“I checked, too,” Jazz said when she arrived to pick me up for our trip into Savannah. “There was nothing.”
We were spending the day at the spa where Colt’s friend Karina had set up my appointments. I had begged and pleaded over the phone to bring Jazz, and they’d finally said she could come and they’d try to fit her in for either hair or makeup. I was reluctant to go at all, but Jazz speared me with a sharp look. I could see she wanted to say something like I might be photographed, so I needed to look my best. But in the end she settled with, “It would be a shame to ruin Mrs. Weaton’s fabulous dress with mediocre waitress hair.”
I thumped her on the arm, and Joey laughed at us as we made plans to meet back at the house. The Westin was sending one of their vans to pick us up. Colt and his date, Karina were going to meet us there.
The day passed in a blur. I was primped and prepped. My hands, my feet, my hair, my makeup. I did agree with Jazz, after hearing about my dress they did an awesome job with my hair. It was waved and swept down over one ear then tied in a beautiful swirl, low on the side of my head. They used a tiny silver band that peaked out across my forehead before it hid back in the smooth, silky do. I felt like an old-timey Hollywood starlet, and I actually felt good. I didn’t enjoy the amount of spray they had to use to keep it from coming loose, however. The make-up was flawlessly done. With deep kohl swept eyes, I hardly recognized myself.
“Wow,” said Jazz when my chair was turned around.
“Wow, yourself,” I said. They’d curled large cascading waves into Jazz’s long blonde hair and tied half of it up with a loose and elegant braid. She would be wearing a red floaty dress that was sure to hit my brother like a blow to the head.
My heart thudded in a melancholic stupor when I thought of not sharing all this with Jack. I gritted my teeth and swallowed down the sadness.
We drove home, with the windows up, barely moving for fear of the painted illusion sliding off of us. We turned the radio on full blast, and listening to Blondfire, tapped our fingers and toes in muted enthusiasm.
At five, the three of us stood in our kitchen drinking celebratory Prosecco out of Nana’s old wide necked champagne glasses that I’d managed to find and dust off.
“Here’s to the first of many evenings celebrating my talented sister’s artistic endeavors.” Joey, dressed in a rented tuxedo, raised his glass and we drank. I’d told him he didn’t have to wear black-tie, but he was adamant.
“Yoo hoo!” Mrs. Weaton called, entering the kitchen dressed in an elegant violet dress. “Don’t start without me!”
“Mrs. Weaton, I thought you were going to call me so I could escort you across the yard,” Joey admonished and leaned down to kiss her papery cheek.
“Oh, honey, the dress is fabulous on you,” she crowed toward me. “Look at you stunning girls.”
“Thank you.” I smiled. The dress really had turned out perfectly. I was about as comfortable as I could imagine being, considering I was about to step out in public and embark on having a public persona. It occurred to me then, if I was going to be successful, I would have my own critics to deal with. Sure, it would be on a smaller scale than Jack’s. But people’s opinions, good or bad, factual or misguided, of me and my art were going to be a reality, regardless of Jack being in my life.
“Are the rest of them here yet?” Mrs. Weaton asked.
“Liz had a babysitting problem. Cooper, Vern, and Jasper are meeting us there. So is Colt. So I guess it’s just us four.” I shrugged. “Let’s sit on the porch and wait for the van.”
As we stepped outside, the black mini bus from the Westin pulled into the driveway, the low hanging Spanish moss brushing over it. And another car showed up behind it and out climbed Paulie, Brenda, and Hector.
“What?” I stuttered. “Who’s running the Grill?”
“That’s the first thing you think of?” said Paulie stiffly. He was dressed in a tan, wrinkled suit, and his grey hair was combed neatly into a low queue. “You seriously think we’d let our very own Keri Ann go and take on the world without our support?” He puffed. “Stuck a sign in the window.”
My eyes welled.
“Nope, no.” Jazz flapped her hands madly in front of my face. “No you don’t!”
“Sorry.” I sniffed, then laughed through my tears, and gingerly hugged everyone.
“Faith’s coming, too,” said Jazz. “We’re all going to be here to support you, okay? But for God’s sake don’t ruin that makeup. Let’s blot.”