18. A Little Off the Ends
18
A Little Off the Ends
Lilith
These motherfuckers are up to something.
I didn’t think too much of it when Carolina and Agatha disappeared from brunch like two giggling schoolgirls. I just figured they’d made a joke at Antonio’s expense, given the disgruntled look on his face at their departure. But then, things started to get weird.
First, I kept catching them scurrying around here like rats. And every time they see me coming, they turn tail in the other direction.
Not obvious at all.
Second, Antonio has also been avoiding me. He’s more the type to stay underfoot to wear you down, so his absence is a huge red flag.
And if all of that isn’t enough, I find myself standing in my bedroom staring at a pile of clothes on the bed.
“I’m not wearing this.”
Carolina gives me a stern look, which, from her, comes off as amusing. Then she points to the clothes and says, “Put them on.”
“But why?”
“Because we said so,” Agatha retorts from behind me. She rushes across the room, breezing by me and tossing another pile of clothes on the bed. Or should I say, underclothes. I pick up a pair of panties, if you can even call that scrap of material underwear. I hold it up between my two hands and then give Agatha what I hope is an obnoxious look as I ask, “Are these crotchless?”
Carolina snickers and then yanks them from my grasp as she takes a closer look. “Sure looks like it.”
“Absolutely not.”
Agatha rolls her eyes, hunching over and rummaging around in the pile of clothes before handing something to me. “Here you go. It’s still fancier than what you’re used to, but at least it’s beige.”
I snatch it from her hands, holding it against my chest. “Don’t knock beige.”
“What’s wrong with beige?” Carolina asks. “I quite like neutral tones.”
Agatha’s hands rest on her hips as she looks between us in disgust. “How the two of you have ever managed to get laid is beyond me.”
Carolina looks thoughtful for a moment, and then you can see a lightbulb going off in her head that has Agatha holding up a hand and interrupting whatever she’s about to say. “Nope. It’s not the time for inappropriate humor.”
Her face falls, and she frowns. “But I thought it was always a good time for inappropriate humor.”
“Yeah,” I retort tartly. “There’s always room for a bad joke or two.”
Agatha ignores us. She throws a couple more beige items at me, and I catch them against my front, wanting to throw them on the ground but knowing it’s pointless. “Will you just tell me what we’re doing?”
Agatha shakes her head and says nothing, so I turn to Carolina, who just smiles at me and shrugs. I don’t require a lengthy explanation; I mostly just want confirmation that the person I’m getting dressed for is Antonio.
I can’t believe Agatha would attempt to set me up with someone else at this point, but then again, I wouldn’t put anything past her if she’s trying to get his attention. “It’s Antonio, right?”
Agatha stares at me blankly. “Do you think I’m daft?”
“Well, no, but if for some reason he wasn’t cooperating, you’re definitely the type to do a full-court press on the whole jealousy card.”
Her eyes dance around the room as she obviously gives my statement some thought. And then she nods and says, “That’s fair enough.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aggie,” Carolina says. “Is all the secrecy really necessary?”
Agatha levels me with a serious look, her arms moving up over her chest. “I don’t know. Are you going to give us trouble?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re you.”
Well, that’s fair. I have earned my reputation of being a huge pain in the ass. “We had a good conversation. I have nothing left to hide from.”
Agatha’s eyes search mine, and I meet her gaze steadily, wanting her to see the truth behind my words. Then she rushes toward me, yanking me against her in a tight hug. “Thank god.”
“Oh, this is great news,” Carolina mutters as she, too, hugs me. Or rather, she hugs part of me and part of Agatha, so we’re one big, fun group hug.
“Are you two fucking serious right now?” I sputter.
Carolina laughs. “We’ve gotta take our group hugs where we can get them.”
I push down my urge to shake them both off, giving them a couple of seconds to get their hug out before I finally straighten and half-assed push them away. And then I relent, “Crotchless panties aside, I’ll wear whatever you tell me to. I can’t promise I’ll behave while I’m there, but I can promise to get there on time.”
Carolina does a little happy dance and then walks back over to the bed and starts pawing through the articles of clothing there. Agatha joins her and the two of them have a brief, yet animated conversation about what items I should wear and why. Agatha grabs up all the clothing they chose and then walks over to me, piling it in my arms and pushing me toward the bathroom. “Get on with it now. Get yourself buffed and polished so you don’t embarrass us.”
I take a few steps toward the door and then turn, giving her a dirty look. “I’m not shaving my fucking legs.”
“I don’t think that would stop him,” Carolina sing-songs. Again, I roll my eyes and then disappear into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
I don’t bother procrastinating, instead going right for the shower. I take care of the business of washing myself methodically, and though I do shave my legs, it’s not because I suspect anyone will be putting their hands on them.
By the time I exit the shower, the room is steamy. I use a hand towel to wipe the moisture off the mirror and then stand there, staring at my reflection.
“When did I get so fucking old?” I mutter.
My body is covered in scars, both new and old—a testament to the many trials and tribulations I’ve managed to survive. What’s most troublesome are the scars you can’t see with your physical eye. Those wicked mental gashes that bleed down right into your soul.
I swallow the lump in my throat. My eyes are the same, still that bright blue capable of piercing straight through a heart. The lies they’ve told, the stories they could tell. I blink, laughing at the bright blonde of my hair, unnatural and shocking against the golden hue of my skin, mocking me.
I grab my bag of toiletries, rummaging through it until I find the small bottle my hairdresser gave me. A subtle rinse to change the tone of my locks from white to ashen, a color I’ve been hiding from for decades.
I wrap the towel around my body and go back to the door, flinging it open. “Agatha? How much time do we have?”
She frowns at me and then looks at the watch on her wrist as she replies, “We still have a few hours. Why?”
I toss the small bottle in her direction, and she catches it in the air, glancing at it with a frown. “I need your help.”
Carolina joins Agatha, a smile forming on her mouth as she recognizes the bottle for what it is. She holds her hand out, and Agatha sets the bottle in her palm and then says, “Oh, this will be fun.”
“I don’t know about fun, but I think it’s past time.”
I’ve been a bleach-blonde for as long as I can remember. Other than Mickey, Antonio is probably the only person alive who would recognize my natural hair color. Then again, it was so long ago and so much has happened that he might not remember either.
Carolina grabs a chair from the vanity, drags it into the bathroom, and sets it in front of the mirror. She pats the seat, and I immediately fall into it, refusing to change my mind regardless of the anxiety bubbling up inside me.
“There are some scissors in my bag as well. You can tidy it a bit.”
Carolina has worked enough in the entertainment industry to know her way around a minor trim. She puts another towel around my shoulders and then quickly gets to work, barking orders at Agatha, who immediately starts drying my hair. It would have been more convenient if I had thought of this before showering, but like everything in my life, it happens when it happens.
What feels like hours later, I’m back standing in front of the mirror. My hair is significantly shorter and is now a shiny ash-blonde. Carolina applied subtle makeup, accentuating my eyes while still drawing attention to my mouth.
I press my rosy lips together and give her a look. “I know what you’re doing here.”
She smiles at me coyly, her arm moving around my shoulder as she gives me a squeeze. “Just giving you guys a push. Kind of like how you gave me a push.”
I give her a sideways look before focusing back on my reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She smiles at me in the mirror, her fingers messing with the ends of my newly refreshed hair. “I’m sure Tony and I would’ve ended up together regardless, but the tricks you played in France moved the timing up, and it turned out that was exactly what we needed.”
“That was more Antonio than me,” I reply honestly. “I tend to stay away from the whole marry-them-off-to-protect-them schtick.”
Carolina laughs, her hands squeezing my shoulders affectionately. “Well, it worked out this time. Maybe you should try it.”
“Me?” I exclaim, laughing uncomfortably. “I think it’s a little late for me.”
“It is never too late,” Carolina responds. “You just have to keep an open mind and remember that this is a long time coming, so there’s no reason to pump the brakes if it comes down to it.”
“Are you advising me to get laid, Car?”
“I mean, I’m not telling you not to,” she replies with a somewhat reserved giggle. “I say if it feels right, then go with it. But you’re the only one who can decide that.”
I pat her hand still resting on my shoulder, my smile genuine. Agatha is standing on my other side, twisting her hands in front of her as she stares at my reflection. Her eyes are suspiciously glassy, and her shoulders slightly slumped as she looks at me. So, I turn to her and ask, “What is it?”
She looks away, blinking rapidly. “I’m just really happy.”
Carolina quietly exits the room, and I turn to face Agatha, grabbing her hands in mine. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”
She gives me a small, watery smile. “Don’t lie to yourself, woman. The only thing standing in your way here is yourself.”
I laugh, pulling her into a hug. “I know. But thank you for being a pain in the ass.”
She returns my hug for a moment and then pulls away, motioning for me to get my ass in gear. “Hurry up. You’re going to be late.” I head toward the door, but right as I’m standing in the doorway, she says, “Promise me something?”
I half-turn toward her, one of my hands resting on the doorjamb. “Anything.”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
Such a crass sentiment, but coming from Agatha, the meaning behind it is clear. I smile, holding her gaze as I nod my agreement. Then I turn and walk out the door.