“Come on.” Lola steered Scarlett in front of the mirror. “Let me fix your hair.”
For a non-curly-haired person, Lola could handle Scarlett’s anarchist hair with surprising skill. More products were pulled from the magic drawer. A curl was pulled out here, scrunched up there. Two types of fine mist were sprayed, and a small amount of a light-as-air waxy substance was snapped over the tips.
“Perfect,” Lola said. “Why don’t you try out the makeup I got you yesterday? That red lipstick would be fabulous with this. I’m going to go tell Marlene what’s going on.”
Scarlett twisted up the lipstick as Lola went next door. She heard the whole conversation through the wall.
“Guess what!” Lola said. “Scarlett’s going to take you today!”
This had exactly the effect that Scarlett had predicted.
“Why?”
“Because I have to go somewhere with Chip.”
“Where?”
Marlene had a journalist’s instinct for questioning.
“Just somewhere.”
“I want you to take me,” Marlene said. “It’s TV.”
Scarlett resented the implication that she was somehow less worthy to sit in a studio audience than (the admittedly photogenic) Lola, but she was used to this kind of thing from Marlene. She twisted the lipstick open and carefully tapped it against her lower lip. The color was strong.
“Come on,” Lola said coaxingly. “It’ll be just as good.”
“No, it won’t.”
“My little sister loves me so much,” Scarlett said quietly to the mirror. “I am her favorite.”
There were general moans of protest now. A low whine. These were coupled with soothing words from Lola as she tried to tame Marlene into submission. Scarlett rolled her eyes. Only Marlene could throw a temper tantrum about who was going to take her on one of her countless interesting trips.
“It’s a favor,” Scarlett heard Lola say. “Just for me. I’ll tell you what. You go with Scarlett today and, later this week, I’ll bring you into the store and get you a makeover. Deal?”
There was a pause and a banging around of what Scarlett assumed was the curling iron. Hopefully Marlene wasn’t trying to scorch a hole in the wall with it to stare at her through. It wouldn’t have surprised her, though.
“Fine,” Marlene finally said. “I have to finish my hair.”
Lola returned, a mask of placid innocence on her face.
“She’s trying to look like you,” Lola said, smoothing down her dress. “You should be flattered.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what she’s doing.”
“That lipstick is perfect,” Lola said, deftly switching subjects. “Told you. You really need to go for bolder colors. You have the skin and the hair for it. Some people spend thousands of dollars a year and fry their hair to a crisp trying to get your shade of blonde or those kind of curls.”
Lola was always sincere. That’s why it was hard to deny her anything.
“Speaking of frying hair, you should probably keep an eye on her,” Scarlett said, running the lipstick over her bottom lip one more time. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
Scarlett was poking around in her closet for some shoes when her phone rattled on the dresser. It was the front desk.
“Get down here now,” her mother whispered urgently. “Now—now. Whatever you’re doing, drop it.”
There was something in her voice that told Scarlett this was no drill. She shoved on a pair of flip-flops and ran.
A GUEST ARRIVES
There was no one behind the desk when Scarlett answered the emergency call—and no one had put out the WE’VE JUST STEPPED AWAY. PLEASE RING THE BELL FOR SERVICE! sign.
“Mom?” Scarlett said, hoisting herself up and looking over the desk.
Her mother was not crouching underneath.
Scarlett looked around in bafflement, then went behind the desk and sat down.
A tall woman suddenly stepped from behind the archway leading to the dining room. She had short, deep brown hair, cut through with an even darker streak, like a chipmunk. She wore skinny jeans on the bottom and a pink kimonolike shirt on top. Scarlett had seen lots of similar items in Chinatown, but there was something about the way the material hugged her form so gracefully, how the pink was soft and muted instead of super shiny…something told her that this was the real deal. Silk. Thick silk. Many worms had given all they had to make that shirt.
The woman was standing with her fisted hands planted on her hips. Something about her stance suggested that at any moment she might raise her arms above her head and superhero it right through the ceiling and every consecutive floor until she hit the sky.
Both Scarlett and the woman stared a bit on seeing each other.
“Did you just call me mom?” the woman said.
“Not you,” Scarlett said quickly. “My mom…is here.”
“Your mother is here?” the woman said, looking around.
“Not right now.”
“But she’s staying here?”
“No.”
“Should you be behind that desk?” the woman asked.
“Do you need help?” Scarlett replied.