Work in Progress - Vanessa

Beast continues having a good time chatting with Shade, even though he knows she only pretends to like his favorite drink.  (They live out a day from last year.  Beast asks for the keys to Phil's car, and he and Shade drive down the beach and pick up lunch for everyone, fried chicken sandwiches, and water.  It is too hot for beer).  I slip on a pair of sandals I haven't borrowed from Marianne in months.

"What did you do to your hair?" Marianne asks.

Beast snickers about the orangey red.  "Are you coming to the beach?"  He jokes my hair is the same color as the buoys in the sea.

Fanta says he put a spell on our closets, and when you put shoes on, you get different hair colors, but he doesn't remember what the colors are.  I try on the low heels I wore to the New Year's Eve party (my hair was dirty blonde).  Nothing happens.  And I move on to the simple sandals Marianne wore to the same party (shiny, black, and elegant) her hair was platinum, and then the dusty stilettos Belchamp walked away from (my hair was any number of colors, but they are better than this orangey red). Still no hair color change.  Maybe the number of times you put on the shoes you were mercilessly teased in by your ghost boyfriend has something to do with the spell (Fanta won't say).  Besides, Marianne bought sensible sneakers for me last year, and there is nothing magical about them.  The orangey-red stays but looks limp and almost unhappy so close to my uninspired t-shirt and shorts.  No pair in Marianne's closet or mine is charmed.

Fanta zings my hair back to mud puddle blonde.

"What are you doing?" Marianne asks.

There are shoes from both closets strewn everywhere.  But I've moved on to the bathroom where bottles of blonde are stored.

"Trying for platinum."

Marianne's door closes, and everything is quiet.  There are dreams about ice cold drinks, new hair, and visions of driving to the 7-Eleven.  Slurpee meets Strawberry Crush at midnight.