Daisy gulped her wine. Leave? Todd was leaving her here alone? The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Oh, God, she couldn’t do this.
She had to do this.
Three hours later, on her third glass of wine, she felt as if she had been tortured. Sharp-smelling chemicals had been swabbed on her hair, chemicals that bleached her a bright yellow-white and made her look like a punk rocker who had been frightened by a television evangelist. After that stuff was washed out, then more chemicals were applied with what looked like a paintbrush, on one strand at a time, and each strand was then wrapped to keep it from touching the other strands. She morphed from a punk rocker into something from outer space, wired to receive satellite transmissions.
While this was happening, her eyebrows were waxed—ouch—and she was kept busy receiving both a manicure and a pedicure. Her nails were now all the same length, polished a transparent rose with pale tips. Her toenails, though, sported a wicked shade of red. Daisy tried to remember if she had ever painted her toe-nails before; she didn’t think so, and even if she had, she would have chosen some pale pink shade that was barely noticeable. She would never, never have chosen look-at-me red. The effect was startling—and wonderfully sexy. She kept holding her bare feet up and staring at her red-tipped toes, thinking they didn’t even look like her feet now. Too bad she didn’t have any sandals to show them off. She had some flip-flops, but she couldn’t wear those to work.
At last the torture part was over. She was unwrapped, washed, and deposited in the stylist’s chair once more. After three glasses of wine, Daisy didn’t even wince as Amie set to work with her scissors, snipping industriously away. Long strands of hair slithered to the floor. Daisy finished the last of the wine in her glass and held it out for more.
“Oh, I think you can do without reinforcing, now,” said Todd in a lazily amused voice. “How much wine have you had?”
“That’s just the third glass,” she said righteously.
“Darling, I hope you ate this morning.”
“Of course. And Amie gave me a croissant. Three glasses in three hours isn’t too much, is it?” Her righteousness changed to anxiety. “I’m not tipsy, am I?”
“Maybe a little. Thanks,” he said in an aside to Amie.
Amie, a tall, thin young woman who wore her black hair in a crew cut, smiled at him. “It’s been a pleasure. It would be worth two croissants to see this kind of a change in someone’s appearance.”
Todd lounged against the workstation, dapper in his customary khakis and a blue silk shirt, and watched as Amie used a round brush to shape Daisy’s hair as she dried it Daisy watched too, terrified because she was going to have to do this on her own the next time. It didn’t look complicated, but then neither had mascara.
She had breathed a sigh of relief when the last washing had revealed hair that seemed dark, though she’d been a bit indignant that three hours of torture had had such little result. Why, even the lemon white had at least shown that something had been done to her. As Amie’s hair dryer worked, though, Daisy watched her hair become lighter and lighter. It wasn’t lemon white, but it was definitely blond. Different shades shimmered through it, catching the light with gold here, a pale beige there.
When Amie was finished, she whisked away the cape while Daisy stared openmouthed at her reflection. Her dull, mousy brown hair was a distant memory. This hair was glossy, full of body. It swung when she moved her head, then settled back into place as if it knew exactly where to go. The style was simple, as Todd had promised; the length barely reached her shoulders, the ends were turned under, and the top swept elegantly away from a short side part.
Amie looked incredibly smug. Todd hugged her and kissed her cheek, “You did it. That’s classic.”
“She has good hair,” Amie said, accepting Todd’s tribute and giving him a return kiss on the cheek. “Not much body, but nice strong hair with a smooth cuticle. With the right styling products, there’s no reason she can’t look like this every day.”
It was a good thing Todd was along, because Daisy was in a trance. He made certain she had the styling products Amie recommended, he reminded her to write a check for services rendered—she was so dazed she would have walked out without thinking—and, thank God, he was driving. Daisy didn’t know if it was the wine or just plain shock, but she wasn’t certain her feet were touching the ground.
That was good, because their next stop was at a large mall where she got her ears pierced. It took only a minute—all she felt was a pinch—and the next thing she knew she was walking out with discreet gold hoops in her ears.
For the next four hours, Todd walked her into the ground. She tried on clothes until she was exhausted, and began to see what he meant when he said “old money.” The styles were simple, such as a plain beige skirt worn with a sleeveless white blouse. But the fit was slim, the skirt stopped at her knees, and a narrow belt drew attention to her waist. “Old money is never frou-frou,” he said. “It’s sleek and classic and understated.” She bought shoes, graceful sandals that showed her sexy red toenails, and classic pumps with two-inch heels, in black and taupe. “Never white, darling,” he said firmly. “White is for casual shoes, not pumps.”
“But—”
“No buts. Trust me.”
Because his taste so far had been infallible, in the end, she could do nothing else. And maybe her own tastes had something to do with it, because invariably her own preferences had been his, too. She had just never before had the nerve, or the incentive, to do anything about the way she looked. She had stayed with what was familiar, what was comfortable, what was easy. Looking good was a lot of work, plus she had never really seen herself as pretty or stylish. Beth had always been the pretty one, while Daisy had accepted her own role as the smart, studious one. Maybe she couldn’t be pretty as effortlessly as Beth could, but she was definitely pretty, and it was her own fault she was only now discovering that.