up in surrender. “No more jokes, I promise. Now, what’re you planning to do with that mop of hair?”
I shove my fingers into my thick, black hair and release an exasperated sigh. “I guess I’ll throw it into a ponytail or something.”
Luanne tuts her disapproval at me, shaking her head. “Listen, Ellie. I know you feel like shit. You went and gave that big heart of yours away again, even though I warned you not to, and now you’re settling into your role as St. Ellie the Martyr, but that doesn’t mean your hair has to suffer.” Luanne abandons her coffee mug amidst the mess of jewelry, framed photos, and dried flowers which litter her dresser. “Come here,” she orders.
I walk sullenly to her and drop into the arm chair which previously held the contents of my old closet, the one I had shared with Tim. Two nights ago Luanne declared her room a natural disaster and we painstakingly hung, folded, and stored every piece of clothing I owned throughout Luanne’s cramped apartment. I caught a whiff of Tim’s cologne on a blue pashmina scarf at the bottom of the pile and, I’m ashamed to admit, proceeded to hold the silken fabric to my face, deeply inhaling the subtly-sweet scent I used to crave so much. A pang of longing ripped through me at the smell, but not necessarily for Tim. It was more of a longing for something I’m starting to think I’ll never find—true love.
Luanne yanks, twists, and fastens my long wavy hair into place, allowing me my moment of self-righteous silence. “There,” she says, squeezing my shoulders before moving away and reclaiming her coffee mug. “Just because you feel like shit doesn’t mean you have to look like it.”
“Thanks, I think.” I stand and inspect my new up-do in the mirror. Luanne’s given me a sophisticated ponytail with a little faux Mohawk in the front. The wavy hair captured by the ponytail is shiny and bouncy, thanks to a fresh smelling product she ran through the strands before brushing them. I still look like an undercover vice detective trying to bust a prostitution ring, but the new hairstyle’s given the whole look a more updated and stylish flare.
“I’ve got to admit, you give good hair.”
“I do my best. Now you’ve got to scoot or you’ll be late for your curtain call,” she says, winking devilishly at me before retreating to the living room.
I give myself a last look in the mirror, reaching up to touch the now unblemished skin of my neck, Sam’s hickey no longer visible. If it wasn’t for my tired, mistrustful eyes and the downward turn of my mouth, I wouldn’t look half bad in this getup. Of course, I’ll never admit that to Brook.
“Ellie!” Luanne calls from the other room. “Amber’s on the phone. She says if you don’t get your ass to the fair in ten minutes, she’s going to set fire to the tent!”
“Tell her I’m on my way,” I call back. Poor Amber. She’s been dreading today all week. I promised her I’d be there early and here I’ve gone and left her alone at the fair, awaiting her fate amongst chocolate-flavored body powders. I grab my purse and call a goodbye to Luanne as I head out of the apartment. I’m going to have to floor it if I want to get to the booth in time to save Brook from Amber’s wrath. When I left the shop last night, I distinctly heard Amber muttering the words “contaminated” and “alibi.” I don’t have to be psychic to know Brook is in for a world of hurt if anyone dares to try and lick Amber.
I drop into the car as my cell phone begins to buzz within the confines of my purse. I reach inside my bag and my fingers instantly fall upon the vibrating plastic. The caller I.D. confirms what my gut suspects. It’s Sam calling. It’s been three days since I caught him at the bar with Roxy. He’s left two messages asking me to call him back so he can “explain things.” Where’ve I heard that one before? I drop the phone onto the passenger seat, lean my head back, and close my eyes against the dull buzz of the phone, thinking back to my conversation with Luanne after I ran out of The Cavern.
Luanne got back late that night. When she saw I was waiting up for her, snuggled into the sofa, still dressed though my