Page 16 of You Spin Me

“You probably go in with a plan, right?”

“Right.”

“So if people are really into a vibe, you don’t take a left turn into another one just because that was the plan.”

“I guess not.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“I guess I do—Shit. Something’s—Fuck. Something’s, uh, wrong on one of the meters. I have to go. I’ve got a problem here I have to figure out. Call me tomorrow?”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Oh, right. No. Uh. Shit, I really have to go. I guess I’ll talk to you Monday.”

“Okay, bye.”

Seems like something I said really threw him off.

Makes me wonder what names little Cal got called.

And if they were similar to the ones hurled at me.

Saturday morningI have to skip my favorite ballet class so I can get to the theater for a costume fitting before rehearsal. Not an equal tradeoff. Not only do I hate missing the workout, but costume fittings are never fun. Either they treat you like just another dress dummy or they fawn over you with fake compliments. When I walk into the costume shop only a few minutes late, the frowns on the faces of the designer and head seamstress threaten to turn this one into a death spiral.

But a genuine smile blooms on the face of the older woman when she sees me. “Come in, my darling. I am Anya.” The seamstress’s Russian accent is as charming as her sparkling blue eyes. “Welcome to my domain.” A gnarled hand tucks a lock of steel gray hair behind her ear before sweeping over the well-organized room. From the sewing machines to the cutting tables, from dress forms to neatly labeled boxes stacked on shelves, everything seems to be in order.

Wanda, the designer, looks up briefly before tracing a finger over one of the sketches on the table. “We have a challenge here.” Her already strained smile presses into a flat line. “Make you plain.”

I shrug out of my coat and give it to Anya when she holds out her hands. “What do you mean? Miles didn’t say anything about that. I mean, I know he doesn’t want Prudence to be too sexy, but… plain?” I aim for a light laugh as I step closer to get a look at the sketches, but even I can hear the panic rising in my voice.

Wanda adjusts the scrunchie holding flyaway blonde hair in a high ponytail, obviously a nervous habit. “We had a design meeting this morning. He thinks you’ll be funnier if you’re not quite so attractive.”

Bile rises from my empty stomach. Going onstage without the armor of good makeup and a nice costume to prop up my appearance feels worse than going onstage naked. People don’t come to the theater to see ugly women.

Wanda groans from behind a rack of dresses. “Believe me, I’m not happy about it. We’d already done some shopping for you.” She pulls a dress, shakes her head, puts it back. “Now I have to start from scratch.”

Anya waves an elegant hand, her voice riding a resigned smile. “Me too.”

“Me three.” I can’t keep the growl out of my voice.

It’s still early in the process, so I don’t quite feel like I own the character. When I try to picture Prudence, it’s like she’s across the room, rather than in the mirror. Closing my eyes, I try to picture her the first time she walks into the restaurant for a blind date. Is it that Prudence thinks she’s attractive but she’s not? Or does she try too hard and make choices that don’t work for her?

Or is she brave enough to be who she is? I’m not sure I can wrap my head around that point of view. To leave the house without applying makeup and styling my hair, without covering my room with discarded outfits because nothing can ever quite fix my body’s silhouette…

But that’s me, not Prudence.

I take a deep breath. There’s no way out of this but forward. “Okay. What’s she going to look like?”

By the end of the fitting, I’m actually kind of excited. Anya clucks a bit, saying it’s a sin to cover up such a perfect figure. I don’t contradict her, even though I know she must be lying. My tits are totally out of proportion to the rest of my body. When Anya finds a dress for me to wear at rehearsals that fits all wrong, along with a sports bra that makes my breasts spread out, the look is so far from my own that it kind of feels safe, like a full body mask that hides my flaws by creating different ones.

Then there’s my hair, the one part of my body that I love. The hair that more than one acting teacher has called a crutch. One even went so far as to challenge me to cut it off to see if I could act without it.

Anya, Wanda and I head into a dressing room to try out some options. We all agree that a bun and glasses are too cliche. When Anya separates my curls to create a thick braid down my back, her touch is comforting, reminding me of my mother’s. She slides a wool cap on and off a few times, and the frizz it creates is classic. Suddenly I’m awkward-looking in a way that I can see supporting the humor of the play. I promise to play around with makeup, too, to go for theDon’tchoices inCosmoinstead of theDos.

My acting job starts here. I need to pretend that I feel good about this choice. It might pay off, anyway. Maybe I’ll actually have a success based solely on my craft. And if I fail, well, I doubt anyone but locals will see the show. Nobody of importance is going to make the trip up here from Boston, especially in winter. “This could be fun.”

Wanda taps Anya on the shoulder. “I win. I told you she wouldn’t be a diva about it.”

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