AT 8:30 SATURDAY MORNING, Mr. Roman of Mr. Roman’s House of Beauty, on Elmora Avenue, circled Miri, who sat in his chair. She was about to splurge on an Elizabeth Taylor cut, shampoo and set. Rusty, a big believer in long hair, would kill her if she knew. When Rusty caught her leaving the house so early, Miri had her excuse ready. “I’m going to the library,” she’d said.
“Be careful,” Rusty told her.
Did that mean don’t let any planes crash into you? Did it mean don’t let the aliens turn you into a zombie? Or did it mean look both ways before you cross the street and don’t talk to strangers?
Mr. Roman’s House of Beauty was already busy, with two women under the dryers, two more getting shampooed, and a second hair-cutter at work. The manicurist was polishing the nails of a lady Miri thought she recognized from the junior department at Levy Brothers.
Mr. Roman held up sections of Miri’s hair. “Nice,” he said. “Some natural wave, but you’ll have to set the new cut in pin curls at night. Are you sure about this?” He was making Miri nervous. Was he trying to talk her out of cutting her hair? “Because once I start,” he said, “there’s no turning back.”
“But how do you think it will look?” Miri asked, hoping for reassurance.
He kissed the tips of his fingers. “Fabuloso.”
Was that an Italian word? If so, did it mean what it sounded like? Either way, the decision was made. Mr. Roman picked up his scissors and, snip snip snip, the process began. Was she making a big mistake or would she leave the shop looking like Elizabeth Taylor in A Place in the Sun?
She stuffed two pieces of Fleer’s Dubble Bubble into her mouth, then blew bubbles so big they burst against her cheeks, until Mr. Roman told her he found such a habit distracting and not worthy of a lovely young lady. Under the dryer she read Silver Screen and Photoplay. Ava Gardner was on the cover of both.
Two hours later she paid with her babysitting money, trying not to think about the Fosters. Would they approve of her spending the money they’d paid her for watching Penny and Betsy on a haircut, while Betsy was being treated for severe burns and Mr. and Mrs. Foster were keeping a vigil at her bedside? Was she a terrible person for thinking of how she looked when they still didn’t know if Betsy would live or die?
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she left the beauty parlor and at first wasn’t sure who it was. She looked older, but nothing like Elizabeth Taylor. She shouldn’t have let Mr. Roman use hairspray. She hated hairspray. She walked home without her hat, letting the cold winter wind whip her hair around. Before going inside she ran her fingers through it and checked herself in the mirror of her Volupté compact, a birthday present from Leah. That was better.
At home she’d have to hurry to get ready. Frekki was picking her up at 11:30. She prayed Rusty wouldn’t hear her come in—anything to avoid an argument today. It was laundry day, vacuuming day—Miri was responsible for her room, which she’d cleaned last night.
But just as she opened the front door Rusty was coming up from the basement with the laundry basket. Miri braced for the worst.
“Cute,” Rusty said, barely looking at her, which threw Miri for a loop. This was so unlike the reaction she’d expected, it worried her.
When she was almost ready, in her cashmere sweater and pencil skirt, Rusty brought her the strand of pearls her parents had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Pearls, even though Rusty’s father had lost his business and was working behind the counter for next to nothing at his friend’s bakery. Miri knew about the pearls, but until now, Rusty had never offered to let Miri wear them, and Miri had never asked.
Today, Miri thought, Rusty was trying to send Frekki a message. See how well I’ve managed without any of you? See the daughter I raised without your help, in her cashmere sweater and expensive pearls?
“Be yourself,” Rusty said, giving her an extra long hug.
Miri understood. Make me proud. This woman with the yellow Cadillac is nothing. She’s no better than us. Remember that.
—
INSIDE, the yellow Cadillac smelled of leather, like new shoes. Miri had never been in a Cadillac. Even the Osners didn’t drive a Cadillac. Not that Corinne didn’t want one, but Dr. O had a patient with an Oldsmobile dealership who gave him a good deal, so that was that.