I bite my lip, nervous and unsure of what exactly I should do after Stu drops my hand.
“I’m thinking Emma Stone with a dash of Sasha Fierce.” He tilts his head and taps his chin.
“Totally.” The woman who must be Kelli steps forward and touches my hair. “Your hair is beautiful. So healthy and long.”
“Thanks,” I say, unsure exactly how to take the compliment.
“It’s a hairdresser’s dream.” Her gaze flicks to Stu’s. “You better give me a solid thirty minutes.”
“Psshh.” He waves her off.
“I’m serious. Get your shit together, Stu. I don’t get hair like that. Ever.”
“Fine.” He drags the word out like a whine before strutting across the small room as if it were a catwalk. “Come, girl. Papa Stu’s gonna take good care of you.”
Kellie gives him a warning glare. “Don’t scare her, either.”
“Now that, I can’t promise.” He turns to stare at my body again and gives a little clap. “You’re perfect. God, I’d die for that figure. Pilates?”
“Oh.” I drop my gaze and wrap my arms around my waist. “I don’t really workout.”
He gasps. “Shut the fuck up.” The words roll off his tongue as if they’re one. “Girl, I so hate you right now.”
It’s a compliment I’m not used to and I don’t know how to respond. I’ve always been called gangly or boyish with my too-long limbs and lack of womanly curves. Thankfully, Stu’s too busy riffling through the containers of clothes to notice or acknowledge my awkwardness. He continues to talk to himself, alternating between cussing and squeals before he turns back with full arms.
“If they’re not the right size we can work with it.” He hands me the clothes and points to a door.
Inside is a private changing area and I strip out of my cutoffs and blouse, trading them for a thin worn white tee with the black vinylRock Chicksplayed across the chest. I don’t have my white bra on, but could grab it from the bus before the meeting. Next I pull up the black cotton skirt.Holy— Okay, I think this is the wrong size. It’s much too short.
A rap at the door causes me to jump. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”
I quickly slide my arms through the jacket, a black fitted woman’s suit with blocks of black satin that bring a sophistication to the simplicity of the design. I leave the mirror and fling open the door before I lose courage.
“Damn . . .” Stu fans his face with his mouth popped open in a wide O.
Kellie’s face spreads wide with a smile. She pats Stu on the shoulder. “Grasshopper, you did good.” She meets my gaze. “Youare fucking hot. My turn.” She pats the chair in front of the vanity.
“Maybe it’s too short?”
“Naw, baby girl. It’s perfect.” Stu’s eyes widen and he jumps up and down as if he’s just had an epiphany. “What size shoe?”
“Nine.” I sit in the chair.
“Tell me you’re putting her in boots.” Kellie spins me to face the mirror and undoes the loose braid in my hair to brush out the strands.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” he smarts before popping open another case. Seriously, how or why they hold a department store of clothing options is beyond me, but I’m thankful. “Short or over the knees?”
“Over the knees,” Kellie decides and then pushes my head forward. “Chin down.” She works with precision and I like that she’s not chatty. It’s comfortable not having to keep up pleasantries. She spins the chair before I catch a glimpse at the curls in my hair and I wonder if that’s on purpose.
“Close your eyes,” she commands, and begins swiping makeup on my face. She doesn’t ask what I want, and I wouldn’t know how to answer anyway. Grams and Gramps never allowed it, so beyond lip gloss, I don’t even know how to apply it properly.
My phone pings from the other room but before I can ask, Stu’s already on it. “Want me to read it to you?”
“Like you haven’t already snooped. She’s not blind.”
“Fine.” I can practically hear his eyes roll. Though the intrusion of privacy would normally feel pushy, there’s something about these two that seems safe.
“Open.” Kellie’s voice softens and my face is free of brushes.
