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Her hair would just notcooperate. No amountof Green Tea shine extract orcrushed bamboo Bed Headspread was going to tame thecherry-stained poof. Mollystared at her reflection andtried to smooth the frizz thatwas only getting slicker andstiffer with each layer. However, if not for the fro, shecould focus on the scaly patchof skin just below her left eyethat was beginning to sprouttiny red bumps. How comefacials created freakish post-visit breakouts in spots that,even in the past, never succumbed to the hellish wrath of teenage acne? Molly hastilydabbed on some cover-up lotion and grabbed a polka-dot scarffrom the drawer. She could only focus on one flaw at a time. Ifshe dwelled on them and two or three managed to squeak by, herfull self-conscious body chorus,which can usually drown outone off-key harmony, would get all worked up into a tizzy ofwrong notes and caterwaul too loud to ignore. Molly had no timefor the self-doubting symphony tonight. She was already late,and Jaycee was going to arrive in seconds to pick her up.
Molly rummaged through the pile of semi-clean clothingdraped on the side of her dresser. She grabbed a pair of worn-incargo pants, a red studded belt, and a black partially wrinkled butpassable tank. With a few jeweled cat collars fastened to herwrists, a spritz of Trapeze, her favorite new perfume that she hadjust picked up from a little store in Venice, a black vintage banduniform blazer, a black suede bag, and a pair of CostumeNational boots, she was put together and perfectly timed to thefirst car honk. She got in and threw her coat in the back ofJaycee's car. Her friend had also paper-dolled it quite well. Inher tight cropped jeans, yellow one-sleeved ruffled sweater,strands of fake pearls, camo kitten heels, and short spiked hair,which still had pink tinges, Jaycee had fashioned herself into apint-sized, punk country club girl.
"Nice look." Jaycee gestured to Molly's head scarf. "Very Ali MacGraw."
"Thanks." Checking in the mirror to see if it was tightenough. "You don't even want to know what's under here. Ithink 'nest' is not even an adequate adjective."
"Who cares? It's just me and you tonight, baby. You have noneed to impress." Flipping on the radio. "This is Alison. Thegirl we are hearing tonight."
"Is this what you played the other night when we made dinner?" Picking up the CD case and turning it over. "Like thepearls by the way."
"Yeah, I was going for a debauched debutante thing. This..." skipping tracks, "is my favorite song."
"Nice." Leaning back and enjoying the music. "She sounds abit like early Natalie Merchant.Very throaty."
"But, not so round, and a little more punk rock. It should bea good show."
The girls gabbed and listened all the way to the bar. Theyparked in front of Goldfinger's and walked in. The show had yetto begin, so they pulled up two bar stools and ordered martinisfrom the cute Australian whom Jaycee used to sleep with.
"Hey,Mark," Jaycee said as she kissed the tall, burly bartenderon the cheek. "How's it going?"
"Terrible since you dumped me, love," he answered as hewinked at Jaycee. "What would you two like?"
"Martinis and my friend Molly here likes hers very dirty."
Mark went to the other end of the bar to make their drinks,and Molly and Jaycee settled onto their perches. Goldfinger's was dark in that perfect bar way. You could see everyone clearlyenough to know whom you were talking to, but they fortunatelycouldn't see all the flaws you carefully masked behind the carefully spackled foundation and last-minute accessories. With thefocus blurred in just the right way, everyone looked somewhatattractive. Besides being dark, the bar had gold, padded wallsand a cool go-go-girl cage set up in the corner. Very JamesBond. Very LA. There were about twenty other patrons there,milling, checking, and scanning about. No one looked familiar,so Molly and Jaycee continued in their own little world of conversation.
"Jay, I'm so pissed at you for introducing me to John."
"What's wrong now?" Pulling up the back of her jeans. "Iknew I should have worn a belt."
"It's fine. I only see a peek of thong." Checking her friend'sass. "Anyway, it's the same shit .He overtalks everything! I'm justso sick of him calling to order these summit meetings every friggin' week on the state of our relationship," Molly complainedwhile she sipped her cocktail. "It's exhausting."
"Isn't that, like, your fourth 'relationship' talk in what, a month? And, what's the deal? He's being more of a chick than you ever could!"
"Yep. He needs me to be aware of all the nuances of his feelings about us, and how close we are, and what he wants, and whatI want, and how we can get to the next level. After an hour we figure out some steps to take and for a short time things are great, but then it's another talk and we're back to square one. It's soannoying."
"I'm sorry I tried to play cupid," Jay apologized as shechugged her drink. "I thought you guys would be a good match.You have so much in common,and he fits right into your wholestruggling artiste thing."
"Mentally we are, and I love that he is so communicativebecause usually guys flee the minute anything resembling feelings comes up, but everything is so cerebral all the time. It's sort of stopped being fun and sexy ...
Tangled Up in Daydreams
Excerpted from Tangled up in Daydreams: A Novel by Rebecca Bloom
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