Laurel blinked and glanced down at her happy face shirt. Lolly was right. She did need to change—not into anything sexy, of course, but something more appropriate for company.
She rose from the chair. “Okay, and you can borrow one of my dresses if you want to. I think I have a few that would work, but they’d be ankle-length on you.”
“Me? This shirt will do me just fine. Dad sees me every day, but you”—she smiled again—“you’re special.”
Laurel passed Lolly’s comment off with a laugh, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Had Jase fantasized about her over the years like she had about him? She’d thought there was an immediate reconnection on both sides when he visited her yesterday, but was it for real?
But she really should get into a nicer outfit. All the way up the stairs, her forebears agreed, especially Erasmus’s first wife, who was supposed to have been something of a stickler for convention. She probably needed to be, with those four roguish-looking daughters.
Laurel anointed herself with the last of Mama’s Chanel body cream, changed to fresh underwear—as if anyone would be able to tell—and slipped into a cream-colored trousers outfit she’d bought years ago on a shopping trip to Dallas. It was fairly conservative, covering everything quite well, although the fabric was somewhat clingy. Pearl drops went in her ears, and she draped a triple loop of pearls around her neck.
Now for her face. It had been a couple of years since she’d used anything more than lipstick and sunscreen, but, sorting through her dressing table drawer, she located some mascara and a compact of eye shadow. That should do the trick. Or did it? She studied herself in the mirror. She looked so—so commonplace. Lolly wanted her to look sexy…and maybe Jase did too.
She undid the two top buttons of her blouse. Her mother’s soft voice immediately told her that people expected more modesty and less exposure from a minister’s daughter.
Maybe she should rebutton.
On the other hand, Mama always worried about what people thought, and it killed her in the end.
Laurel moved her hand away from her neckline and released her ponytail. Another minute to fix her hair and she’d be ready. She picked up her comb and looked in the mirror.
Darn! The rubber band had crimped her up! She wet a comb and tried to repair the damage in the bathroom mirror.
Quick footsteps came down the hall and paused just outside her door. “You decent?”
Laurel moved back into the bedroom. “I’m dressed, Lolly. Come on in.”
“I just thought I’d come check”—Lolly blinked in surprise—“You look hot!” She reached out to touch Laurel’s sleeve. “I love the feel of the fabric—and the way it moves.” Stepping back, she looked her hostess up and down, frowning as she focused on her hair.
“We need to do something about your—um—coiffure. You sit down and I’ll be right back. I never go anywhere without my hair stuff.”
A second later, she returned with a bathroom towel over her shoulder and her arms overflowing with salon supplies, all of which she dumped on Laurel’s bed.
Laurel stared at the pile: scissors, shampoo, conditioner, a blow dryer, giant containers of styling gel, mousse and hair spray, and what looked like an industrial-sized curling iron. No wonder there wasn’t any room in Lolly’s backpack for a change of clothes.
“Uh, I have my own curling iron and blow dryer,” she ventured in a weak voice, eying the black-and-chrome mechanism Lolly was plugging into the electrical socket on the wall. That thing looked lethal.
Lolly pinned a bathroom towel around Laurel’s neck. “You just stay still and let me take care of everything.” She waved the curling iron around for emphasis. “I do all my friends’ hair and they love it.” Combing through Laurel’s hair, she lifted tresses here and there to examine them. “You’ve been cutting it yourself, haven’t you?’
“I didn’t want to bother going to the hairdresser’s.” She didn’t want to spend the money, Besides, Saundra Schlossnagel Crosswaithe, who’d taken over Ooh La La Salon and Boutique when her mother developed Parkinson’s, had sent her a registered letter telling her they would no longer welcome her patronage.
“It’s uneven.” Lolly reached for her scissors. “I’ll, like, take care of that. Just a snip here and there.”
Laurel started to protest, but Lolly was already cutting.
“There, I’ve fixed it,” she announced. “All you needed was a little trim. Now for the fun part.”
Laurel watched in the mirror as Lolly worked a glob of foamy mousse into her hair, then picked up the comb and smoothed out the bangs, blending them to the side. A few deft twists of the curling iron and Laurel’s shoulder-length bob became a graceful cascade turned slightly under at the tips, with one purposefully errant strand going against the tide.
Lolly stepped back to pouf the hairdo with spray. “Check it out. Wiggle your head a little.”