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Authors: Lucy McConnell
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school bus. “Is dressing like that part of the job too, or is this the real you?”
“Job. I’m all about business.”
“Fine.” His cold shoulder was getting on my nerves, but I was the one that wanted space. If we had to be in the same car, at least we could be professional. “Where are we going?”
“You need to look different than that picture.”
“Like a makeover?”
“Extreme makeover – spy style.”
“I can’t wait.” I threw the seat back and feigned disinterest. Inside, I was as nervous as a first-time investor.
We pulled into a nondescript South Jordan neighborhood a few minutes from the freeway. The homes were as normal as could be with bikes and scooters strewn about the lawns and side walk chalk artwork on the driveways.
A path led from the driveway, around to the side of the garage where a light glowed in the early morning gloom. Jason knocked three times on the door.
A cute, twenty-something woman with blonde hair to her waist answered the door. Recognition brought a smile to her face. “Robert! So good to see you again.” She held the door open wide, inviting us in.
Robert ? I held my gaze steady. Of course, he had more than one fake name.
“I just got your text.” She turned on me. “Is this the girl?”
“Yeah.” He pushed me forward. “I’ll be back in about an hour with her clothes. Do what you can to punk her out.”
“No problem.” She waved him off at the same time she pulled me in to her small salon. While she rummaged through bottles of hair cream and buckets of makeup, I took in the single sink, mirrored wall, and lone chair.
“Let’s get started.” She practically bounced in anticipation as she threw a cape over my shoulders.
“I’m not sure...”
“Don’t worry.” She turned on the warm water, leaned my chair back, and washed out the product from the day before. “Robert gave me instructions. You just sit back and relax.” She took a very dark bottle off the counter. “Before you know it, you’ll be a whole new person.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
Chapter 15
T he dark bottle turned out to be a leave-in, wash-out coloring agent: black. The color did nothing for my skin tone except to make me look like I needed a week-long vacation somewhere with lots of sun.
“At least, it doesn’t have the blue in it like Jas... I mean Robert’s does,” I said as I turned my head in different directions to take in the full effect.
“That’s what he gets for doing it on his own,” Tiffany harrumphed.
“Do you do this kind of thing often?”
She laughed. “Do you mean five a.m. appointments or drastic makeovers?” She was painting my nails a sparkly purple color. “Don’t move those for the next five minutes.”
“Drastic makeovers.”
Horror filled my soul as Tiffany expertly painted tattoos on the underside of my wrist. The bluish-black ink gave the tattoo an aged look. Under my watchful eye three small butterflies took shape. If these had been permanent, my mother would never again let me darken her door. Considering they would wash off with warm water, I could appreciate Tiffany’s skill with the brush. “You’re really good.”
She laughed again . Man was she perky for five in the morning . “I don’t do many of these makeovers. Most of my clients are ladies in my neighborhood. But, I have an on-going contract with, well I can’t tell you who with, so when the phone rings I get to work. Look down.”
My eyes went to the floor while she glued blue eyelashes in place. After a quick dab of black here and a swoop of grey there she spun my chair around to face the mirror. The punk girl staring back at me looked hard. I explored the image for some sign of the woman who conducts children's Sunday school meetings and couldn’t find a trace of her simple elegance anywhere. I still had on my Utah State sweatshirt and straight-leg jeans, but everything else had been transformed.
Three taps on the door and Jason barged in.
“Job. I’m all about business.”
“Fine.” His cold shoulder was getting on my nerves, but I was the one that wanted space. If we had to be in the same car, at least we could be professional. “Where are we going?”
“You need to look different than that picture.”
“Like a makeover?”
“Extreme makeover – spy style.”
“I can’t wait.” I threw the seat back and feigned disinterest. Inside, I was as nervous as a first-time investor.
We pulled into a nondescript South Jordan neighborhood a few minutes from the freeway. The homes were as normal as could be with bikes and scooters strewn about the lawns and side walk chalk artwork on the driveways.
A path led from the driveway, around to the side of the garage where a light glowed in the early morning gloom. Jason knocked three times on the door.
A cute, twenty-something woman with blonde hair to her waist answered the door. Recognition brought a smile to her face. “Robert! So good to see you again.” She held the door open wide, inviting us in.
Robert ? I held my gaze steady. Of course, he had more than one fake name.
“I just got your text.” She turned on me. “Is this the girl?”
“Yeah.” He pushed me forward. “I’ll be back in about an hour with her clothes. Do what you can to punk her out.”
“No problem.” She waved him off at the same time she pulled me in to her small salon. While she rummaged through bottles of hair cream and buckets of makeup, I took in the single sink, mirrored wall, and lone chair.
“Let’s get started.” She practically bounced in anticipation as she threw a cape over my shoulders.
“I’m not sure...”
“Don’t worry.” She turned on the warm water, leaned my chair back, and washed out the product from the day before. “Robert gave me instructions. You just sit back and relax.” She took a very dark bottle off the counter. “Before you know it, you’ll be a whole new person.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
Chapter 15
T he dark bottle turned out to be a leave-in, wash-out coloring agent: black. The color did nothing for my skin tone except to make me look like I needed a week-long vacation somewhere with lots of sun.
“At least, it doesn’t have the blue in it like Jas... I mean Robert’s does,” I said as I turned my head in different directions to take in the full effect.
“That’s what he gets for doing it on his own,” Tiffany harrumphed.
“Do you do this kind of thing often?”
She laughed. “Do you mean five a.m. appointments or drastic makeovers?” She was painting my nails a sparkly purple color. “Don’t move those for the next five minutes.”
“Drastic makeovers.”
Horror filled my soul as Tiffany expertly painted tattoos on the underside of my wrist. The bluish-black ink gave the tattoo an aged look. Under my watchful eye three small butterflies took shape. If these had been permanent, my mother would never again let me darken her door. Considering they would wash off with warm water, I could appreciate Tiffany’s skill with the brush. “You’re really good.”
She laughed again . Man was she perky for five in the morning . “I don’t do many of these makeovers. Most of my clients are ladies in my neighborhood. But, I have an on-going contract with, well I can’t tell you who with, so when the phone rings I get to work. Look down.”
My eyes went to the floor while she glued blue eyelashes in place. After a quick dab of black here and a swoop of grey there she spun my chair around to face the mirror. The punk girl staring back at me looked hard. I explored the image for some sign of the woman who conducts children's Sunday school meetings and couldn’t find a trace of her simple elegance anywhere. I still had on my Utah State sweatshirt and straight-leg jeans, but everything else had been transformed.
Three taps on the door and Jason barged in.
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