Page 35 of Darling

“Too berries and cream,” Dorothy echoed.

“Too Ann Sather’s,” the drag queen by the door said. “What are you doing with that wild-ass boy?”

“She’s new,” Ominotago remarked, not looking up from her phone.

“Oh, honey, you need to go home,” Bella said in a deeply apologetic tone.

“I know,” Wendy said firmly. “I’m working on it.”

“Oh, never mind. There’s that attitude!” Dorothy screeched, laughing again. “I should have known you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have it.”

Wendy wanted to frown, embarrassed that everyone knew Peter had a type and she apparently fit it. But Dorothy’s fingers were too tight, and her grip was too strong for Wendy to feel comfortable offending her.

“The best disguise is subtle,” Dorothy continued, squinting at Wendy’s face. “If you try to look different, everyone knows you’re trying, and they’ll seek out similarities to what they’re looking for anyway. You’ve got to change the little things.”

Dorothy handed Wendy a hand mirror and started working. She darkened Wendy’s eyebrows with mascara and eyeliner, then contoured her nose to look pointier at the tip and flatter at the bridge. She buffed blush on Wendy’s hand to match to her skin tone, then purposely chose a brighter color and applied it lower on her cheeks than Wendy would have thought would look nice. Dorothy leaned back so Bella could get a look. Bella pursed her lips and nodded, so Dorothy continued.

She wiped the heavy mascara off Wendy’s lashes and replaced it with a set of natural brown false lashes glued farther out from Wendy’s lid than the corner of her eye actually went. Then Dorothy filled the excess space with brown liner with a bit of pink in the corners, like Wendy had seen on ballerinas up close. She contoured underneath Wendy’s chin with brown shadow and dusted only the tops of her cheekbones with a pink-based highlighter. When Wendy looked into the hand mirror Dorothy gave her, she found that she looked almost like a doll, or like someone from a silent film. Dorothy was rough and kept wrenching Wendy’s head around, but she was incredibly talented. Wendy doubted she’d ever look this good again.

“Do you want to keep the hair, or do you want something different?” Dorothy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The hair looks good,” Ominotago interjected unexpectedly. “Suits her.”

Dorothy laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to say that. She won’t take your girl. This one is as straight as—”

That was enough. “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” Wendy said crossly.

Dorothy paused and leaned back. “Honey, I don’t have to do anything.” She lowered her eyelids in warning. “The only reason your little behind is in this chair and not out there in the middle of that cop-infested restaurant is because I will it to be so. Do you hear me?”

Bella clicked her tongue.

“And the only reason I will it to be so,” Dorothy continued, crossing her legs, “is because it’s not my way to leave children out where the wolves can get them. Do you understand?”

Wendy glared and gritted her teeth but answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, you are out of your depth and out of your territory, and you are receiving a service far more expensive than you could ever afford. So when I ask you whether you want something done with your hair, you say yes, ma’am, or no, ma’am. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wendy said. Her cheeks were burning, but thankfully Bella was looking politely away.

“So,” Dorothy snapped, “are we gonna brush out this nest into something worth wearing, or are you too stubborn to take kind unless it’s wrapped up like a Christmas present?”

Wendy took a deep breath and tried her best not to sound sassy. “May you please do my hair as well, Ms. Dorothy?” she asked evenly. Eleanor would have been proud.

Dorothy clapped once very loudly and smiled wide. “Of course, I will!” she said. “But you have to close your eyes.”

Wendy sat still in the chair, eyes clenched, for the next twenty minutes. At first she sat in muted rage from the talking-to she’d just received, then later to keep the tears of pain inside from Dorothy’s rough brushing and the jabbing of pins. She promised herself that she wasn’t going to do anything elaborate with her hair and makeup for at least a year. She didn’t care if Eleanor’s hot friend Montana would think she looked gross. Two makeovers in one night was two makeovers too many. She swore Dorothy had wiped her makeup off with pure rubbing alcohol, and Tinkerbelle’s backcombing had probably given her a lifetime’s worth of split ends. She also kept hearing the other queens making commentary, but Ominotago hadn’t said a word since Wendy had closed her eyes. She was almost afraid the other girl had left—but she hadn’t heard the dressing room door open and close. Wendy heard a crinkling noise and felt hard presses from Dorothy’s fingers, then she received a spray of something that smelled floral in a fresh and expensive way, and then Dorothy patted her shoulder hard.

“You can open your eyes,” Dorothy said.

Wendy swiveled in her chair to face the mirror.

Dorothy had brushed the crunchy ringlets Tinkerbelle had given her into soft, cinematic, fluffy waves that framed Wendy’s face prettily. She had gathered the top half of the back into two loose braids by Wendy’s ears and pinned it so that the hair fell back over her shoulders, curling playfully at the ends. Even though Dorothy was white, it was immediately clear that she had worked with Black hair before, and the difference in skill between her work and Tinkerbelle’s was dramatic. Then, ever the master of detail, Dorothy had tucked sprays of baby’s breath and dried leaves in a crown, through the braids and over the top of Wendy’s head, a touch so delicate and tasteful that it was immediately clear to Wendy that Dorothy had spent her life learning this: the art of beauty. Wendy gasped softly and finally saw a genuine smile bloom on Dorothy’s face like a morning glory. Wendy reached up to touch her hair in disbelief, but Dorothy smacked the back of her hand softly.

“Oh, Dorothy.” The queen by the door swooned. “She looks like a wedding in the spring.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Dorothy said gently. “Like Aida Overton Walker. Look her up when you get home, dear.”

Ominotago looked impressed, as well. She put her phone down and rested her chin in her hands to watch Wendy watch herself.