Cheapskate in Love

chapter 23





While Helen went to slip into the second outfit, Sandra began to think about what jewelry, if any, would be appropriate.

“She shouldn’t wear much jewelry,” said Sandra, thinking aloud. “He wants to see flesh, bare flesh. Lots of it. There shouldn’t be much concealing that.”

“Sparkling stuff would make him break out in a sweat,” added Joan. “That cheapo would think about insurance and how much it costs. He’d tremble with fear at the thought of having to buy more expensive jewelry to please her.”

“You’re right. But I think a necklace might pull his eyes to her chest. Something with a little glimmer would, let us say, advertise her assets better.”

“He’d look there anyway, necklace or no necklace,” Joan said. “He’s not exactly the discreet type. He probably dates like he’s searching for fresh fruit, looking for the biggest melons.”

“True, but if she had a necklace, he could pretend he was admiring it and look there more often,” said Sandra, thoughtfully. “I’m going to look for necklaces. And I think she should wear pearl earrings, too. Simple, small ones would add some youthful glow to her face. Big pearl earrings would make her look like my mother-in-law, a dowager if there ever was one.”

“Does your daughter have simple jewelry?”

“Simple’s not her style, but she was prepared for any occasion, even a picnic with Amish people. I just have to find where she put things.”

While Sandra began to pull out shallow drawers that had been built into the closet expressly for the purpose of storing jewelry, Joan wandered to the section where approximately fifty wigs were displayed. They were a variety of colors, including unnatural ones like blue and yellow, and many different styles—luxuriant curls, Egyptian cut, beehive, a huge braid à la Rapunzel, and many more.

“Did you daughter ever wear these wigs?” Joan asked.

“Yes. All the time. She thought an actress always had to surprise people, so she would use them to disguise herself. She would even talk in strange accents. A few times I didn’t recognize her. Once, at a fundraising gala, where we had gone separately, an Irish woman came up to me, or so I thought she was. This woman talked merrily in a brogue that was barely understandable. She was dressed in a screaming plaid with a pile of orange hair on her head. I was sure she was Irish. After gabbing for a good ten minutes about everything and nothing, she asked for money to buy some more drinks. I told her to get away and go back to Ireland where she belonged. That’s when she dropped the disguise, and I realized it was my daughter.”

“Did you give her any money?”

“Absolutely not. I told her she was not going to have multiple drinks in my presence with my help. But it made no difference. She immediately got what she wanted from her father. That’s not the kind of father I had.”

Joan’s attention had drifted from Sandra’s tale to the wigs. She lifted one with long, wavy, blonde hair from its display stand and tried it on in front of the dressing table in the bedroom. “This doesn’t look bad,” she said. The abundance of blonde hair did something to her appearance that she liked. Naturally, she was a medium-dark brunette and only used dye to conceal grey hairs. Her straight hair was never allowed to touch her shoulder. With the wig, she looked like a different person, a very different person.

Still busy searching through the jewelry, Sandra turned to look at her. “It’ll certainly get Bill’s attention,” she said. “That’s the hairstyle centerfolds mostly have. I’m sure he knows how they look.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” replied Joan. Actually, she had been thinking something else. “It’ll give Bill a whole new opinion of Helen, since she’s so set on having him.” Joan took off the wig and threw it on the bed. “Let’s see if there’s some more that would help her.” Ostensibly she was looking for Helen, but secretly she was eager to see how different wigs became her. The way that the blonde wig had changed her appearance was a small revelation. The change went beyond her looks. She felt it affect her personality, her thoughts, even her desires.

While they were ransacking the jewelry and wigs, Helen re-entered the bedroom in her bare feet, wearing the strapless dress and jacket, looking rather pleased. The others stopped what they were doing. Without any theatrical introduction, she gave them a full view of the outfit, turning around so they could see all sides. “I think this’ll do,” she said. Although she expressed herself with restraint, she was deeply happy with how elegant the clothes were and how well they fit. She had never worn such finely made, beautiful clothing. She thought that if these were the types of clothes she had to wear to impress Bill, the adventure would be a pleasure.

Sandra and Joan took a long, hard look at her.

“This could work, but you need to put on heels,” said Sandra.

“And a wig,” said Joan.

“And some simple jewelry, like a necklace and earrings,” said Sandra.

“And makeup,” added Joan.

“And you need to lift your chest,” continued Sandra.

“And you need to swing your hips when you walk,” declared Joan.

“I have to do all of that?” exclaimed Helen. Her happiness became clouded at the thought of all the extra fuss.

“Yes,” asserted Sandra and Joan, simultaneously and loudly.

“Bill won’t be bowled over by a pretty dress alone,” remarked Sandra. “After you get his attention—that’s just the first step—you’re going to have to use every means in your power to hold his interest.”

“It’ll be easy to shock him,” said Joan. “This dress looks fantastic on you, and even he will notice. But you’ll need to pull him in with other tricks, other allurements to keep him under your charm.”

“Yet you shouldn’t look fake or act artificial,” explained Sandra. “A natural glamour is the most potent.”

“The French know the art of seduction best,” enthused Joan. “And we’re going to help you out-French the French at entrapment and fill Bill with l’amour fou, crazy love. He’ll be crazy about you.”

Joan ran to fetch a few wigs for Helen to try on, while Sandra began to give Helen lessons on how to walk. Helen was ambivalent about what they wanted her to do. It all seemed too deceptive, too laborious, too unnatural, too much. It didn’t seem to her that they were giving instructions in any true French seduction skills, either. Yet she played along with what they advised. She practiced walking as they demonstrated, swaying at the hips with an uplifted chest. When she put on the high-heeled shoes they selected for her, she had to learn how to walk all over again, because they were the highest heels she had ever worn and she wobbled with every step. The simplest task they gave her was wearing jewelry she could never afford, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

While they decided which wig complemented the outfit she had on, she sat patiently at the dressing table in front of the mirror. The wig they chose was a mass of straight black hair, which they coiled into a chignon and adorned with a large mother of pearl hairpiece. They left some strands loose, because they said that made her look younger. They called the look sultry Spanish señorita and said that no man could resist overt Spanish sexuality. Bill would be in flames at once. Helen thought it more likely that Bill would mistake her for a cleaning lady, who didn’t have time to fix her hair properly, but the wig did give her a foreign appearance, which she thought might appeal to him.

Although Helen was still possessed by lurking reservations about the entire endeavor, Sandra and Joan were becoming more and more excited. They were impatient to complete Helen’s transformation, because they could see how much she was already altered. Before they put makeup on her, which was the final step, they told her to turn around, away from the mirror, because they wanted her to be surprised.

“I think I’ve had enough surprises for one day,” she remarked. “From now on, I’m going to be more careful about what I let you two talk me into.”

“Stop being a spoilsport,” they told her. They repeated again and again how good she looked, how much she was changed, how sure they were her new look would win Bill over. Helen had known them for so long she could tell their compliments were sincere. She began to believe that maybe they were correct in their expectations, so she turned around and let them apply makeup. Their application was a little heavy-handed. The amount of eyeliner was excessive; the eye shadow was too dark; and the lips were coated with too bright a shade of scarlet. But the overall effect was exotic, with a wisp of Spanish intolerance and cruelty to it, which Sandra and Joan thought was the perfect ploy to attract and subdue Bill’s unruly, undeserving self. They were both pleased at the youthful appearance of elegance and control that Helen displayed with the complete ensemble.

“You have become another woman,” Sandra announced.

“I was happy with who I was,” said Helen.

“But now Bill will like you better, a whole lot better,” said Joan.

“Take a look,” said Sandra. “And tell us who you see.”

Helen turned around, so she could look into the mirror. She gazed at her image or, more precisely, at where she knew her image should be, for at first she didn’t recognize the person staring back at her. She had never worn such heavy makeup, but it didn’t look out of place with the wig, the jewelry, and the outfit. She didn’t dislike what she saw, but she couldn’t say that she liked it either. She wasn’t sure how she felt about her new appearance.

“Bill is in for a big surprise,” she said, after a while.

“Once he lays eyes on you, it’s over for him,” Sandra said.

“I almost feel sorry for him,” remarked Joan. “Not because I care about him—sorry, Helen—but because he won’t be able to escape. You’ll cast a spell, unbreakable, on him, like in a fairy tale.”

Half an hour later, all three women were standing in Sandra’s bedroom, which was finely furnished with French flair, in front of a tall, three-sided mirror. There, Helen could better see the full effect of another complete makeover, which she had been given. She wore black leather pants, a florescent-pink top with a deep V-neck, a beaded jean jacket, spiked shoes, a long, gold-chain necklace with a big cross, and the blond, centerfold-style wig. Her makeup was very light in comparison to the previous ensemble. She looked like a young rock star. It was the first time in her life that she had ever looked that way. In her youth, her parents had dressed her in modest, traditional clothes, and she had kept that style. She had never aspired to be a rock singer or play in a rock band. She had rarely listened to that type of music at any point in her life.

As she stood silently in front of the mirror, turning to the right and left, critically examining herself, Sandra and Joan were standing a little to the rear. She could see from their reflections that they were shaking their heads again and again in approval.

“This outfit is perfect for church,” joked Sandra. “You should wear it tomorrow.”

“I don’t think so,” replied Helen.

“The cross gives it the ecumenical touch that is so popular with young people today, just like it was in the middle ages,” continued Sandra.

“If Jesus were alive today, he’d dress like a rock star,” said Joan, picking up where Sandra’s irreverent wit left off. “Although he probably wouldn’t wear clothing as nice as this.” Dressing up Helen had stimulated Joan and Sandra’s creativity, and their imaginations were taking flight.

Helen let them talk on, while she examined her image some more. Her new appearance was becoming less strange to her, and she could imagine the probable effect that it would have on Bill. He was the type who was dazzled by appearances of youth, and the height of current fashions for the young was a rock-and-roll sensibility, a casual, sexual identity, formed out of unrestrained self-indulgence. What she wore channeled that sensibility. Perhaps, she was drawn to these clothes and the life style they implied, because they were so contrary to her usual conventional, rather conservative behavior and dress. Whatever she felt about them though, she was certain that they would be very attractive to Bill.

“I like this,” she said. Still looking at herself in the mirror, she began to play with the cross on the chain.

“I’m going to try something on,” blurted out Joan. She had been amazed for a while at how different Helen appeared and wanted to see what would happen, if she dressed up as well.

“You’re married,” Sandra told her. “You don’t need to nab someone.”

“So? Can’t I have some fun?” replied Joan. “Why should I have to look like a grandmother, while Helen gets to look like she’s twenty-five again. Really, she looks better now than when she was twenty-five.”

“I do not,” denied Helen. She looked carefully at her cosmetically enhanced face. “Maybe thirty-five.”

“This is unfair,” insisted Joan. “I want to look thirty-five, too. I want a new guy running after me.”

Sandra was about to tell her she had enough to be satisfied with, but she paused. After a moment’s consideration, she said, “You’re right. Helen shouldn’t be the only one who gets to look young again and have a good time.” Although Sandra was ashamed at how much her daughter had spent on clothes and accessories, there had been times when she’d seen her daughter in one of her extravagant outfits and thought how good she looked in it. Joan’s words had unleashed her secret desire to try on a young persona. “Let’s find some stuff for ourselves,” she said to Joan. “There’s plenty to choose from.”

Together Joan and Sandra hurried back to the other bedroom, leaving Helen in front of the mirror, twirling the gold cross, looking at her image and imagining what the effect would be on Bill.

She yelled after them, “You two better not take anything that I want. I’m the one who needs it, not you copycats.” Pulling herself away from the mirror, she ran after them.

Like a whirlwind that picks up and mixes together whatever lies in its reach, the women stormed through the closet, trying on and tossing aside pieces of clothing. Sometimes they even fought playfully over an article in their quests for the most flattering, unusual, youthful costume they could find. They jostled each other in front of mirrors, while they were arranging wigs, applying makeup, and posing. Sandra and Joan did not fit into the clothes as easily as Helen did, but their body types were similar enough to that of Sandra’s daughter that they could wear most of the clothing. To compensate for their reduced choices from the wardrobe, they searched harder and made more of a mess.

After an hour of changing and exchanging outfits, each woman had found the wildest, yet most suitable, vision of youth for herself. They glowed with intense satisfaction at their metamorphoses. Calmly, all three stood in front of the large mirror in Sandra’s bedroom, with Helen in the middle, admiring their reflections. They were like three butterflies, perched on flowers, gently moving their splendiferous, multicolored wings in the air, gems of nature in summer on display.

“It’s time to talk strategy for tomorrow,” declared Sandra, with a determined glint in her eyes. The ominous note in her voice was a jarring contrast to their marvelous makeovers, which made them seem fancy, fun-loving, and free.

Helen and Joan nodded their heads darkly in agreement, and the eyes of all three locked together in conspiracy.