Best darn husbands you could ever have, if you put the sex on a separate platter. Good dancers, snappy dressers, some of them can even cook. It worked just fine for years. I don’t know what all this new fuss is about. It’s hard enough finding an eligible husband, without the gay ones cutting in on your action.”

“Don’t let the dog eat the dye,” Vicky said behind me. I looked over my shoulder in the mirror at her.

“Good job, Vicky,” I said.

Vicky was one of the developmentally challenged young adults my father hired through Road to Responsibility. We were never quite sure whether he did it to impress my mother in case she happened to hear about it, or because he somehow got a tax break. But they were great to have around. They swept the hair off the floor between customers and dusted the products on the shelves with a feather duster. They always came with a coach, who sat over in the waiting area and read magazines.

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If you asked me, the developmentally challenged young adults were far more productive than their coaches were.

Vicky was our favorite. She had long blond hair, alabaster skin, bow-shaped lips, and Down’s syndrome. She’d had so much coaching that she now coached herself out loud all day long. The best time was when she was in the bathroom. “Just get in and get out,” we’d hear her say through the closed door.

“No fooling around in there. And wash your hands with soap.”

“Be gentle. Don’t squeeze the dog,” she was saying now.

Precious had a row of tiny foils running down the center of her back, and it was Vicky’s job to make sure she didn’t figure out a way to get to them.

Mario finally noticed the foils on Precious. “Geez, Bella, now what are you doing? You shouldn’t even have a dog in here.”

“Dad said it was okay for her to be here,” I said, not that I’d actually asked him. “And tell Todd it didn’t cost us a cent. I had extra bleach left over from my last highlight client.”

“And the point would be?” Mario asked. Esther Williams put on her glasses to check out Mario, while I shook up a giant can of TIGI Bed Head Hard Head Hairspray.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She’s got that wiry terrier under-coat, and her fur’s kind of mousy. I just thought if she had a few highlights, it would tide her over until I can get her some more outfits. I finally got that bridesmaid dress off her. Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy.”

Precious and I had spent most of Sunday and Monday trying to track down the Silly Siren family, but they’d disappeared, lock, stock, and loose cash. The contracts they’d filled out at the Olde Taverne and the Unitarian church where they’d been married were almost completely illegible.

Mario unhooked his BlackBerry from his belt, opened the leather case, and started pushing buttons with his thumbs.

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“You’ll probably get us shut down for animal testing,” he said.

“And there’s a state law against even having dogs in salons, you know.”

“Oh, stop,” I said. “You’re such a drama queen. I read somewhere there’s still a Massachusetts blue law on the books prohibiting the transportation of ice, bees, and Irish moss on Sundays. I mean, how much of this stuff can you really worry about?”

“Hey,” Esther Williams said. “Did anybody tell you folks about the new salon going in across the street? Under the condos, right next to those dentists? Rumor at my tango class is they’re all gays.”

“It’s called The Best Little Hairhouse in Marshbury,” Mario said.

“Seriously?” I said.

Mario nodded. “You’re not planning to start cheating on us now, are you, Esther?”

Esther batted her fresh set of eyelashes. “You’d better keep a close eye on me, big boy.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Mario said. He turned to me. “Just don’t get attached, Bella. You know they’re going to come back for it eventually.”

I looked over at Precious. She was sitting quietly and offering a paw to Vicky. I couldn’t wait to finish up Esther so I could get those foils out before they damaged any fur. Good thing she was small enough to shampoo in one of the sinks, though I probably should do it in the utility sink in the back, instead of in one of the sinks we used for customers. At least if Mario was still here. And I’d use a good conditioner, maybe Redken All Soft Conditioner for Dry and Brittle Hair. And, after that, a touch of John Frieda SOS Magic Anti-Frizz Gloss Serum, just over the highlights, where she couldn’t lick it off.

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“Oh, please,” I said. “I’m so not attached. I only bought a week’s worth of food for her. And she’s not an
it
, by the way.

She’s a
she
.”

Mario looked up from his BlackBerry. “Just make sure you don’t bring her with you tonight.”

I started spraying Esther’s hair, and she started waving her hand back and forth in front of her face. “What’s tonight?” I asked.

“The senate candidates are debating live on
Beantown
at seven? Try reading your schedule once in a while, why don’t you.”

“
Beantown
isn’t my job. It’s . . .” I didn’t even want to say her name, so I just didn’t.

“Sophia can’t do both of them, Bella. Their people don’t want them in the same room before the debate. So they’re setting up a second green room.”

“No way. Send somebody else.”

“Bella, come on. I need you. You’ve already made up the governor, and we didn’t get a complaint.” I realized I was still spraying Esther Williams, who was good to go for at least a month now, even in a hurricane. I put the hairspray down. I ran my hands through my own hair while I tried to think of a good way out. I couldn’t.

“Okay, I’ll do it. As long as I don’t have to be in the same room as you know who. And I want the good candidate this time.”

“Bella, come on. Sophia’s been doing him for years.”

“I’m not even going to touch that line, Mario.” Mario grinned. “Okay. Let me see what I can do.” I unfastened the Velcro on Esther Williams’s cape and lifted it off her. Mario put his hand under her elbow as she stood, and she tilted her head up so she could gaze into his