Bad Dreams Are Made of This
This is a bad dream.
Clearly.
The Thanwell has obviously stayed in my body and I’m having detailed hallucinations, all of which involve me having to deal with Geri in production meetings this week.
For example, in this chapter of my ongoing nightmare, here we are in Georgette’s makeover session, ready to start dyeing or ombre-ing or feathering or whatever it is that’s Geri’s claim to fame.
I’m so glad all of this is a figment of my imagination because otherwise I’d be furious over how quickly the rest of the team has taken to her. Jimbo and Gary the second cameraman have been arguing all week about whether Geri reminds them more of Jessica Rabbit or Christina Hendricks.
Can I vote?
Because I pick neither.
The ladies are sucking up as well. Mindy happily and promptly delivers Geri’s proper coffee order (a lardy mocha with extra whip) and Ruby’s been all over her, gabbing about the bar scene in Bridgeport, as her place is on the south side. And Faye? Faye thought the fisherman’s sweater she was knitting would be divine with Geri’s coloring, so she gave it to her when she finished. Just like that! No thought, no deliberation, no consideration for other members of the team who are really lean and could use the added warmth of a fisherman’s sweater.
Et tu, Faye? Et tu?
It’s like the ham sandwich all over again.
And please don’t even start me on the chemistry between Geri and Kassel. Every time I see them chatting, I can feel the bile rise in the back of my throat.
Nightmare.
Absolutely no other explanation.
I’d seek Deva’s counsel, but she had to rush off for an emergency with a private client—something about a youth serum?—and she’s currently en route to the Philippines to extract the pollen created by bats drinking ultrarare jade-vine nectar. We’re about to wrap production until after the holidays, so she’s not needed here, except by me. Fortunately, she left the amulets. It’ll be tricky to do the swap without her today, but not impossible.
I tried to run my thoughts about Geri’s being hired past a couple of my friends, but apparently I’m not interesting to Bethany, Caroline, or Rhonda when I’m not spilling Hollywood secrets.
Fair-weather bitches.
In a moment of weakness, I even turned to Bryce and Trevor, but they kept pestering me about when “G-spot” would be back in my “hizzouse.” From the way those two carry on about her, you’d think she was their long-lost best friend and not just some girl they met for ten minutes on my front stoop that one time she stopped over to gloat after the Sox beat the Cubs in the Crosstown Classic.
Serves me right for even trying with those two.
For now, I’m journaling all my feelings. At some point I plan to pen a memoir about the show, so taking notes helps me remember the specifics. Granted, I meant to fill my Moleskine with tales of my successes, but most of what I’ve written is more along the lines of Die, Geri, die.
I’m sure everyone’s opinion on Geri will change today when I give my soliloquy about living at home as an adult via the Georgette swap. If what I say embarrasses Geri? Then perhaps she shouldn’t be involved in such shameful basement business in the first place.
Gary’s in here to film the whole haircut/color process, even though it’s not necessary. We don’t need him capturing footage until the big reveal and confrontation later, but he’s been buzzing around Geri like a fly to manure.
Technically, I’m not required to be in here, either, but I suspect every minute I’m not with Geri, she’s gossiping about me, so I’m staying close. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I heard her and Mindy saying something about Dr. Stick-Up-the-Ass, and my guess is they weren’t comparing notes on a proctologist.
Georgette enters the room with Ruby. In my time with Georgette this week, I found her to be articulate and intelligent, albeit reticent. In some respects, she resembles me, with her long, straight, dark hair and ivory skin. I can’t imagine that Geri’s going to improve on her look. I did my best to boost her confidence about speaking with her family, but she’s so stuck that it would take dozens of sessions to break through to her. Fortunately, I have my magic bullets in my pockets, so all will be well upon the post-makeover conversation with her sisters.
“Hey, girl,” Geri calls. “C’mere! We’re going to have so much fun today! Sit! Sit! Please! Your chariot awaits!” Geri gestures to the adjustable hairdressing chair here in the makeup room and gives it a spin.
Fake! Fake, fake, fake!
Geri begins to muss Georgette’s thick locks. “So, sweetie, what are you thinking? I have a few ideas in mind, but I want to hear what’d make you happy.”
Georgette bites her lip and gazes at herself in the mirror. “I need a change, but . . .”
“But change is superscary, amirite?”
Georgette cracks a smile. “Right.”
Geri fastens a cape at the nape of Georgette’s neck and then rubs her shoulders. “Don’t worry, kiddo, we’re not doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. Today’ll be hard enough without having to fret about your ’do, right?” Georgette nods. “So when you envision your life after the show’s over, how do you see yourself? Where are you? What’re you doing?”
Georgette’s voice catches. “I’m . . . not sure.”
“Even a little bit?”
“No.”
Ha! See? Massage her shoulders all you want, Geri; it’s not so easy to wrestle insight out of this one.
“Tell me about the last time you remember being, like, joyful.”
Georgette appraises herself in the mirror for a moment before she finally says, “It’s been a while. I guess . . . I was out with my colleagues in Changchun—it’s a city in Jilin Province—and they were having a going-away party for me at Three Monkeys because I was returning to the States. It was brutally hot and my friends and I were sitting outside. So there I was in the middle of China, at a table with Aussies and Afrikaners and Brits, watching locals dance to Latin music, eating kebabs, and drinking Irish stout.”
Geri keeps pawing Georgette’s hair. “How’d that make you feel?”
I shift in my seat. Oh, come on! That’s a bullshit Psych 101 question and everyone knows it!
Georgette replies, “I remember how surreal it all was, thinking every culture in the entire universe had peacefully converged in this one spot. And then, almost like a blessing from God, I could feel a coil of air on the back of my neck. In August? In Changchun? There’s no wind; there’s no relief. The air’s as thick as soup, but for this one moment, there was a breeze. I thought, ‘Magic truly exists.’”
Geri nods, acting like she’s all in tune with Georgette. Trust me, I’ve spoken with Georgette at length and she didn’t offer up any of this neck-wind information. Mostly it was all blah, blah, blah, my sisters are mean.
Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, lady.
“You’ve been growing out your hair ever since then?” Geri asks.
“I guess so, yes.”
“Kind of a metaphor for your world at the moment, isn’t it? All of this stuff is holding you down.” Geri holds up a handful of silky locks and lets them spill down. “Life was better when you felt a breeze on your neck.”
Ooh, thanks for that powerful allegorical insight, Professor Geri. When you’re done narrating The Rime of the Ancient Ponytail, I look forward to attending your lecture on the History of the Hair Dryer.
An odd expression crosses Georgette’s patrician features. “My goodness, I never considered that. But you’re spot-on.”
Geri shrugs. “I can re-create that style in two snips, if that’s what you want. Doesn’t solve any of your other problems, but it’s a start, right? You know, my ma used to read me this old Irish prayer for travelers that had a line in it about always having the wind to your back and the sun on your face. So I was thinking, maybe if you’re sitting on the studio’s couches with your sisters and you can feel a breeze on your neck, you’ll be all, I’m ready to reclaim what’s mine, bitches.”
Argh, lies, lies, lies!
Geri hated books! And the only thing Ma ever read was Royko’s old columns!
What is Geri getting at? What’s she trying to prove? There’s an end game here, of that I’m sure.
Georgette makes a grab for Geri’s scissors. “Do it. Now. Before I change my mind.”
Geri gingerly takes the shears from her. “You sure, hon?”
“No. But please do it anyway.”
“Ready?”
Georgette nods. Geri gathers Georgette’s hair in a low pony and snips off a solid foot, which leaves me feeling like somehow I’ve been kicked in the stomach. How does that work?
Geri hands Georgette the bundle and she turns the tail over and over in her hands. “The good news is that this is long enough to donate to Locks of Love. You’ve just changed a life! You’re a hero!”
Why is she laying all of this on so thick?
“How’s it feel back there?” asks Geri, ruffling what’s left of her hair.
Georgette lets out a huge breath. “Like a weight off my shoulders, literally and figuratively.”
I glance around the room to monitor if anyone else is rolling their eyes.
Just me then?
“Awesome! I’m really proud of you. Now I’ll do your cut next, unless . . .” Geri trails off.
“Unless?”
“Unless you’re in the mood for a little color.”
“Color’s kind of not my thing.”
“That’s absolutely cool, G.” Geri adjusts Georgette’s cape and begins to rearrange items on the counter in front of the mirror. It’s a haircut, not an operating table—get to it!
Geri strokes her own hair. “But maybe you hear me out on this? It’s kind of a cray-cray idea, and you’re totally free to say no. You won’t hurt my feelings.” Geri leans in, all conspiratorially. “Let me just tell you this from personal experience: anyone who says blondes have more fun has clearly never been a redhead.” Then she does this little shake that is absolutely mortifying to behold.
Gary inadvertently lets out a wolf whistle, Georgette beams, and I have a small coughing fit. By way of apology, I murmur, “Must be the dry December air. I bet some green tea would help.”
Geri asks Georgette, “You game?”
Gary zooms around to pan in on Geri’s mug. Why are we bothering with this nonsense? Why film someone having her hair colored? That is literally (and figuratively) one step beyond watching paint dry.
“I’ve always admired Debra Messing’s color,” Georgette timidly admits.
“Then that’s what we’ll do! One Grace Adler, coming up!” Geri confirms with a little clap.
After mixing up some potions, Geri returns and begins to slap various bits of gel on Georgette’s head with a pastry brush. Scintillating. Yet from the crowd gathered around, you’d imagine she was splitting the atom.
I wave Mindy over to me. “I’d like a green tea.”
“Now?” she replies.
“No, next week.”
“Cool.” She begins to shuffle back to her seat.
“Of course I mean now!” I snap.
She gives me the whale eye and then makes a big show of taking everyone else’s order before she leaves. Perhaps she can tell Daddy all about how bossy Dr. Reagan is when the two of them are sparking up a doobie at the dinner table on the North Shore.
“What’s the plan with the fam?” Geri prods.
Don’t you worry about the plan, Geri. The plan is handled.
Georgette begins to pick at her cuticles. “I wish I knew. I’m so angry that I’m in this position. I mean, Mom and Dad are okay. They’re not as sharp as they were and they need some assistance, but I’m really struggling with my siblings forcing me to take on the whole burden. Two of them live within five miles, and the rest are within a half hour’s drive. I want to do my part, certainly, yet there are six of us! Shouldn’t I only be responsible for a sixth of the care? It’s not fair and it’s been nonstop for three years! Do you know what it’s like living at home as an adult? It’s not an aphrodisiac, that’s for darned sure.”
“Preaching to the choir, sweetie,” Geri says. Of course she’s going to try to ingratiate herself. Like she’s not toasting marshmallows and singing campfire songs with Ma and Dad every night.
Geri continues, “My roommate got married last year and I couldn’t afford our apartment on my own. So I was stuck going back home. Even though it was my choice, it’s still weird sometimes. Sure, I’m saving tons of money for when I open my own salon—”
I’m sorry, your what? And since when do you have an ounce of business acumen? You know that sea monkeys aren’t a solid investment, right, Geri?
“But it really puts a crimp in the ol’ dating life, right? Like, if I were seeing someone? I’d have no place to bring a guy back to if we were to become serious. What, I’d be all, Hey, Ma and Dad, you mind if I have hot animal sex down here in my basement? Awkward.”
“I miss sex,” Georgette says. “Haven’t so much as had a drink with a man since I moved back home.”
“That’s been three years?”
“Three long, dry years.”
Oh, please. Don’t give me your three-years business. Some of us were twenty-five-year-old grad students before ever doing it the first time. And we turned out just fine.
Geri begins running a squeeze tube full of barbecue-sauce-colored goo in little rows across Georgette’s scalp. “For what it’s worth, you’re pretty much going to be sex on a stick when I’m done with you.”
“I’m not even sure I remember how to be social around a man at this point, let alone seduce him.”
“I have faith in you. It’s like riding a bike—the minute you try again, it’s like second nature.”
Yes, Geri, but what if you never learned to ride a bike in the first place? What then?
Georgette takes a delicate sip from the water bottle she’s been clutching. “What’s funny is it’s not even the whole physical act that I miss so much, although that’s part of it. I miss . . . waking up with someone else. I miss lazy Sundays reading the paper together. I miss all the little intimacies that come from sharing space with a significant other. I miss seeing my guy all curled up on my girly sofa, surrounded by my pastel pillows and scented candles. Heck, I miss my furniture. It’s all been in storage ever since I went to China in the first place.”
Gary focuses his camera on Georgette.
“Sounds like you’re dealing with a lot of losses,” Geri affirms.
“Never considered it that way, but you’re right. I miss having a bathroom free from my mother’s knee-highs drying on the shower curtain rod. I miss throwing dinner parties. I miss quiet and privacy. I adore my folks, don’t get me wrong, but I miss . . . having the opportunity to miss them. They won’t be around forever, and I hate that I resent their constant presence in my life.”
Geri begins removing the little foils, letting each one drop on the floor as she works from the top of Georgette’s forehead to the back of her skull. Yeah, sure, just put those foils anywhere, Pigpen.
“I guess I don’t understand what’s keeping you at home. Is it the financial thing, like me? Maybe you can get a loan or something.”
Georgette blinks away a tear. “Actually, money isn’t my problem. My problem is I can’t handle everyone being angry with me for leaving. I’m trapped and I can’t seem to find the words to express how trapped I feel.”
Geri spins Georgette around to look her in the eye. “So what you’re telling me is you’re willing to subjugate your own happiness because if you don’t it’ll make your sisters mad?”
Where/when did Geri pick up the word “subjugate”?
Georgette says nothing. A couple of more tears escape and Geri hands her a Kleenex. “Sweetie, you’re better than that. You deserve more than that. When you look back on your life you’re not going to be all, I wish I’d made my sisters happier. They have their lives, and they’re bitches—lazy bitches—for not allowing you to have one yourself. Don’t let them take advantage of your generous nature. I guarantee your folks would rather hire a home assistant or a visiting nurse than live with the notion that you gave up your youth to babysit them just to satisfy a pack of bitches. Guaran-damn-tee.”
Geri has Georgette rise from the chair and they head over to the wash sink.
“No.” Georgette stops in her tracks.
Geri’s puzzled. “No, you don’t want me to rinse your hair? Hon, I need to remove the dye so your scalp doesn’t stain red.”
Georgette pulls off the cape and wraps a towel around her shoulders. “You can rinse my hair in a minute. This can’t wait.” Without further ado, she marches out of the makeup room and down the hall to the greenroom, where her sisters are gathered.
Gary’s hot on her heels with the rest of the crew, but I don’t need to follow to catch what she’s saying. Pretty much everyone in the WeWIN studio can hear her right now.
Georgette kicks open the door. “We need to talk, bitches.”
• • •
“To Geri!” Everyone cheers and raises their glasses.
If we toast her one more time, I may have an aneurysm.
Due to today’s events, not only am I not to be featured on the midseason finale, but the entire episode stars Geri, a bottle of dye, and a pusillanimous woman who was suddenly emboldened by a bit of profanity. And here I spent all that time learning the intricacies of the human mind, when I should have simply practiced giving scalp massages.
Geri’s reveling in all the attention, wolfing back beers as though drinking and not shampooing was suddenly her chosen profession.
We’re at Haymarket Pub & Brewery on Randolph, having our informal holiday celebration. The event is specifically “informal” because we’re expected to pay for our drinks ourselves, as the no-free-lunch policy extends all the way up the DBS chain of command.
Although the party was already scheduled for tonight, the event is extra-festive, due to Saint Geri and the Miracle at Losers. Not only did Georgette tell off her sisters; she immediately contacted her old supervisor in Changchun to inquire about open teaching positions. By the time she was rinsed, clipped, and blown dry, she’d arranged a whole new life for herself.
Yet do any of my coworkers give me a moment’s credit for my efforts with Georgette prior to her sitting in Geri’s chair? Of course not. Much like with a tricky pickle jar, I was the one who loosened the seal before Geri finally pried it open. But you’d never suspect I was even a player considering how everyone else is carrying on.
Also? Georgette’s color is garish. There. I said it.
Geri, surrounded by every member of the Push staff, as well as a number of our freelancers, climbs up on her chair and holds her glass aloft. “To the Bisshy Sissies!”
Even completely sauced, she’s keeping the fiction going that she just loves me sooooo much and any problems I have with her are all in my own head. I wouldn’t believe the way she operates if she hadn’t already been like this her entire life.
I remember one summer when I was fifteen, I was sitting in my room reading Anne of Green Gables. I’d just gotten to the part where Anne saved Diana’s baby sister when Geri marched by. She looked at me and at my book and then smirked and yelled, “Ma! Reagan says I’m stupid because I don’t like to read!”
No one believed me when I argued that I’d never said that, because the truth is I didn’t disagree with her assessment. Later, she admitted to me she’d simply been bored and thought it would be hilarious to “get the Goody Two-shoes” in trouble.
Yes. Ha-ha-ha, I hate you.
Geri’s fairly wobbly on her stool and Kassel reaches up to steady her, bracing her with his magnificent wrists. “Steady there, rock star,” he says. She laughs, he laughs, everyone laughs, and I want to karate chop the bar in half.
All the guys fight to help her down, and while they do, Kassel meanders over to me. “Hey, Peace Corps, any idea how Geri got here tonight?”
“Broomstick?” I offer.
“She didn’t drive, did she?” I’m touched by his level of concern for Geri’s well-being. Truly.
I say, “I think she drove to the studio this morning, but she was in the group of us who walked over here.” Or stomped, in my case.
Kassel keeps stealing glances over my shoulder. “Well, I want to make sure she gets home. I’m going to offer her a ride.”
“No!” I shout, and then catch myself. “I mean, heh, no need. She’ll be . . . staying with me tonight. I’ll make sure she’s fine. After all”—I give him my brightest smile and toss my hair—“that’s what sisters do.”
Geri’s now leading the entire bar in a rousing rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” “You may want to take her sooner rather than later. Otherwise, she’s going to have a very unpleasant tomorrow.”
“I’d hate for that to happen,” I reply, biting my tongue so hard I practically taste blood.
Kassel rubs his hands together, as though in anticipation. “Yeah, we’re having brunch and I wouldn’t want her to miss it.”
For the second time today, I feel as though I’ve been sucker punched.
“Don’t stop be-leeee-vin’!”
“Listen, can you give her this?” He hands me his business card. In addition to his professional information, he’s also written down his cell, his landline, his e-mail address, his home address, his Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram handles, as well as his Facebook page.
“Are you not on Pinterest?” I ask.
Kassel begins to panic. “Will she need that? Happy to provide—”
“I’m kidding.”
“Oh. I really want to hear from her, is all. Do me a proper and remind her that we’re on at Original Pancake House tomorrow at noon? The one in Lincoln Park, not the Gold Coast?”
“Of course,” I reply in my most compliant tone.
See? I’m nice. I’m helpful. And I’m cute as can be, so why doesn’t he want to take me out for pancakes? (Except that I would never eat them, because gross.) What am I doing wrong? Why isn’t he into me? Is it because I’m rusty on this whole flirting business?
And how is it that Geri can waltz in, do virtually nothing, be her bullshit self, and then be lauded as the Second Coming? Look at her; right now, men are lined up to talk to her. Literally lined up. How fair is that?
Kassel gives me a brotherly chuck on the shoulder. “You’re a dream, Peace Corps. A real dream.”
Really? Then why does everything feel like such a nightmare?