Page 16 of The Wilder Widows

“It’s so shiny!” Doris said while she peered out the tinted window of our limo. “Everything sparkles!”

“I think I’m going to have a seizure.” Marge shielded her eyes from the perceived assault.

“I came here once with Bruce. He got hammered and lost fifteen thousand dollars of our life savings.” Sylvie rolled her brown eyes and slumped back against the seat. “He was such an asshole.”

Laughing, I pulled myself away from the window and turned to the three ladies sitting across from me. “Welcome to my home.”

“Wilder Lane is your home.” Doris frowned.

“No. Wilder Lane is where I’ve lived, but Vegas...” I sighed and let my gaze drift back out the window, “Vegas is my home.”

“So, you haven’t been back in how many years?”

I didn’t want to say it. Saying it only reminded me of how old I’d become. How far away I was from the starry-eyed girl who’d arrived on these streets with dreams of fame and fortune. Dreams of applause and admiration. Dreams that I once again dared to let flicker back to life inside me. “Over forty years.”

“Cripes, you’re old.” Marge chuckled.

“Shut it, Marge. I still look good, and that’s a hell of a lot more than I can say for you.”

She crossed her arms, and her scowl only deepened the creases on her drooping face. I often wondered when I looked at them what my face would look like if I’d followed in their footsteps and aged naturally. Just the thought of lines on my taut skin sent a shudder coursing through my spine. No. Not me. Being a dancer, there were many things in life I was graceful at, but aging wasn’t one of them. I’d be clinging to my youth for as long as my doctors could continue fighting the gravity trying to pull down every inch of me.

While I looked across them, I wondered what they would look like if they would only listen to my fashion advice. Doris and Marge hadn’t changed a bit since I’d met them, and Sylvie, while much better looking and younger than the others, was also terribly out of style. I stared at the sea of colored cardigans and slacks across from me, then I smiled.

“I have an idea,” I said while visions raced through my mind.

“Why are you looking at us like that?” Sylvie stared back at me.

“We’re getting makeovers.”

“Makeovers? Oh no. No, no, no.” Marge shook her head, and soon Doris joined.

“Oh, come on, ladies! This journey is about doing something different. Exciting. New. What better way to start it off than with a new look?”

Sylvie pursed her lips and gave me a contemplative shrug. “I have been thinking about a new hairstyle.” She tucked a piece of her limp long hair behind her ear. It shimmered with a blend of grey and her natural blonde. “Maybe a little shorter? With layers?”

“Yes! I love that!” I nodded enthusiastically.

“I haven’t changed my hair in thirty years.” Doris shook her head. “I like it like this.”

“Doris, you look like the old maid from the card game. It’s time for a change.”

Marge snorted. “That’s who you remind me of! I could never put my finger on it.”

“I do not look like the old maid!”

We all looked to Sylvie for her opinion. She tilted her head while she appraised her. “You look exactly like my grandma, who also looked like the old maid. Sorry, Doris.”

Doris scoffed and touched the bouffant of hair knotted into a bun on top of her head. “But it’s how I’ve always worn it.”

“Exactly.” I pointed. “We’re changing things up. Starting with your looks. James?” I called through the open window to the driver.

“Yes, Miss Addington?”

“Take us to Barneys, please.”

“Of course, Miss Addington.”

Marge shook her head, and the mop of dark grey hair brushed her eyebrows with the movement. “I’m not getting a makeover.”