An hour and a half later, Samantha looked and felt like an entirely different person. She was freshly showered, shaved, tweezed, and make-upped. The mane of curly brunette hair that framed her heart-shaped face was washed, blow-dried, scrunched with gel to tame her natural curls, and teased back into a stylish mess. She lifted it up on top of her head and stared into the mirror. She turned to her left and then her right, scrutinizing it. Then she dropped it back down and repeated her survey once again. “Down, I guess. Who cares?” she muttered.
Charity was in Samantha’s closet, removing articles of clothing one by one loudly saying “Nope, nope, nope,” as she examined each garment before promptly dropping them into a pile on the floor. “You have absolutely nothing decent to wear,” she yelled to Sam.
“Tell me about it,” her friend shouted back.
Charity poked her head out of the closet and addressed Jessica. “This closet is where fashion goes to die, Jess,” she said.
“Tragic,” replied Jessica, who sat on the side of Sam’s bed, checking her phone for movie times.
“I mean, seriously, it’s like a frumpy, saggy wasteland in here. How the hell did you get a stalker with a wardrobe like this?” continued Charity. “I think I finally found where my grandmother gets rid of all her clothes.” She went back to work. More and more garments could be heard being flung onto the ground. “Ah ha,” she said finally, pulling out a low-cut red blouse and marching out of the closet. She held it up for Sam’s approval.
“No way,” said Samantha. “That’s way too low cut. I can’t wear that.”
“Hey girl, if you got the goods, you might as well flaunt them,” said Jessica, not bothering to look up from her phone.
“If you weren’t going to wear it, then why did you buy it in the first place?” asked Charity.
“Derek made me buy it. He always hated my clothes. He said I dressed like an old lady.”
“The guy is a prick … but I think I might have to agree with him on that subject,” said Charity, wrinkling up her nose.
“By the way, couldn’t you have hung those back up?” asked Sam, indicating the pile of discarded garments now resting on the floor of her closet.
“Oh, no, dear. I cannot allow those to be hung back up. I am making a donation pile. You should never wear any of those clothes ever again.”
“You can’t give those to charity,” said Jessica, stowing her phone and turning to face the other two girls.
“Exactly,” said Sam. “I can’t throw out all my clothes. There’s some perfectly good stuff in there.”
“Oh, no,” said Jessica, “Not that. I just meant it would be cruel to donate those clothes to anyone. They aren’t fit for human consumption. Haven’t those poor people suffered enough? Even the homeless have some dignity. This would just be insulting them.”
“Ha-ha,” mocked Sam. “Anyway, besides being ridiculously slutty, I don’t want to wear anything that reminds me of Derek.”
“No, no, no,” said Charity grabbing Samantha’s arm. “This is perfect. Poetic justice. Imagine dancing with a hot guy in the shirt Derek made you buy.”
“I don’t know…”
“Hey,” her blonde friend continued, “that guy deserves to have his balls cut off and fed to piranhas. We can’t do that, unfortunately. But this”— she held up the red shirt—“is a start.” A sly grin came over her face. “Stick it to his sorry ass.”
“Fine,” said Sam, finally cracking a smile and snatching the blouse out of the girl’s hand.
“Yes!” said Charity pumping her fist. Jessica squealed and clapped.
Samantha replaced her T-shirt with the blouse and stood in front of the mirror. Whistles and catcalls came from the other two girls.
“It’s too much, isn’t it?” asked Sam.
“It is exactly enough,” said Jessica, joining her at the mirror. “You are smokin’.”
“Yeah,” agreed Charity. “Covering a body like that is like putting a curtain over the Mona Lisa.”
“Or filling the ocean with concrete,” offered Jessica.
“Or plugging your ears when Adele starts singing,” said Charity.
“Or turning your back on the Grand Canyon,” continued Steph.
“Or covering your eyes when Chris Pratt takes his shirt off.”
“Enough,” shouted Samantha. “Let’s just go.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Charity. “Now, the night goes like this: movie, drinks, dinner, then dancing until Samantha goes home with a stranger.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Sam. “Have you forgotten about Henry Hyena already?”
Charity shrugged and held up her palms. “Maybe he’s a tiger in the sack.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” offered Jessica, but whatever happens, we won’t be doing it sober. It’s ride-share all night, and the car is waiting outside,” she said, holding up her phone in one hand and a small bottle of peach vodka in the other. “Now, Transformers, roll out!”