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“You’re hopeless,” she says it in a way that doesn’t make me feel bad. More like she’s here to take care of me.
I follow her to my bedroom and flop onto the bed while she digs through my closet. “This is the only black dress I own, so I’m not sure what else you think you’ll find in there.”
“This wardrobe is a time capsule, June. When was the last time you cleaned out your closet?”
“1986.”
She peeks around the corner at me. “You weren’t alive in 1986.”
“This apartment was my grandmother’s. Half that stuff was hers. I’ve never had the heart to get rid of it, and going by the Golden Girls esthetic of shoulder pads and muumuus, I’m thinking that’s the last time she cleaned it out.”
She rolls her eyes, then dives back in. “Well, your grandmother had an interesting eye for—god, that’s a lot of sequins.”
“If you’re into the sequins, then you’re out of my size. Grandma was tiny.” If I spent more time at the gym, I could probably get into her clothes. Not that I wanted to do either of those things. Fifteen-hour days are not conducive to going to the gym, and her clothes are a vintage that is not my style. It’s a pity the apartment isn’t rent controlled, though. I wouldn’t mind paying eighties rent prices. $2500 a month is steep, even for Boston.
Maybe now that I’m not dating anymore, I’ll have more time for the gym. Still not wearing Grandma’s clothes, though.
“Found it!” The squeaks of hangers announce she’s coming out from the rear of the closet and fill me with trepidation. There is nothing good that far back.
“Not sure what?—"
The bridesmaid’s dress I wore last summer dangles in her hand when she emerges. How she got all the way back there without ruining her hair, I will never know. The dress is a deep blue—not quite navy, but near enough—and has spaghetti straps with a low neckline and a slit up the thigh. Far sexier than anything I normally wear, but my cousin insisted all her bridesmaids wear the same thing.
Callie grins. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“That is hardly warm enough for this weather.”
“We are going from a limo to a mansion and back again. You’ll be chilly for a minute, tops.”
“I don’t have the shoes for it.”
She smirks at me. “I already found the pair of nude pumps you wore all of one time ever. The bottoms aren’t even scuffed. They’ll work just fine.”
My final objection sputters out. “You want me in a strapless bra for hours?”
“Or you can go braless. Whatever you like.”
I huff and grab the dress. “I’ll need your help with my hair and makeup?—"
She squeals and claps like a seal. “Yay! Okay, let’s get you ready for the party.”
My only strapless bra is nude, so I grab the matching underwear, too, and inside of thirty minutes, I’m dressed and sitting in front of my bathroom mirror with Callie doing something painful to my head. But I can’t see it yet—she promises it will look nice, but when I was watching her, I kept fidgeting, so she made me turn around. “Your frizz is no joke, June.”
“Believe me when I tell you, I know.”
“But I am a miracle worker, even with your lack of product. Take a look.”
My frizzy curls are straightened and tamed low bun with a few tendrils out to frame my face. She did my makeup, too, and it’s understated and classy—winged black eyeliner I could never do on my own, and a classic red lip. Nothing over the top, nothing garish. I look polished and elegant.
In short, I look nothing like myself.
“Wow, Callie. If you ever want to quit property law, you could do makeovers.”
She giggles, but it’s short-lived. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“No glasses tonight. Contacts only.”
