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I take a seat in the chair that I have positioned in its usual spot when Ginger comes over, next to the living room windows. It’s an awkward, open space that I have no idea what to do with. Well, besides place an ironing board and bike in it.
“Well that’s why I’m here, dear,” Ginger says, draping me with a plastic cape. “To make you look your best so that you can go out and get yourself one of the only two single men living in this town.”
I laugh. She isn't joking.
“I think I’d have better luck if I joined that secret sex club in town.”
Ginger cocks a brow. “Now that, my dear, is not a joke.”
I smirk.
“Do you know what they do to those women in that club?” she asks.
“Do I want to?”
“Probably not. Satanic stuff. The men wear masks and horns and tie the women up.”
“Doesn’t sound all that bad.”
She slaps my shoulder with an eye roll.
“Ginger, do you seriously think it’s true?”
“That there is a growing satanic sex club lurking in the shadows of Crest County? You bet your ass I do. Okay, what are we doing?” She runs her fingers though my hair.
I consider the women on the television. “I’m thinking about going lighter, maybe. And maybe add a little body up top.”
“Ah, lovely. Okay, we’ll do blonde highlights and I’ll add some layers to the back.”
“Keep the length.”
“You got it, sister. And I’m going to bring by a deep conditioning treatment later this week, when I get the shipment. You need it.”
“Thanks… If it is true, this sex club, why haven’t the cops busted it yet?”
“Not sure it’s illegal, as long as all the members are willing participants. I hear they’re sworn to secrecy.” Ginger leans in, as she always does when leading up to gossip. “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if there were people of power involved in the club. The mayor for one, that’s just a rumor, and the president of the school board, what’s his name? That’s right, Andrew McNabb. Never liked that guy. I can definitely see him doing kinky stuff like that.”
“Well, I say leave ’em be as long as they’re not hurting anyone. Everyone has their vices.”
“I disagree, Miss Stone. Things like that breed bad things. Just you wait and see.”
“Humph,” I grunt, because I really don’t know what to say at this point.
I’d heard about this so-called secret sex club a few months ago while in line at the coffee shop. Didn’t think much of it until recently when a teenager went missing and rumors suggested that she was involved with the club. The girl turned up five days later, with four new tattoos, a shaved head, nipple piercings, and a severe case of chlamydia. (So says the receptionist at the hospital who illegally viewed her medical record).
Maybe Ginger is right, bad people breed bad things.
I study the reality stars in front of me, and contemplate going fully blonde as Ginger mixes the color. They all look the same, bleached blonde hair, skeletal botoxed faces, long skinny fingers garnished with ten carats of cubic zirconia. Society’s definition of perfection.
I couldn’t be more opposite of these women.
I have boring brown hair, the color of poop. Though I’ve cut it many times, it is now midway down my back. Long, straight, and boring.
Ginger begins smearing color through my hair. I stare blankly at the television. I used to be good at small-talk, but years of living alone has slowly eliminated that skill.
“You know someday I’d like to put makeup on you; give you a full makeover,” she says eventually. “You have round, beautifully hooded eyes and big lips. Both very sultry.”
“Well thank you, Ms. Dubois. Your tip just doubled.”
