said.
Christina spent the rest of the afternoon examining her face in the triple mirror. “I can’t wait,” she said. “By eight o’clock tonight, this line will be gone. And this one.” Christina pointed to the furrows between her nose and lips. They were getting deeper.
Helen still thought the injections were a mistake, but she didn’t try to argue Christina out of them. The woman was determined.
“Wait till Joe sees me,” she said. “I’ll make sure he sees my new face. I’ll buy myself the red Versace that’s cut down to my navel and go dancing at all our clubs.”
Christina was nearly cackling in anticipation. Her fury at Joe was frightening. Christina’s unrelenting anger distorted her face until she was almost ugly. Her nose seemed long and witchlike. Her lips were locked in a snarl. Her eyes were mean slits.
“Tomorrow, you’ll see a new me. I’m going to look younger and better,” Christina said. “I’ll find me a new boyfriend. Better than that jerk, Joe. He’ll be sorry.”
But it was Christina who was sorry.
The next morning, Christina came into work wearing a huge Hermes scarf that put her face in shadow. When Christina pulled off the scarf, Helen saw what she was hiding.
One side of Christina’s face was grossly swollen. Her cheek was the size of a grapefruit half and covered with knoblike lumps. The other side was smooth and wrinkle-free, turning Christina into her own grotesque before-and- after picture.
Despite the Brazilian doctor’s promises and Brittney’s testimonial, the biopolymer injections were not safe and simple. Christina’s face was a horror show. Helen had braced herself when the scarf came off, but the shock must have shown on her face. Still, she said nothing. But Tara had been expecting a cosmetic miracle. She looked at Christina’s bloated cheek and blurted, “What’s that horrible thing on your face?”
Tara tried to recover her blunder with, “I mean, your face looks a tiny bit swollen.”
“Doctor Mariposa said I had a bad reaction to the biopolymer. She says I should be patient.” Christina’s voice was mumbly, distorted by the swelling.
“When will the swelling go down?” Helen asked.
“The doctor doesn’t know. She said I might have to wait for the body to reabsorb it.”
“How long will that take?” Tara said. She looked genuinely concerned.
“Four or five years,” Christina said. Tears coursed down her face. The ones on the swollen side slid down faster as they hit the grotesque hump of flesh on her cheek. Helen tried not to stare.
“I look like a chipmunk,” Christina wailed.
“You do not,” Helen said. It was true. Chipmunks looked cute and cuddly.
Christina spent the whole morning bemoaning her swollen face. When even the biggest spenders came into the store, Christina refused to come out and wait on them. She stayed in the back room and wept until her eyes were red. Christina called all her friends, except the beautiful biopolymered Brittney, and cried on the phone. She used all the ice in the store’s mini-fridge, making cold packs for her bloated cheek. By the time she left for lunch, Christina’s eyes were glassy, and Helen suspected she’d been in her special purses for pain killers.
Helen tried, but she could not feel sorry for Christina. Maybe your deeds showed on your face, she thought. But then, what will I look like?
Christina came back after lunch in a vintage black hat with a wisp of a veil. The hat’s brim swooped down on the right side and cleverly hid the worst of the damage to her face.
Even Helen had to admit the good side of Christina’s face looked ten years younger. Now the skin was firm and plump. The trench between her nose and mouth was gone, and so were the deep frown furrows between her eyebrows.
Christina must have gone home to change. She wore the hat with a long slinky black top and skinny pants. The Ferragamo pantsuit had such style. Even the buttons were beautiful. That afternoon, Juliana’s customers raved about Christina’s chic new look. Those who didn’t know any better praised the wonders of her wrinkle injections. Christina looked almost happy. She seemed to forget the ruined right side of her face. In the unreal world of Juliana’s, half a youthful face was better than none.
About three o’clock, there was a sudden lull in the stream of shoppers. Helen and Christina leaned against the counters for a rest. Tara boldly stretched out on the black loveseat. She knew the rule that sales associates had to remain standing, but Tara also knew she’d be a customer again. The owner wouldn’t dare reprimand her.
When Tara was lounging out of earshot, Christina said, “I want to take my special evening purses with me. They’re not store stock. If anyone asks for one while I’m gone, tell her I’ll be back next Friday.”
“Fine,” Helen said. She was relieved the purses would be out of the store. She’d been wondering what to do about them. She was not going to sell pills for Christina.
Christina went back to pack up the purses. She returned with a white box and a pink bag. “I’m going to run them out to my car on my break,” she said, patting the box. “But I like this one so much, I’m keeping it for myself.” From a nest of hot-pink tissue paper in the bag, she pulled out a teardrop-shaped purse made of gold mesh.
“That looks like real gold,” Helen said.
“It is,” Christina said. “This purse is from the early 1940s. Isn’t it a beauty? Look at the clasp. Those are real diamonds.”
Helen knew better than to open the purse.
Christina was barely back from her break when Brittney was at the door. Helen buzzed her in, and Brittney thanked her in that whispery voice.
Helen could not tell—who could?—if Brittney was angry or happy. But she seemed anxious to talk to Christina. The two women took Evian water and settled into the loveseats for a chat. Tara was busy accessorizing a customer. Helen tidied the shelves under the cash register.
When Helen carried an extra box of padded hangers to the back room, she heard what the two women were talking about: the best way to get even with Joe, Christina’s ex-almost fiance. They’d been having this same conversation since the split, but Christina was still furious.
“Every time I think about what that man did to me, I could murder him,” Christina said, raising her voice. Helen nearly dropped the box of hangers. Christina must have seen her reaction, because the two women retired to the dressing room for a private talk. Christina didn’t even bother to take in any clothes to make it look like business.
Helen listened at the door. If Christina was plotting a murder, Helen was going to do everything she could to prevent it. Christina kept her voice low, and Brittney always talked in a whisper, so it was hard to hear what they said. But Helen heard this much:
“Do you know what I spend every month?” Brittney said, her voice soft as a sigh. She sounded angry, or maybe she was pleading.
“I need more,” Christina said. “They’re raising my condo fees.”
“I don’t have more,” Brittney said, the whisper becoming a hiss. “I’m not made out of money.”
Then the door chimed, and Helen had to answer it. A woman with extravagant apricot hair wanted to look at evening gowns. By the time Helen had sold her a sleek new design, Brittney was gone.
Helen was not sure what she had overheard. Was Christina reduced to begging for money? There was no time to consider the problem. Suddenly, the store was flooded with customers. They ran her ragged, demanding ever smaller sizes and blaming Helen if they couldn’t fit into them. Helen moved in the zenlike state achieved only during the most hectic and miserable moments in retail. While she waited on the rude women, she used most of her mind to daydream about Cal. She was seeing him tonight at seven. She couldn’t wait. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since their Cap’s date last Saturday.
As the unsatisfied women ordered her about, Helen began to paint herself a rosy future with the attractive Canadian. A woman could do worse than spend the rest of her life with a man who told funny stories, she thought, putting blue skies and pink clouds in the picture.
And though it was way too early to think this way, Cal might be marriage material. Helen was not ready to buy a wedding dress or anything. That was silly. But she could sense something solid about Cal, something
