Chapter Eighteen: "Nobody's gonna paint my head."
~♡~
"I'll see you ladies at dinner, okay?" Dad kisses my cheek and hands me his credit card.
I swear I hear angels singing the "Hallelujah" chorus. Oh, credit card! How I've missed you. Your plasticky goodness. The zipping sound you make when the clerk runs you through a machine. The rattle of a long receipt being spit out by a boutique register.
"Go easy on me today, okay?" He points to the card.
"But, dad, I haven't shopped in forever." Ever since Mom married Jake and somehow I got financially cut off. So unfair.
"But in my heart . . . it's an eternity." I push Lindy out the door before dad goes back to his idea of curtailing my spending and teaching me a lesson. Hmph. Whatever. It's teaching me misery, is all. And causing me to lust in my heart---over other people's clothing.
I step outside onto the front stoop and breathe in the familiar Manhattan air. Ew. Maybe I shouldn't breathe too deeply. We are a little smoggy at times.
A yellow cab speeds us away, like a chariot taking me to heaven.
Shopping---oh, I could just burst into song. The closet I've come to shopping lately is squeezing the melons at Wal-Mart with Mom. And that's just indecent, if you ask me.
"Okay, Lindy. Our first stop is Marco Ricci's salon. While Marco's working his magic on your hair, I'll be getting a manicure and a pedi. Then we'll switch." Dad totally called in a favor to have my stylist work us in on such short notice. Marco's usually booked, like, a year in advance. Maybe Dad's giving him a discount on a new nose or something.
"I don't know." Lindy fingers her ponytail. "I kind of like my hair."
"But it's not about what you like. It's about what Matt might like." I thought we established this last night when we stayed up until 2:00 a.m. talking. I felt like Dr. Phil, coaching Lindy toward a new vision of herself.
The taxi pulls up beside Marco's, and I have to force Lindy out of the car and into the salon.
Lindy plants her feet in the lobby and just takes it all in. The pink walls. The techno music. The ladies in the chairs sipping champagne.
"Um . . . isn't there a Supercuts or a Regis somewhere?"
A squeal has me clutching my ears.
"Profanity! Profanity!" Marco, head to toe in black, scurries from behind the front counter, his beret bobbing on his head. "Who is zees you bring to Marco?"
I swallow. "This is my friend Lindy." I elbow her. She doesn't move. "Greet Marco," I say through gritted teeth.
She tries to shake his hand, but he clutches his hands to his chest.
"Do you know who I am, leetle girl?"
Lindy shakes her head. "N-n-no."
"I am Marco Ricci." His hand sweeps the room. "Hair arteest." He leans forward, his pinched face inches from hers. "Dream maker." He draws himself up, his spine as straight as a hair pick. "Now would you like to greet Marco again?"
With rounded eyes, Lindy looks to me. And back to Marco.
Then she drops herself into an awkward curtsy.
Laughter fills the entry as Marco doubles over and howls. "Zees girl you bring me---she is priceless." He grabs a shaking Lindy by the shoulders. "Kees, kees." And smooches the air beside both cheeks. Then his face sobers. "Oh, we have work to do, no?"
"Yes," I say. "Now you're the expert." I know this man so well. "But I was thinking maybe some blonde highlights. Four or five inches off. Some bangs."
"What?" Lindy squeaks. "Five inches off my hair? Are you crazy?"
"Marco eez crazy about art. And your head eez a canvas vaiting to be painted, no?"
"No." Lindy steps away from Marco. "Nobody's gonna paint my head."
Marco crosses his arms and huffs. "I cannot work with zees."
"You'll have to excuse her. She's very upset." I put a hand over my mouth and lower my voice like Lindy can't hear me. "She desperately wants to impress a boy. They met as young children and have been best friends ever since. But now . . ." I look away with a dreamy gaze. "Her heart has changed, Marco. She loves him, but does he even know the real Lindy exists?"
He shakes his head and clucks his tongue. "Oh no. No, no, zees vill not do." He nods his head once. "I vill do zees for you." Marco pulls Lindy to him. "I vill do zees . . . for love."
"Give her the amoré special on those brows too," I whisper to Marco. And I go in search of a foot bath.
Two hours later, Carmina, the shampoo girl, signals for me to follow her. I clutch my toweled head and join her at Marco's station.
I would let my jaw hit the floor, but there's hair on it. "Lindy . . . you look---"
"Ah, ah, ah." Marco shushes me. "Marco vill now show her vhat she look like. Are you ready?"
Lindy rubs the spot between her eyes. "He tried to rip my flesh off."
He rolls his eyes. "You had caterpillars taking over your face." He looks at me. "Zees one ees tough cookie, no?"
I laugh. "Yeah, she is." I smile down at Lindy, who sits with her back to the mirror. Her face is a mask of calm and nonchalance. But her hands beat a punchy rhythm on her knees.
"Marco geev to you," He whirls her chair around. "My newest creation!"
Lindy gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth. "Oh." She touches a piece of hair. "My."
"You're hot, Lindy!"
"It doesn't even look like me."
"Of course it does---only better."
"Marco make your true love crazy in ze head. He vill not stop looking at you, no?"
"Matt's going to flip." I hug my new friend. "You look great. The blonde and caramel highlights really make your eyes pop."
Lindy sighs, sending her new bangs flying. "Let's just hope Matt's eyes pop."
We spend the rest of the afternoon shopping. I take Lindy all over Manhattan, from the ritziest boutiques to my favorite discount stores, like H&M on Thirty-fourth Street.
At five o'clock, we wait outside of Bergdorf's for my Dad to pick us up.
"Bella, I just want to thank you." Lindy sets her packages down on the sidewalk. "When I said I wanted help . . . I didn't expect all this."
I take in the revamped Lindy, who now looks nothing like a basketball star. More like a buff runaway queen. "I had fun." And I really did. "Well, except for when I had to chase you through the salon during the eyebrow wax." We laugh at the new memory. "But you look amazing."
"I do feel . . . different."
"And that's a good thing, right?"
Her answer is interrupted by the arrival of my dad's Mercedes. We climb into the backseat and smother him with girl talk.
He parks his jet black car then escorts us into Tao, a New York City hot spot sometimes frequented by the Hollywood elite. We sit on the main level by the giant statue of Buddha, which actually is not a very appetizing place to eat some spring rolls. But the whole restaurant is filled with soft shadows, candlelight, and the buzz that is only found in New York. I just want to freeze it and never let it go.
"Luisa tells me you got in late last night," Dad says later, spearing a piece of his sea bass.
I shrug and watch Lindy navigate her way to the bathroom in her new heels. "I guess."
"Your curfew was eleven thirty, was it not?"
"Yes." I feel my cheeks redden. "Can we talk about this later?" I force the corners of my mouth to lift. "It was only forty-five minutes late."
"You were past curfew."
"So were you." I instantly regret my words. Well, regret that I said them.
"I'm the parent here."
"Really?" Oh my gosh. This salmon I'm eating . . . It's . . . it's like truth serum! I can't stop myself.
"You and your friend have been shopping all day on my credit card. I think the least I deserve is some respect."
I peel over my shoulder to the table next to us then back to Dad. "I am grateful. But what I wanted this weekend was to spend some time with my father. You've been occupied all weekend. I haven't seen you in weeks, and we've barely had a chance to talk. I thought you'd want to spend time with me. Instead you booked your schedule and handed me your Visa."
"You know I work long hours."
I nudge the vegetables on my plate with my fork. "You get me once a month. Couldn't you adjust your schedule?"
"Bella, I work very hard at what I do. I have goals. And right now in pursuing some opportunities that I've been waiting on a very long time for." He rests his hand on mine, and I watch our shadow overlap in the candlelight. "Don't you want a dad who succeeds, a dad who becomes something?"
I slide my plate away, my appetite gone. "I just want a dad, period."
☆Author's Notes☆
Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is just a filler chapter on Lindy's Makeover and her visit in New York.
This chapter's question is . . .
Did you ever argue with your parents?
Haven't we all? ;)
That's all! Stay tuned for the next chapter! Your votes and comments are very happy here! :)
~Tessa