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“Well…no.”
“I didn’t think so. I tell you what. You let me dress you for a week and then, you can dress me in goth for a week.”
“You’d do that?” Donja queried with arched brows.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Makayla said with a smug grin.
“Okay, that might be fun. You got a deal!”
“Yes!” Makayla screeched as if she had just won the lottery. “I’m going to turn you into a femme fatale.”
“A what?” Donja’s eyes widened.
Makayla tucked golden locks behind her ears with a silly giggle. “It’s French, for a female capable of snaring her lover and luring him,” she paused, “seductively. It’s kinda like witchcraft with hypnotic spells…power akin to a sorceress or enchantress. French guys in this area refer to them as vamps, which is like a sexually capable vampire.”
Donja laughed. “Vampires, hmmm is Robert Pattinson French by chance?”
“No, that hunk’s from across the pond, but there are guys here just as hot—you’ll see.”
“Well, all I can say is, you got your work cut out for you because I’m a tomboy turned goth, that’s my comfort zone.” She squinted her eyes. “You know a little goth with your glam, dark liner and perhaps a single tear…like a beauty mark might spice you up as well.”
“Really?” Makayla whispered. “I guess I…well…I never considered such.”
“Just saying. We could mix it up, call it…hmmm, gothiglam,” she grinned.
“Hmmm, you mean like our own personal look?”
“Yeah,” Donja teased with sly grin. “Like you said, two halves make a whole.”
“What the hell, why not?” Makayla laughed. “Now get dressed and let’s get down to the Secretary of State and get you an M.D.L.”
Donja rolled her eyes. “A what?”
“An enhanced Michigan Driver’s License so you can pass back and forth between customs.”
“Wow,” Donja marveled, “this is a different world.”
~~~
Speeding over I-75 through the Michigan Soo, Donja, dressed in skinny jeans, sandals and a short T-shirt riding high on her abdomen, let her hair fly out the open window of the Lexus. She felt naked without her goth makeup, almost as if people could look right through her and read her darkest secrets. They took a sharp right, buzzing through traffic and then she caught her first glimpse of the International Bridge, spanning the St. Mary’s River, between Michigan and Ontario. She was amazed by the steel truss double arched passage with a suspended deck and though it wasn’t as impressive as the Mackinaw, it possessed a mystical appeal as if it had the power to join two great countries.
“Impressive!” she shouted over the blasting lyrics of a Katy Perry CD.
Makayla peeked over her sunshades. “It has two distinct spans, a double arch on the U.S. side and a smaller single on the Canadian side.”
Donja switched the CDs. “How about some Metallica?”
Makayla snarled her lips. “That’s fair, I guess I have been pushing my fav’s down your throat.”
Donja chuckled and turned back surveying the bridge. “Neat, the double arch looks like the top of a heart,” she cried out, her voice all but lost in the cacophony of cars, horns, Metallica and overhead gulls which were screeching.
“The double arch spans the four United States locks,” Makayla remarked, “and the single spans the Canadian.
“Canada only has one?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s all they need but the U.S. side is busier…much busier.” She scaled back the volume on the music. “Did you know the Soo is the oldest city in Michigan?”
“No,” Donja said, winds whipping her hair.
