Electing For her Curves

Despite what people say about small towns, not every single person knows everyone else.

And this one? I’m sure I’d remember her if I had met her.

She doesn’t mean to, but she screws up her face as soon as I walk in. I know that she knows who I am and I feel like I’ve shrunk about three feet as she balances on her six-inch heels, tottering out from behind the counter as she looks me up and down.

“I’m Krystal Newland, I called earlier,” I announce, trying to sound confident but once she reaches for my hair and holds it out like wet noodles I know I’m lost.

“I know, honey, I know,” she murmurs, inhaling deeply and puffing her huge chest out before sighing to herself.

She has long, fake nails and more Malibu Barbie peroxide blond hair than I ever thought possible.

She’s wearing a pink jumpsuit and enough makeup to make me wonder if there’s any left in the county let alone in her salon to fix my face.

“I thought maybe if my hair could be-” I start to squeak, but she’s already marching me over toward a chair, which she almost pushes me into before examining my nails, making another face as she looks at the clock.

“We’ll see what we can do, honey,” she says with a look of sympathy. Like I’ve dragged in a corpse and asked her to make it pretty because there’s an open casket in a couple of hours’ time.

I should say something. I should maybe just tell her where to stick her salon, but I don’t exactly have a choice right now, and the women I saw walking out when I came in certainly looked like they’d had a positive experience.

So, I let beautician Barbie do her thing, trying to relax after refusing a glass of wine, I’m a little shocked to see her throw it back like its water before she sets to work on my nails first.

As much as I get the feeling she resents my existence, she’s actually really quite good at her job. One hand soaks while she works on the other. Just a little trim, buff, and then French polished tips which I wasn’t expecting.

I would say no, but by the time I realize what she’s doing, plus seeing how nice they look, I guess that’s what I’m having after all.

“Much better,” she coos, ordering me to keep my hands still while they dry.

Tilting my seat back a little, she turns it around to face the wall of mirrors and I almost gasp at how puffy, red and generally un-pretty I look under the intense lights.

I know I’m no oil painting, but its upsetting to see myself looking so terrible.

Reading my mind, she sets my mind at ease. Sort of.

“We’ll get your hair up and running, then we’ll finish with the face, bring it all together,” she drawls, grabbing a fistful of my hair thoughtfully before letting it fall again and setting to work.

I’ve always had my hair cut out of town or by my own hand, I’ll admit. And I think it shows.

Closing my eyes so I don’t have to look at myself, I try and imagine it’s James’ hands running through my hair, grabbing it and scrunching it while his huge, hard body presses against all my softness.

Even though it’s her hands and not his, my imagination soon gets the better of me, and I’m almost right back in that dream again, half-dozing before I jerk myself awake with a soft moan.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim, looking at the girl in the mirror in front of me.

She has the same puffy, red blotchy face, but her hair… it’s perfect.

Better than I could ever have imagined.

“You should come in after the ball, honey. I’ll cut it properly for you,” she says again in that sympathetic tone.

Checking the clock again she puffs out her cheeks.

“I’m pushing it uphill y’know,” she adds. “I have to get ready myself. That Silver fox of a man who’s running for Mayor is single by all accounts, and I want to make sure I get to meet him before anyone else does,” she says, her own eyes glazing over with a mix of lust and what I assume is several glasses of white wine.

I notice myself in the mirror again, not angry or jealous. But trying not to smile or laugh.

I don’t know everything about James Silverthorn, but I don’t think Beautician Barbie here is quite his type.

Plus, I reason with myself I’m gonna have to get used to a man like him turning heads.

As much as it amuses me now, I know it won’t be so funny in real life.

That’s assuming he’ll have me… Oh god! Please let her be as good with makeup as she is with hair and nails.

Like making my wish, I close my eyes again, feeling Barbie’s body close to mine and smelling a bit too much of chardonnay for my liking, but I put up with it, knowing there’s no way I could have done half of what she’s done so far myself.