One Summer in Paris

“And the new way of dressing is for you. To help you. We need to brighten up your look a little. You wear a lot of beige and black. I mean, you look great, don’t get me wrong, but it makes you look older than you are.”

“Beige and black are classic, safe choices.”

“If you work in a funeral home maybe. We need to make sure that when you meet Philippe for dinner, you wow him.”

“I’m not meeting him for dinner.”

“Yeah, you are.” Audrey stood up. Where should she start? “I think you’re wearing your clothes a size bigger than you should.”

“Tight clothes don’t look good on a woman my age.”

Audrey thought about her mother. Spilling flesh. Tight waistbands. “You’re right. But there’s a difference between clothes that are tight and clothes that fit well.” She paced around Grace, looking at her from every angle. “Lift your dress up.”

“Excuse me?”

Audrey reached out and hoisted it up herself. “Why do you always wear dresses that end midcalf?”

“I hate my knees.”

“Is that why you wear tights? Your knees look fine to me, but we can get something that ends below the knee if it makes you more comfortable.”

“You want to help choose my clothes?”

“Not help. I don’t need help. I’m choosing them. I’m also doing your hair and makeup.” Audrey pulled the clip out of Grace’s hair. It tumbled loose over her shoulders. Her fingers ached to pick up scissors. “You look good. You’re the kind of person who never leaves the house without sunscreen and a hat, so your skin is great. You don’t have any gray in your hair. How long have you been wearing your hair like this?”

“Thirty years.”

“You’ve had the same hairstyle for thirty years? Well sh—I mean, darn.” Audrey helped herself to a cherry from the bowl on the table. If she stuffed her mouth with cherries, there would be no risk of her saying all the things she wanted to say. “Time for a makeover.” She spat the cherry stone into her palm and was about to put it down on a book Grace was reading when she caught her eye.

“The garbage can is in the kitchen, Audrey.”

“Good. I knew that. Thanks.” She strolled into the kitchen, threw the stone in the bin and walked back into the living room. “I’m almost house-trained. Are you impressed? Now sit down and don’t move.” She pulled out one of the dining room chairs. “I’m nipping upstairs to fetch a few things, but I’ll be back in a minute.”

She sprinted to her apartment, grabbed what she needed and returned to find Grace still standing in the same place.

“What exactly are you planning?”

“Changing things a bit, that’s all.”

“I hate change.”

“You’re not going to hate this change.” Audrey gestured to the chair. “I’m going to show you some colors and styles. If you don’t like it, I won’t be offended.”

“You’re not going to cut it?” Grace grasped her hair protectively. With her hair loose and her buttons uneven, she seemed vulnerable.

“Not yet. But I am going to show you what it would look like shorter.” She opened the case Meena had bought her for her birthday, and pulled out hair grips. “Close your eyes.”

“I want to see what you’re doing.”

“Do I tell you how to teach French? Have a little faith. I’m good at this, I promise.” Audrey combed through Grace’s hair, studying the color and texture. “You have nice hair. It’s in good condition. That’s going to help.”

“I condition it regularly.”

Of course she did. Grace would never do anything so reckless as to leave her hair to fend for itself.

Audrey moved in front of her, twisting Grace’s hair away from her face, lowering it a little, looking at different lengths. “I want to try something.” Holding the pins between her teeth, she combed, tucked and pinned until she’d produced a style that mimicked short hair. “It would look better than this if it was cut, obviously.”

“Are you going to let me look?”