Page 19 of Pour Decisions
“And now you wear them with a skirt,” she retorts.
“I usually wear one necklace at a time.”
“Yet here there are four.”
“I can’t wear this outfit, Tess.”
“You can, and you will.”
We spend the next half an hour with me protesting most of what Tess wants to do to me, and her winning. I should never have doubted her though, because the result is stunning. I look like me, only better. I look like the me I always want to be but never quite make it to. My hair is curled into loose waves that tumble around my face and down my back. My makeup is barely there, yet still enough to enhance my eyes and lips. She used what felt like too much bronzer but ended up being just the right amount of shimmer on my lids and cheekbones.
It’s almost the polar opposite of how she and Megan dressed me the other night, in a red retro style dress, pairing my hair and makeup accordingly, making me feel like a sexy pin-up girl. Tonight I feel like a Grecian hippy goddess.
“Can you just dress me all the time, please?” I ask.
“Happily.”
I turn back and forth in the full-length mirror, marveling at how I look. Sometimes I feel like Tess missed her calling as a fashion consultant or makeup artist. Or maybe one of those stylists that actors use. Not that she isn’t fantastic with computers, because she is. She writes computer code for games, the kind they use with personal gaming devices. She gets to work remotely, set her own hours, they buy her any piece of computer equipment she wants, and she makes great money. I envy her sometimes.
Most of the time.
All the time.
“Do you want me to drop you off and you can take a Lyft home?” she asks as we make our way outside.
“No, I’ll take my car.”
“Good luck. Have fun. You are beautiful and amazing. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
“I’m not going to be had. I’m just going to apologize. That I look this good is just a bonus.”
“Uh huh, okay. Call me in the morning.”
My mom and grandma are sitting on the porch with their evening cocktails.
“Are you girls going out?” My mom asks.
“Gonna go drown your sorrows in men and booze?” Grandma adds with a wink.
I’d told them about being disqualified earlier in the day, when I couldn’t hide it any longer since I was still at home.
“Actually, I’m going to go apologize to Riggs for the way that I acted this morning.”
“He’s gonna be the one who’s sorry when he sees you in that outfit,” my grandma says.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” my mom says.
“Thanks guys, it’s all Tess,” I protest.
“Every great artist started with a beautiful canvas,” Tess says.
I roll my eyes at her, yet still preen under their praise.
“Wish me luck,” I say as I get into my car, closing the door and starting the engine before I can hear their responses. It would just be more compliments anyway. Any more and I’ll begin to disbelieve, I’m at max capacity for my compliment quotient.
Now it’s just me and my thoughts for the next twenty minutes as I make my way to the hotel. I turn up the music to try to drown them out. The last thing I need is to self-sabotage now. When I so desperately want this to be my moment to shine.
8
