11.5 The Abyss of WonderLand
The man was amazingly quick. With the rapidity of a viper, he seized my open palm, turned it over, then bent to kiss the soft part, the median palmar region, I’d once learned when I was helping Sammy study for her nursing exam. (She failed the first few times, but her efforts had given me the knowledge of the proper names of numerous body parts which remained in my brain cells even when I tried to push them out.) The man’s lips tingled against the fleshy part of my palm where he was touching me. I felt the touch of those lips clear down to my genital area. Oh, my goodness. My heart raced, my breathing sped up until I wanted to dog pant my interest. My nipples suddenly strained to poke through the dainty material of my silky new bra. I jerked my hand free and tried to restrain my bodily reactions. My eyes dropped to study the rolled arm of the Sanders’ luxurious couch. The leather felt soft to my fingers and as smooth and pleasing as butter left out on the table, at the exact temperature when it smoothed perfectly over your piece of toast without breaking the bread. My fingers stroked the nail head trim of the couch, finding comfort in that as well. “She’s shy,” Judy said, breaking the spell that had come over me: the touch of languor, the appalling nature of my arousal, and my sudden case of goosebumps. I glanced in Judy’s direction, looking for meaning, I suppose, or more likely seeking an explanation for this strange reaction to a man I’d only just met. “Leave us,” the man ordered, and as a strange as everything else that had happened, Judy and my boss suddenly stood up and walked out of the room. I think I would have obeyed Mr. Caldwell’s commanding voice if he hadn’t raised up his left hand in the well-known police gesture that required all traffic to stop. Like most drivers, I went into automatic, halting any movement forward.
11.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy: (back story, move forward in book?) My dinners with Judy and her husband, Ed, were becoming tedious. Judy had decided that I needed a wife and was determined to find me one. I wasn’t against that idea, in fact, I would be delighted to find the right woman to share my life, but so far, she’d introduced me to gold diggers and simpletons. I know how that makes me sound. I’m not a conceited jerk. I do appreciate that women have their own interests and might not come across exactly as I desired on their first meeting, but so far, I hadn’t met even one that I wanted to have a second date with. I hated insipid, dead eyes, women who constantly checked a mirror, and those who dropped names of the rich and famous as if that should impress me. Those who wanted to marry me for a meal ticket and a swimming pool were automatically out. Judy insisted that none of the ladies she’d introduced me to fit that pattern. They worked for Ed at the legal firm, which means that they were educated and highly intelligent females on the financial ladder of success. Good for them, but none of them fit. As to looks, I was less inclined to choose the thin as a clothes hangar type. I preferred softer, more fragile women. Whether they did or did not lift heavy weights at the gym was nothing I cared about. I wanted well-read, slightly old-fashioned in a modesty sense (No boobs hanging out or enticements that offered me everything the moment I met her,) and . . . well, someone who was just right. I’d know. Instantly. At least that was my genetic pattern. In my family, we chose mates for life and knew exactly who that was in the first five minutes of meeting our fated. “This is the one,” Judy had said, inviting me in, although I doubted her words. How could she know which one would click when I didn’t? I had no premonition, although sometimes that was something common in my family. In fact, I was in general, absolutely negative about the whole evening. This was the last dinner for me. I’d told that to Judy. I was only in attendance because I’d promised her earlier. One more time, and then Fini. I didn’t even look at the young lady they tried to introduce me to. I was frankly rude, put off by this whole mandatory staged stranger date. Knowing it was my final and last disappointing dinner, I was as interested in meeting Judy’s choice as in falling off a cliff. And as I walked into the living room and did glance over at her, I saw another breathtaking model type. Disappointment immediately raised its head, saying, “What did you expect?” Angry at any carefully suppressed expectations I might have held, I demanded to know the woman’s name. I addressed my reaction to Ed, not wanting to openly berate his wife for another failure. She’d hear about my immediate rejection later, but, truthfully, this would give me the perfect excuse to close the door on all further match-making opportunities Judy wanted to shovel in my face. I’d officially crossed the border of no return.
11.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
“A diet coke?” I said, hating the way my voice always added a question mark at the end of every one of my sentences. I needed to work on being more assertive. I’d been told that by my roommate, Sammy and her friend, Cara, but I had trouble following through. Sometimes it did seem like the world was a big question mark. Ed Sanders, my boss, was still staring at me with a look of horror. I’d thought he was part of the beautification process, granting me a half day so I could go see Simone, but I guess, he wasn’t expecting the process to be so complete, to find me so completely changed. It took several moments of him clearing his throat and sipping at his drink, which was probably whiskey, his drink of choice, before he finally managed to say, “Did Simone treat you okay?” I smiled. Did Simone have a habit of beating her clients? Did she spank them until their hair curled? I knew that jokes were not my stronghold, but I enjoyed my own sense of humor. I just made sure I didn’t speak my thoughts out loud. Weird looks always ensued otherwise. The doorbell rang. The esteemed Timothy Caldwell had arrived. Christina met him at the door and walked him into the living room where we were sitting. Ed was on the leather chair that he favored. It seemed to fit with his whiskey drinking. Judy was sitting on the chair next to her husband. Timothy took two steps into the room and halted, one foot paused in transit as if someone had turned him into an ice sculpture. “Who is this?” he finally said, enunciating distinctly like people did when English was not their first language. He was staring at me as he asked that question, but since his question wasn’t actually addressed to me, I chose not to speak. I found the man’s rudeness inexplicable. Judy rushed forward with introductions. I barely nodded to Mr. Caldwell, not at all sure that I wanted to make the man’s acquaintance, but he finally found his footing and sped over. He clicked his heels together like some old time German soldier, then extended a hand for me to take. It would have been impolite not to offer up mine, but still I hesitated a moment. And then I noticed the challenge in his eyes. He was almost daring me, as if I might not be brave enough to shake his hand. Despite the odd positioning of his pose, I touched his hand with a quick movement to allow my speedy withdrawal should the handshake be rough or overly long in duration.
11.2 The Abyss of WonderLand
It was not a long ride to Judy’s house. I had no time to recall the hours I’d spent in the WonderLand of Caroon’s Hairstyling. I was still fuzzy about that, and I suspected that the tea Simone had given me had been drugged, for I was still unsure of the reliability of my brain. Perhaps I’d hallucinated when I’d looked into the mirror. Was that how hallucinogenic drugs worked? Did they show you what you wished for? The chauffeur again helped me. This time when he seized my elbow, he walked me to the door, rang the bell, then stepped away. “I will leave you here, Miss. Enjoy your evening.” Although my boss, Ed Sanders, had plenty of money for servants, he personally greeted me at the door. The funny thing is that he appeared not to recognize me. “Yes, may I help you?” he said. I could see he was preparing to slam the door in my face. “Boss, it’s me, Penelope.” I laughed, even though the whole scene was a bit spooky. Had a bit of hair growth, some dye, and Simone’s professional application of makeup completely changed me? “Penelope,” came the other voice I was familiar with. Judy gently pushed aside her husband, patting him on the shoulder. “Why are you blocking her way in? I told you I invited her here for dinner.” “Um, um,” was all he seemed able to say. Judy swung the door wider, then gasped. “Oh, my! Simone has done wonders. You are beautiful, Penelope. I mean, you always were. But now, you’re a super model.” Her arm swung around my shoulder, and she pulled me inside. I expected to see a huge group of people. Judy loved to entertain. But I must have arrived too early, for I didn’t see anyone else as the three of us walked into the living room. “What did you do to her, Judy? She was perfect before. Now she may not want to do her job. She may too busy primping like some of the other young ladies.” “I would never do that, Boss,” I told him with a serious face and the assertion of knowing I could never be a kick back worker. “Of course you wouldn’t, Penelope.” He laughed, a low-pitched fake laugh that told me he was extremely concerned that his wife’s interference might change more than my looks. “What can I get you to drink?” he added, and called out for Christina, who was the usual maid during social events at the Sanders’ house.
11.1 The Abyss of WonderLand
Simone finally issued her statement. “Yes. The red dress is the best. The shoes fit you best, too, although you will need to be careful as you walk. It would not be a successful endeavor if you fell flat on your face in front of Timothy.” “Thanks for the encouragement,” I said under my breath. Simone must have the ears of a young person. She flashed a smile at me and nodded. “You will be returning often, my dear. We shall work on your poise, your grace, and keep up on the facials, as well as tend to the needs of your new hairstyle.” As if that had opened my concentration, I suddenly became aware of the length of my hair. Had I been given extensions? I started to reach back and touch it, but Simone stopped me. “Enough,” she said. “Judy has said you will be Timothy’s choice, so that is enough for me. Luckily, the red dress can remain on. You are ready. Your driver is waiting.” “But,” I said, flustered. “Can’t I see what I look like? What have you done with my hair?” “We have improved you everywhere, my dear. You are a changed woman.” She clicked her fingers, and a mirror was carried out by one of the workers, Gabby, I think.” But when I looked in the mirror, it wasn’t me who stared back. My hair was as long as I’d felt it to be when I’d swished it back and forth. But it was blonde streaked. My bangs were mere whisps. How had a solid line turned into a whisper of youth? Dang, whoever the person in front of me was that was staring back at me, she looked good. Even her cheekbones were pronounced. Her eyes were bluer. Her lashes long and curved. She wore lipstick and had perfect eyebrows. I turned to gasp at Simone. “What have you done? I don’t look like me? I think it’s wonderful, but I’m not sure. I think it’s impossible to do this, isn’t it?” “It is time to go, Penelope. Good luck tonight. May fortune be in your favor.” The driver in his almost military-like uniform took my elbow in his hand and walked me out the door before I’d realized it. Too much had happened. It was a dream. No more than a bizarre dream, yet, when I sat down in the limo, the seats felt real. The white leather was smooth and soft against the back of my knees.
10.31 The Abyss of WonderLand
Again she laughed gently, patted my arm, then clapped her hands. That was apparently the signal for several of her employees to bring in articles of clothing: a rolling clothes rack full of dresses hanging on a rod, a cart with a small Ferris wheel on top that displayed high heeled pumps in an array of colors each on its own pedestal, and, lastly, a fancy three-tiered, pink draped utility cart full of undergarments from the kind of shops I’d never entered. It was quite a grand production, and to say that my mouth dropped open with saliva dripping down the sides was so close to reality that I covered my mouth just to make sure that wasn’t the actually happening. It was obvious by the Simone’s presentation and the quality of the items that I wouldn’t be able to afford any of it. What was Judy thinking? What had she told Simone? Although Judy’s husband paid me well, he hadn’t turned me into a wealthy consumer. This selection would take a whole month’s salary. I opened my mouth to attempt to explain that to Simone, but as if she sensed my hesitation, she nodded. “You are fortunate that Judy has taken you under her wing for this enterprise. Your clothing allowance is unlimited. We can select whatever is best for you.” Okay, then my mouth did crack open before I slammed it shut. I swallowed hard and reached from my glass, which was empty. “Our guest has no beverage. Bring her a spring water. We must get her energized for her next task, which is trying on these clothes,” Simone’s voice rang out with a cheerful liveliness that told me she was enjoying dressing me up. I guess this was her version of playing with dolls. “The undergarments were all the same size. I was given a pair and sent into the bathroom to start my fashion show. I wouldn’t say that the lingerie looked comfy, but as instructed, I donned the light pink pair. As long as I didn’t have to model them in front of the group of helpers, I was willing. I’d actually always wanted some fancy dainty delicates, but I’d never had the courage (or money) to shop for them. And so, the task began. The shoes were a challenge. I wobbled and tried to ignore the pinchy points, although the shoes were all in my size. A woman entered and stood by to help me don the dresses. I’d never had someone zipping or easing me into clothing before. In fact, I’d always bought my dresses at stores where I was the only one in the dressing room, and I often took a purchase home without trying it on, then evaluated it in the privacy of my apartment. Apparently taking such a risk that a garment wouldn’t be just right for me, absolutely horrified Simone when I made the mistake of mentioning my usual practice. “There will be no more of that,” she said. “Garments should be designed for your body specifically, not mass produced to maybe be acceptable.” Obviously, Simone and I did not share the same social or financial strata, but I said nothing. The idea sounded good in principle. Each time I tried on a new fashion statement, Simone insisted that I walk about with the eyes of her three workers all watching me. Doubtless, my face bloomed in reds, and I wanted nothing more than to rush home and hide in one of my old worn-out nightgowns while wearing my fuzzy, comfortable cat slippers. But I was doing this for Judy. I slipped on and off a total of eleven dresses, each time, enduring the brief consultation that followed each round. The discussion was always in a foreign language (French or Italian, I think.) As I stood there, trying not to fidget, and debating whether I should just call it quits and wear the dress that I’d warn to work that day, Simone would occasionally interject remarks. “You look lovely, my dear,” she’d say, or “Yes, that dress very much suits you. Red is a great color for you, although I do like the blue equally.” I was rather surprised that the dresses fit me at all. I supposed more expensive clothing lines carried bigger sizes.
10.30 Abyss of WonderLand
Simone glanced at the clock in the corner, one that I hadn’t noticed in my sleepy daze. “You have an hour before you need to leave for Judy’s house, and you don’t need to worry about that anyway. Her driver is picking you up. “Now, we need to choose your outfit for this dinner with the mysterious Timothy Caldwell. I know him well, and he is sincerely delicious.” Simone was not a young model of femininity. I think she was closer to fifty, so the expression she’d used sounded odd coming from her lips. But I was far from reacting to anything at that point. I was numb. Sitting in the chair where she’d put me felt calming and comfortable. If I had a singing voice, I’d be in danger of crooning something like Some Enchanted Evening, my grandmother’s favorite. “I’ve never met the man,” I said, wondering why I was saying that. I mean, it was true. “Yes. I know, Penelope. But he will find you pleasing, and you will . . . well, let’s just say, you will find him incredibly dashing and somehow the perfect man to complete your life. It really is that easy, you know.” I was awake enough to almost giggle at that. Simone sure didn’t know me. She couldn’t imagine how I bored every man Judy had arranged to sit beside me. But I kept that thought to myself and played the good client. I didn’t even crack a smile with her words, as if accepting everything she was telling me. Besides, what did I have to lose? “Did you put fake eyelashes on me? I have the strangest feeling of having hairier eyeballs than before.” Of course, I knew how silly that sounded the moment I’d uttered it, but Simone nodded approvingly. “Yes, you are perfect for him. Timothy will be amused by your humor. He likes women who are modest as you are and well-read. I am positive a fire will be struck this very evening.” I sighed. Lighting fires made him sound like he was a smoker, something I absolutely couldn’t/wouldn’t tolerate, but I let Simon’s comments dangle there, hoping all of her reassurances would retreat from my mind. They would only make me more self-conscious, and this Timothy was sounding like he was more work than he was worth. “How do you take off false eyelashes?” I asked Simone. “Do I need to buy some special goop for that?”
10.29 The Abyss of WonderLand
And then came the moment that I began to rise up from my deadened awareness. It was the smell, I think. A sweet vanilla fragrance, reminding me of the sugar cookies that I’d once baked with my grandmother. My nose wiggled slightly, sending a jerk of pain. That shot my eyes open. I attempted to touch my nose, wondering why it vaguely hurt, but my hands were bound, not tied down exactly, but swathed in gloves so thick they might as well have been boxing gloves. “Ah, you are awake,” Simone said, with that sexy voice of hers that made her sound like a Shakespearean-trained actress. I was sitting upright in the same chair where I’d perched when I first arrived and had drunk the odd-tasting tea Simone poured into my pink, gold and very delicate teacup. “Um, sorry. I guess I fell asleep. I had the strangest dreams.” Geeze, did I have to spill out everything I was fuzzily thinking? I sat up straighter, unkinking my back, which amazingly didn’t feel as if I’d been sleeping bent over like a youthful edition of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. “Here, drink this,” Simone said in a soft voice that still held the quality of a command. As if I were part robot, I took the glass from her hand and sipped it, then, at her urging (or rather her command,) I finished it off. That shot an awareness through me that it was time to visit the lady’s room. I made my way to the dark pink door a few steps away. It opened for me as if awaiting my presence. The light went on, and I sat where one is supposed to sit. When I was ready to wash my hands, I noticed that the room had no mirror. That was especially strange in a salon where women came to be beautified. Simone was waiting for me when I exited. She led me over to a different chair and told me to sit. “What time is it?” I asked, having once again left my watch on the counter at home, still powering up. It was too bad that I wasn’t wearing it that day. It couldn’t tell me the number of steps I’d walked that day, which was a shame because I’d worked a lot further than usual. I should have gotten the happy face award my watch sometimes issued.
10.28 The Abyss of WonderLand
As if I hadn’t been scared enough of this beauty parlor trip, Simone’s statements were making me even more disquieted. Did Judy realize that Simone was developing some kind of madness? Was it schizophrenia? Had she swallowed some illegal drug? Should I bolt out of the room in an effort to save myself from a sudden infection of crazy? But the hand she’d laid on top of mine tightened. “Relax, Penelope. You will like what I’m going to do to you. I am going to show you a new version of you, your true potential.” Okay, the sound of that was both as frightening as a nearby lightning strike but also as enticing as a chocolate brownie of hope. Who doesn’t want to change for the better? Was Simone promising miracles? Was she trying to sell me some magical elixir that would supposedly raise my beauty percentage to a positive number (while subtracting pounds?) I took another sip of my tea and nodded. I was already at Caroon’s Hairstyling and Judy had said the cost was on her, so . . . Besides, since I’d drunk tea with Simone, it was probably too late to back out.
10.27 The Abyss of WonderLand
Apparently, Simone’s space was the room at the end. It was spacious, elegant, and pink with dashes of gold inlay and white furniture. It should have made one feel like they were drowning inside a bottle of the liquid heartburn medicine my grandmother used to take, but it wasn’t like that at all. The design of the room was stylish, smart, and palatial. I sat in the chair she designated and accepted my cup of tea in its dainty pink-flowered China teacup with a gold handle that perfectly matched the tea pot she’d just poured it out of. For a moment I felt like I was in the musical I’d seen with my grandma about a young female named Gigi. She was being groomed to be proper and drank tea nervously from a dainty teacup held with an upward posed pinky. Of course, I remembered then that she was being groomed to be a mistress for rich men, but that’s not what happened, so . . . Simone had sat in the chair opposite me and was staring brazenly. “You really are quite pretty, you know,” she said with that refined British voice of hers. Either she was lying or she was . . . well, lying. I didn’t have a pretty bone in my body. As Granny used to say, “I was a workhorse, a sturdy, no nonsense type of individual. ”I’m not sure whether Granny was complimenting me or putting me down when she said that. I think she just meant that I was just me and came the way I came. Solid was good, anyway. But as to pretty? I hadn’t spoken. I guess my face reflected my feelings on the matter. Simone put her cup down and reached over to place her hand on mine. I wanted to withdraw. I’d never been a touchy-feely kind of girl. In fact, it made me apprehensive when someone did that, like an invasion of my space. But Simone was an extension of Judy. I may have wished to withdraw my hand, but I didn’t. Her eyes were still watching me, studying me as an artist might. I guess that’s what a hairstylist was, or at least they wanted to be. But they had to work with the blob that walked through their door. They couldn’t carefully select the raw material they wished to carve into a masterpiece. “You have an imp inside you,” she said suddenly. What did one say to that? What did she even mean with such a statement? I remained silent thinking about it. “You do not know yourself, I see. Then today, I will do more than cut your hair. I will reveal what is deep inside you.”