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“Definitely in the Gucci sphere,” she said.
“Shit. I’m not sure I own anything fancy enough to even walk through the doors.”
“You do.”
“I’m so ready to make this happen,” I said. “I’ll just pretend I’m fancy.”
We finished our salads and headed home separately. I walked through the door and was immediately met with an angry meow from Handcock.
“What now?” I asked him. “You are seriously so needy.”
“He was doing that when I walked in too,” Trisha said from her room.
“This is why I cannot be a cat lady,” I said. I dropped my dry cleaning on the back of the couch and freshened his food and water.
“Why?” Trisha asked.
“Because I’m not entirely convinced I like cats,” I said with a sigh.
“You are such a liar,” she said, laughing. “You love that little beast. He has you around his little paw. He asks and you jump.”
I reached down and lifted the little monster. He gave me a few purrs, rubbed his head against my chin, and then promptly squirmed to be put down.
“I don’t know why I put up with him,” I said. “He loves me like three minutes and then he’s over it. It’s a very toxic relationship. I’m pretty sure he’s just using me.”
“Come on, let’s raid your closet,” she said.
The cat was content to lick himself. We went to my room and embarked on a mission I wasn’t sure would be successful.
“Pink?” I asked and held up a pretty sweater.
“No!” She ripped it out of my hand and put it back in the closet. “No sweaters. Definitely no pink. You need to walk in there like you own the place. You need to look confident.”
“Got a magic wand?” I scoffed.
“Okay, what about this?” She pulled out a plain black dress. The hem hit just above the knees. I had worn the dress to a funeral a couple years back.
“Isn’t that a little plain?”
“It’s plain, but that’s what you need,” she said. “It’s a statement. The black heels will go with it. Accent it with some basic jewelry. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. The female execs I encounter are very understated, but they look like bosses. They’re not flashing cleavage or trying to show off their asses. They let their performance do the talking.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “If I wear this to the interview and by some crazy chance I get the job, am I going to have to keep up with the bland wardrobe?”
“It’s not bland,” she insisted. She opened my jewelry box and started digging through it. “These earrings and a bracelet. It’s not too much. It’s perfect.”
“Do I leave my hair up or down?” I asked.
I was counting on her expertise. I spent my days on a college campus. The women I saw either wore next to nothing or looked like they just rolled out of bed. Then there were the professors’ wives. I didn’t really have a lot of fashion role models.
“Down,” she said. “A few thick curls, minimal makeup, and that’s it. Trust me, you’re going to look good. You’ll feel good. You’ll feel like you belong.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You are truly the best friend a girl could have. I love you.”
“I love you too. Now, I’m going to take a hot bath and then get into that naughty book I can only read in my bedroom.”
“I don’t want to know,” I said, laughing.
I grabbed one of the many lint rollers I kept in the apartment. No matter how much I rolled, there was always more cat hair. I didn’t know how it got everywhere. I ran it over the dress and removed every last hair, which seemed futile. The only way to avoid getting covered in hair was to get dressed outside. I wasn’t sure the neighbors would appreciate that. Or maybe they would.
