[stylist] Halloween chapter

[Chris Kuell]

Being Halloween and all, I thought I’d share a chapter from my second
novel, Rub It In. Enjoy.



Chris





Chapter 14



                “Come on,” Bernice said. “Let me see.”

                “I don’t know, Bern. I feel a little awkward.”

                “Oh, get over it.” She opened the bathroom door and let
herself in. Helpless, I turned to face her. “Not bad. A little too loose in
the chest and hips. You can fix the top, but you can’t help that you don’t
have a butt. It’s a guy thing.” I could feel my face reddening as she
squeezed my bicep. “I never realized you had such big arms. Very nice.”

                “Okay, Bern. Show’s over.”

                “Oh, not yet. You definitely need a belt with that. Come
here, I’ve got a silver-buckled one that will look fabulous.”

                I followed Bernice out of her bathroom and to her closet. A
shrill wolf-whistle pierced the air, followed by, “Hey, good lookin’.”

                “Better hush up there, Sunshine. You’re not too little to
roast,” I said to the noisy bird.

                “You be nice to Sunshine,” Bernice said. “He was
complimenting you.”

                “Sunny loves Bernie,” the parrot squawked. “Gimme some
lovin’.”

                “Isn’t he just adorable?” Bernice beamed.

                “That’s one word,” I said. Bernice held one belt up
against my hip, dismissed it as too thin, then grabbed another and told me
to put it on. About as embarrassed as I could get, I complied.

                My quest for a woman’s outfit began the previous evening.
Having heard not a peep from Marilyn, I’d resigned myself to spending All
Hallows Eve, my favorite holiday, alone. I usually dress up for Halloween,
pass out candy to kids from my front porch, then hit a party afterwards, if
I get an invitation. This year was looking kind of quiet. I didn’t have a
lot of creative spirit, so I figured I’d recycle a costume I’d used a
previous year. In my closet I came across the sickle I’d used the year I
was the Grim Reaper, my Spiderman Mask, a long plastic Arthurian sword, my
Homer Simpson mask, and a big, blond, beehive wig.

                The wig was Kirsten’s, from the year she went to a
Halloween party dressed as Cindy Wilson from the B-52s. The hair-do was
ridiculous, of course, but Kirsten wore this tight blue knit dress that
accented every one of her feminine curves. She may have been cold-hearted,
but in a bathing suit or tight dress, on a scale of one to ten, she was a
certified twenty.

                Fingering the synthetic hair, a plan began to come together
in my brain. Marilyn seemed like the type who loved passing out candy on
Halloween. If she wouldn’t return my calls, I would just have to pay her a
visit, and what better way to lighten the mood than by looking ridiculous
and blatantly embarrassing myself? Is that not a sign of a remorseful man?

                Kirsten took the blue dress when she left me, which was fine
because it’s not like I could fit in it, anyway. Plus, when I thought about
that B-52s album cover, I recalled Cindy Wilson in tight black leggings and
one of those poofy ‘70s blouses. Bernice was closer to my size and was more
than happy to oblige when I asked for her help. I had mentioned my dilemma
during her session, finally asking if she would take me to a second-hand
store. Instead, she brought me home.

                Bernice thought I’d look best in a floral print dress she’
d bought at Macy’s a hundred years ago. I had to listen to the whole story
about her and husband number two being in New York for the Macy’s
Thanksgiving Day parade and she had to have a new dress and on and on and
on. After finally convincing her that I needed a large, white shirt to go
with some gray sweatpants I owned, she went deeper into her closet and
regaled me with tales to accompany each of the many outfits she owned, most
of which didn’t fit anymore. Finally, we landed on the cream-colored
peasant blouse and black stretchy-pants I was now wearing, and I thought my
escape was near. Right.

                “You need a bag to go with your outfit,” Bernice declared.
>From the living room, a captain’s clock bonged five times, indicating we’d
been at this for over two hours. “I’ve got a gold-lame′ clutch that would
be the cat’s meow.”

                “I don’t need a bag. Thanks for everything, Bern, this is
fine.”

                “But where will you put your cell phone? Your wallet? Here,
try this black one. It’s pleather, but high quality.”

                I accepted the purse. What the hell. It might come in handy,
and I think Cindy might have had a purse on that album cover.

               “How about lipstick?” Bernice dug through a tackle box full
of bottles and tubes and various cosmetics until she pulled one out and
said, “Autumn Maple. Perfect for your hair and skin tone.”

               Despite my protestations, Bernice insisted on putting it on
me to be sure it was the right shade. While I scraped it off with toilet
paper, she dug through more crap in her bedroom, came up behind me and
clamped on some earrings. They were scallop shells made of cast iron, if I
could deduce anything from the weight, and because they were so heavy the
alligator clips bit into my ear lobes like a pit bull on a T-bone steak.
“Jesus, Bernice. Are these things from a medieval torture chamber?”

                “The things we do for fashion, my dear. Here, let me pull
your hair back.” She did so, then said, “Listen Dumbo, your ears are kind
of big. These are red, match your lipstick, and look marvelous. They help to
cover those monstrosities.”

                “Gee thanks,” I said. “You’re doing wonders for my
ego.”

                Sunshine let out another long wolf-whistle, followed by,
“Hey, good lookin’.”

                “Thanks Sunshine. Maybe I won’t send you for a spin in the
microwave after all.”

                Bernice punched me in the side and I begged her to show me
how to take off the earrings from hell. She put the accessories into a
grocery bag while I changed into my own clothes. I folded the blouse and
pants and moved to join her in the kitchen, but stumbled over something and
whacked my head on the edge of the door frame. “Son of a bitch,” I said,
then regretted it as Bernice scurried over to ask if I was hurt. I assured
her I was fine, despite the golf ball forming on my forehead.

                Before coming over we had dropped Amos off at home, much to
his dismay. I could tell Bernice thought a big dog might upset Sunshine so I
figured it would be best. I’d brought my telescoping cane, but left it in
the kitchen when Bernice began the fashion show. Even though I wasn’t
familiar with her house, I’d moved around fairly well until I tripped over
a shoe and found the edge of the doorway. Nobody’s fault but mine.

                Bernice told me a bag with the belt, lipstick and earrings
was on the table, and she’d added an old bra, her pre-boob-job size, which
I’d need if I wanted to make the chest realistic. I thanked her and asked
if she’d mind giving me a lift home.

                “Sure thing,” she said. “Care for a tonic, some water, or
something a little stronger? I’m having some chardonnay.”

                “Actually, it’s late and I should probably be heading home
for dinner.”

                “Nonsense. I’ve already started to whip up some
quesadillas. Shrimp okay with you?” She said quesadilla like case-a-dill-a,
which caused me to laugh.

                It appeared I’d be having dinner with Bernice. “Got any
beer?”

                “There’s a light in there somewhere,” she said as she
chopped something on a wooden cutting board.

                “I’ll just join you with a glass of chardonnay.” Bernice
directed me to the cabinet to find a wine glass and told me the bottle was
near the sink. I found it, filled my own glass and offered to freshen hers.

We chatted as I peeled shrimp and Bernice chopped onions and peppers and
grated some cheddar cheese for the dinner. She told me how she always made
her kids elaborate costumes for Halloween, from Cleopatra to a Scooby-Doo
outfit. The quesadillas were quite delicious, and I complimented Bernice on
her excellent cooking.

                Amos greeted me with a sharp, reprimanding bark when I
stepped in the door a little past seven, then quickly forgave me as I gave
him the stew meat Bernice had fried for him. There was only one phone
message, from a debt consolidation company in Ogunquit. I decided not to
erase it.

                Two days and zero phone calls from Marilyn later it was
Halloween. I stood on the front porch handing out candy to the stragglers
who’d missed the six to eight o’clock rush, freezing my ass off, waiting
for the cab to arrive. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to ask
Bernice for a sweater of some sort, although it probably wouldn’t have fit
anyhow. Rubbing my arms to warm them up and hopping back and forth from foot
to foot, I remembered as a kid how I wanted to petition the president to
move Halloween back a month so us Maine kids could wear costumes without
jackets over them. Sure, October 31st is fine for those Florida and Texas
kids, but I’d like to see them dress up as Tarzan on a Maine Halloween.

                I bent down and rubbed my ankles to stimulate blood flow.
Bernice’s pants only made it down to my calves, and I was wearing sneakers
with no socks. Fortunately, Bernice hadn’t even attempted to fit my size
elevens into a pair of her shoes. But damn, it was cold.

                The cab stopped in front of the house and beeped. “C’mon
Amos. Hup hup.”

                I opened the cab door and was hit with the odor of pine air
freshener and the bassy voice of Barry White laying one down for the ladies.
I slid in after Amos and closed the door.

                “Are you heading on down to the Love Shack, ma’am?” The
cabbie let out a burst of laughter. I fished around in my head for a snappy
comment, but came up empty. I gave him Marilyn’s address.

                As we drove, I gave Amos a knuckle rub on his head. He
wasn’t happy with the costume I’d put on him, a blue tee-shirt with a
white capital U on the chest, along with a red cape. It was as close as I
could come to Underdog without feeling like I was torturing poor Amos. As
Bernice said, the things we do for fashion.

                The taxi turned right onto a gravel driveway, and traveled
maybe a hundred feet before coming to a stop. “We here?”

                “Yes ma’am,” he said, then asked me not to move for a
second. I heard the distinctive click of a camera lens.

                “Did I say you could do that?”

                “Don’t worry, pal. I’m not gonna put it up on the
internet. Every Halloween all the drivers put ten bucks in a pot. We have a
contest to see who picked up the customer with the best costume. I think you
may be a contender.”

                We got out of the cab. I made sure I had my purse and told
Amos to find the front door. He led me along a walkway and up four steps to
what felt like a slate porch. I took two deep breaths, found the doorbell,
and pushed. Inside the house I heard chimes sounding, then the front door
opened.

                “Trick or treat,” I said with a smile.

                There was no response, dead silence hanging like a thick fog
in the air. Just about the time I was wondering if I’d come to the wrong
house, or should simply run away with Amos, a young woman’s voice
exclaimed, “Oh my God. Ma, come here, quick, and bring the camera.”

                From deeper inside the house, Marilyn’s voice asked, “What
is it?”

                “The funniest-looking transvestite you’ve ever seen.
Hurry.” She turned to me and said, “Please don’t go anywhere. You two are
friggin’ unbelievable.”

                Footsteps approached and I heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Dan? Amos?  Is that you?”

                “Actually, it’s Cindy Wilson and Underdog,” I said.

                The two women broke out in hysterical laughter while poor
Amos and I stood there, embarrassed and freezing. Finally, Marilyn caught
her breath and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. One of the B-52 girls, right?”

                “The B-52s,” the other woman exclaimed. “I get it. Rock
Lobsta.”

                A car pulled into the driveway and some kids piled out and
ran to the door. Amos and I stepped aside when they yelled, “Trick or
treat.”

                The young woman with Marilyn made a fuss over each of the
youngster’s costumes, saying, “Aren’t you the best Ninja I’ve ever seen?
Nice baseball uniform, go Red Sox. Oh, and I’ve never seen a prettier
Cinderella.” I heard something plop into each of the kid’s bags.

                “What do you say?” The voice came from the car.

                “Thank you,” they said in unison, then scampered off to be
chauffeured to the next house.

                “By the way,” the young woman addressed me. “I’m Amanda.
You must be the blind guy Mom told me about.”

                “That’s me,” I said, putting out my hand. “I’m Dan,
a.k.a. Cindy, and this is Amos, a.k.a. Underdog.”

                Around this time we were joined by a dog with a high-pitched
bark. Not a yap, like the rodent who now used my downstairs apartment as its
litter box. Probably a medium-sized dog. Marilyn’s Border Collie.

                “Snickers, shaddup,” Amanda ordered. “Why don’t you guys
come inside for a sec? You look like you’re cold.”

                “Frozen is more like it,” I said. “Thank you.”

                Marilyn was noticeably silent during this interchange. We
went inside and I almost lost my wig when I forgot to duck. I caught it in
the nick of time, though, and after a few seconds of straightening, I knelt
down, hoping to God I wouldn’t split the ass of the pants Bernice had lent
me, and offered my hand for Snickers to sniff. “Is Snickers a boy or a
girl?” The dog began licking my palm, which tickled and indicated
acceptance.

                “Formerly a boy,” Amanda said.

                Now Amos and Snickers sniffed each other. Amos stood his
ground, never wavering in his alpha-dog posture.

                Amanda continued to serve as hostess. “Have a seat, Dan.
The couch is right in front of you. Can I get you something to drink?”

                “I’d love a hot cup of tea or coffee, if it’s not too
much trouble,” I said. “I should get my core temp up a few degrees before
hypothermia sets in.”

                Snickers scampered after Amanda. Marilyn sat at the far end
of the couch and finally spoke to me. “What are you doing here, Dan?”

                No beating around the bush. A couple of witty responses came
to mind. Amos and I were out for a walk and somehow he led me here. Was it
destiny? What a coincidence, I always trick or treat in this neighborhood.
Instead, I just went with the truth. “I’ve been calling and calling and
you wouldn’t pick up or call back, so I decided to come over in person to
plead my case.”

                “You wasted your time,” she said. “I thought you might be
different, but you’re not. Had a bad day, out drinking so you forgot to
call. I got rid of those excuses six years ago when I got divorced, and I
have no interest in hearing them anymore.”

                “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I certainly never meant to
remind you of your ex,” I began. Before I got any further, Amanda poked her
head in from the kitchen.

                “How do you like your coffee, Dan? Mom, want anything?”

                “Two sugars and a shot of milk if you’ve got it, please,”
I said. Marilyn said she was fine, and once again we sat in awkward silence.
Amos rubbed his head on my leg. I gave him a few pats, and continued. “If
you’ll give me sixty seconds, I can explain.”

                “As I said, there’s no need to explain,” Marilyn said.
“I’m not interested.”

                “Marilyn, please. I dressed up in this stupid outfit, I’m
frozen to the bone, and I’ve got a wicked wedgie at the moment, so I think
you can spare me one minute.” I hoped she was at least smiling a little.
“I own a two family house, and my downstairs tenants haven’t paid their
rent in five months. I’m not wealthy, I need the money, so I brought them
to court to either get paid or have them evicted. The judge sided with them
for reasons I’ll never understand, and said they could live there for three
more months before she’ll consider eviction. I kind of lost it in the
courtroom and she locked me up for contempt. When my friend picked me up
that night, we went out for a few beers and it was too late when I
remembered I was supposed to call you. It’s not that I forgot about you,
it’s more that I got distracted by the day’s events.”

                “That is absolutely one hundred percent man logic if I’ve
ever heard it, and believe me, I’ve heard it. I’ve heard it up to here.
So, you got some bad news and pitched a fit. What kind of fit, exactly, so
that the judge felt you should be locked up?”

                “I was upset,” I said. “I don’t remember, exactly, but I
think I said the decision was bullshit, and I might have used the F word.”

                “Nice. An angry, excuse-making man. Just what I don’t need
in my life.”

                “Here you go,” Amanda said as she and Snickers came into
the room. “Dan, I’m putting your coffee right here on the coffee table.
It’s about twelve, no fifteen inches in front of your knee.”

                “Thank you so much,” I said. I reached out, found nothing,
and slowly moved my hand to the left.

                “Other way,” Amanda said. “That’s it, you’ve got it. I
only filled it three-quarters full, so you don’t have to worry about
spilling.”

                “This is great, thank you,” I said. “Maybe sometime you
and your mom can come over to my place for dinner.”

                “Really? Do you live alone? That’s amazing,” Amanda said.
“But, I’m going to Namibia on the tenth, so we might have to put it off
for a while.”

                The doorbell rang and Marilyn asked Amanda to please get it.
There might have been some sort of exchange of body language, because Amanda
said, “I think I’ll hang out on the porch for a little while in case more
kids come.”

                The front door clicked shut, I took a long sip of the hot
coffee and Marilyn started in on me. “Okay, I gave you sixty seconds, now
it’s my turn.”

                “Fair enough,” I put my coffee down to indicate my
undivided attention.

                “For eighteen years I put up with late night phone calls
saying ‘I’m just going to the bar for a drink with the guys,’ or ‘I’m
just going to grab a quick dinner with a prospective client,’ or ‘don’t
wait up. I’m playing poker over at Fred’s place.’ Far too many times, I
didn’t even get the courtesy of a phone call.”

                “Marilyn, I’m not--”

                “I’m not done yet,” she interrupted me. “I know you’re
not him, but that doesn’t concern me. I’m just telling you how it is.”
She paused and caught her breath. “I’m not interested in anybody with
anger control problems. Been there, done that, and it won’t happen again.”

                This last statement more than caught my attention. Marilyn
was clearly pissed. I knew Joel to be a hothead from his weekly rantings at
our appointments. But, did it go deeper than that? What had he done to
Marilyn to leave her so sensitive after years of living apart?

                “I told you at the library that I’m not interested in a
relationship right now. I’m finally at a good place in my life, and I don’
t need you or anybody else to screw it up.”

                I leaned forward, found the cup and took a sip of coffee.
Muffled voices could be heard on the front porch as another group of trick
or treaters collected their loot. My gut had told me this plan was stupid
from the beginning and, as usual, I didn’t listen. Of course I couldn’t
explain any further to Marilyn about the financial distress I was under.
What a turn on. Hey babe, I’m going bankrupt, want to marry me? She really
was a nice lady, who must have been hurt badly. She deserved better than a
chronic screw-up like me.

                I returned the cup to the table and turned to face her. “I
truly am sorry for not calling you, Marilyn. I know it doesn’t help, but I
still have to say it. Obviously, I’m no prize. When I met you at the
library, you struck me as kind, caring, intelligent and worth getting to
know.” I felt around me on the couch and floor. “I apologize if I’ve hurt
you, and I won’t bother you anymore.” I ran my hand over Amos, then over
the couch again. Where the hell was my bag? I felt Marilyn’s eyes on me,
probably wondering why I was feeling up her couch. Finally, I just gave in.
“Sorry, but do you see my purse anywhere?”

                I heard a tiny snigger, then sort of a choke, then a full
stream of laughter. Her laugh was infectious and I caught it too.

                “I’m sorry,” Marilyn said, then burst out with another
laugh. “I guess we needed something to lighten up the mood. Here it is,
over in this chair.” She got up, retrieved the purse and handed it to me.
“Let me give you a ride home,” she said.

                “No, thank you. I’ve already been too much of a bother.”

                “Give me a minute to grab my keys and my jacket,” she said
and then she was off.

                Amanda came in, probably taking the laughter as a good sign.
“Boy, it’s chilly out there,” she said.

                “Enjoy it,” I said. “I imagine you won’t be cold for a
while if you’re heading to Namibia.”

                “You mean you know where Namibia is?”

                “Sure, used to be a part of South Africa. Gained
independence around 1990, right?”

                “I have to say, I’m very impressed,” Amanda said.

                “Don’t be,” I said. “Beneath this sexy exterior is a
surprisingly shallow guy.”