Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [29]
Julie begins to make a tear in the bottom hem of my T-shirt so I won’t have to pull it over my head, telling Mark and Lloyd to turn the other way.
—But . . . but you can sell that! Mark gasps, meaning the T-shirt. —All right, I’ll shut up, he says.
He turns around as Julie rips it up to my neck and snips the collar and sleeves. It feels like every last thing I have is being cut away from me.
—We’re going for total bravery tonight, Lynie girl. After I get you washed up, I’m afraid I have to shave part of your head.
—Just shave it all, I say.
—They come not single spies, Mark says.
—Get your father’s electric razor, Shakespeare. And hurry, love.
CHAPTER
10
I feel as if I’ve slept a thousand years since I heard the low hum of Lloyd’s electric shaver against my skull. My head feels breezy, exposed. Mark brings a glass of water up to my chin, angles the straw into my mouth, and tells me, —You missed some stuff.
—My hair?
—She did a really clean job. And this you’ll like. The stitches form the letter T. She said when the hair grows back, you’ll still be able to feel the place where the knots were. An homage—to Tommy.
I try not to tear up.
—I listened in when she was on the phone with your mom last night. Allison and Thad are staying put for now. The press are ten deep around your house.
—She probably likes that.
—Actually, she sounded pretty unhinged.
—I better get home.
Then Julie swoops in to check on me while I’m brushing my teeth with the new brush she unwrapped for me. She and I are close enough in size. Through the foamy toothpaste, I ask to borrow a T-shirt and jeans—she’s thrown mine in the wash and they’re still soaked, she tells me.
—Dress for the cameras today, dear.
—I’m not entirely Allison’s daughter.
—People will be watching, and whether you like it or not, you represent Tommy today. That’s what will be foremost in their minds.
I would argue the point, but I know it’s useless with Julie. And the only thing she’ll loan me is this blue silk dress with a bodice and a skirt so long it trains. To make it worse, she fishes around until she finds the nearly sapphire necklace she wore when she married Lloyd, and fastens this around my neck. I look like a dark blue bride. I get some makeup on my face, which is kind of weird because once your hair is gone, where does your face begin or end?
When she pads down the hall to make breakfast, Mark asks if he can draw a skull and crossbones on my head. This has something to do with the new semi-erasable tattoo kit he’s purchased.
—I don’t think so.
—I could do a sword and shield above your brow.
—Maybe later?
—The Colosseum?
—You’re insane, I say.
He’s sweet to try and make me laugh. He settles for putting his arms around me. His beard tickles my head and his T-shirt smells of burgers. I slip out of his arms and go over and look behind his closet door at the full-length mirror.
—You’re as beautiful as Portman in V for Vendetta, he says. I know better.
—Allison and Julie don’t really want me to marry Uber, do they?
—They think you should consider it . . . under the circumstances. And I think you should run away with me to Saskatchewan.
—I don’t think the Canadians are wild about Glads.
—We could bring our ultralite lances to impress them. Mexico? I don’t care. The happiest place on Earth? There has to be one small hiding place the infrared cameras can’t penetrate.
—I have to see how Thad’s holding up.
—Bahrain? New Orleans? I don’t want you to marry this jerk!
Lloyd drives me home in his mercenary van. Mark volunteers to sit in the seatless back, rolling around with the loose nunchucks and brass knuckles. I sit shotgun. I’d feel better if we had a gray New England sky, but the day is so much sunlight and full-blown trees and rasping insects and heat. I fish a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment that sort of fit if I push them up and tilt them to one side. The lenses are pretty scratched.
—Check this out, Mark says. He gets up and