Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [27]
Peggy Jean laughed modestly. “Good heavens, no, these are just plain old Nine Wests.”
Claude handed Peggy Jean a cotton/poly smock and instructed her to change out of her top and into the smock, guiding her to a small dressing room. Peggy Jean did so, belting it tightly around her waist. She returned to Claude’s station, setting her purse on the shelf below the mirror.
Claude gave the chair three quick pumps with his foot, and then waved Peggy Jean into it. Standing behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders and looking at her reflection in the mirror, Claude asked, “Same as always?”
A slightly mischievous look crossed Peggy Jean’s face. “Claude? I was thinking, wondering, if maybe I could do reverse highlights?”
Claude looked down at Peggy Jean’s blond hair and ran his fingers through it, feeling the texture, evaluating the color as well as the existing level of damage. “You mean, sort of a Michelle Pfeiffer thing?” he asked, and then answered his own question, “I think we could do that, yeah. As a matter of fact I think it could be fabulous.”
“Oh, well, wonderful then, let’s be bold and try something new,” Peggy Jean said. Then she casually fingered the sterling silver Omega necklace around her neck. “I’m flying to Milan for a special live broadcast, and I just want to look my best.”
“Milan? How glamorous! You television people, I swear. Now don’t you move a muscle,” Claude instructed. He disappeared momentarily to get the color cart, but paused briefly in the changing room to snort a little crystal-meth. When he reappeared, wheeling the white plastic cart in front of him, he was humming the latest Ricky Martin single. Claude looked back down at Peggy Jean’s shoes. “I can’t believe those are just Nine Wests.”
Snapping the plastic top off the colorant, Claude opened the fixative and poured it into the bottle of colorant, placing his index finger over the opening and giving the mixture a shake. He then placed a protective cape over Peggy Jean’s smock, fastening it tightly at the nape of her neck.
“Guess who came in the other day for a cellophane?” he asked.
Peggy Jean adored Claude. “Who, tell me, who?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” he said, humming a few bars from the theme to Maude.
“Bea Arthur?”
“Better. Adrienne Barbeau.”
“Adrienne Barbeau? Goodness, I haven’t heard a peep about her in years.”
“Darling, stop moving your head so much,” Claude said, steadying her head with his hands. “Anyway, as I was saying, get this: She just had twins . . . at fifty one!”
“Claude, you can’t be serious.”
“Not only that, she looked wonderful. And she’s as nice as can be. Though the poor thing was a little distraught over an infomercial deal that went sour.”
“Oh, well that’s a shame, but I’m sure another infomercial will come along. With twins, she could do a Beech-Nut thing.” She scratched her elbow. “Connie Chung doesn’t still do Beech-Nut commercials, does she?”
Claude put one hand on his hip and wagged the applicator brush at Peggy Jean. “Joan Lunden does Beech-Nut, girl. Connie Chung does Maury Povich. Get your news-divas straight.”
Peggy Jean loved the way he always called her girl.
After brushing the color on Peggy Jean’s hair, he wrapped each section in a square of aluminum foil.
“How’s your roommate?” Peggy Jean asked, a modern, politically correct woman. Although she did lower her voice when saying the word “roommate.”
“Please . . . he’s driving me absolutely crazy. His latest delusional fantasy is that he’s going be a food stylist, you know, for photo shoots?”
Peggy Jean nodded into the mirror.
“I came home the other day and he was rubbing shoe polish all over the outside of a raw turkey to make it look already cooked.”
Peggy Jean scrunched up her face. “Yuck.”
“It’s been a nightmare. You try living with somebody who uses the blowdrier to melt cheese on top of nacho chips.”
Peggy Jean couldn’t imagine.
“You don’t know the half of it. I caught him adding grill marks to a