[Cybil]
On the ride over to the project Snyder starts describing it, as if I care.
“The women in the project are all coming out of some kind of crisis. They might be recently divorced or widowed and need to get back to work, or in recovery from drugs or alcohol, from battered women shelters, or recently out of prison.”
Ack! We’re going to be dealing with ex convicts? Mother SO would not like this. At all.
[Darcy]
Prisoners? Um. I swallow a huge gulp.
[Cybil]
Snyder goes right on talking as if she hasn’t dropped a totally major bomb on us.
“These women need the right clothing, and a good haircut, and some makeup tips—if they want to wear makeup. They need to make the right first impression when they go on interviews. And it’s not just about outward appearance. It’s how they feel about themselves after their makeovers that matters. Confident. Ready to face the world.”
Mmm, hmm. I am totally not thrilled, but I figure there is no escape as Snyder pulls the car into the parking lot of the fairgrounds and into a space in front of a place called The Exhibit Hall. She must have to at least protect us from the ex prisoners. I mean, how would it look if one of them tried to kidnap me or something. It’d seriously damage Snyder’s reputation.
“We’re lucky to get this space this year,” Snyder says as she has us grab some boxes from the back of her car. “It’s so much more bright and spacious than the basement of the Grizzly Club where we used to host the Return to Work Project.”
Yeah, whatever. Let’s just get this over with.
Darcy ughs and oofs as she tries to carry in three boxes, to my two. What a suck up.
Inside there are a bunch of women sorting through clothes, arranging chairs and shuffling through stacks of papers. There are some beauty salon chairs set up on one side of the room, and some tables with makeup mirrors and lights.
“Okay, girls,” Snyder says. “You can set the boxes down and start sorting through the suits and place them on tables according to size. Some of them are new, some of them are ‘gently used,’ but they are all very important for the women in the project. So handle them as nicely as you would your own clothes.”
I feel like dropping the boxes, but set them down as instructed so as not to incur the wrath of Snyder. There are suits of every shape, size, style and color. Tables are lined up from the smallest small to the largest large. As I pull stuff from boxes I’m actually kind of impressed by the quality of these suits. I mean there are some designer names here, and even the ordinary stuff looks pretty nice.
At first I just find the right size table for the suit and lay it down there, but then I notice Darcy is all carefully folding and displaying each suit. I decide I won’t let her outdo me in front of Snyder, so I go back and rearrange the first few suits, then carefully display the rest.
[Darcy]
Ugh. This could take hours. I want to do a good job, because I don’t want Sneaky Snyder saying we have to do it all over. I want to get out of here in plenty of time to get ready for the party. I also don’t really want to spend any more time than necessary with ex prisoners. What if one of them carries a shiv she made in prison and decides to use it if she doesn’t like her makeover? I can only hope they get frisked or something before they are allowed in here.
When I finish unpacking the boxes I carried in, I discover there are stacks of them that other people hauled in before we even got here. I get to the point where I feel as if I button one more button or straighten one more lapel, I’m going to freak. Then I discover we’ve unpacked all the boxes. Yay.
“Nice job, girls,” Snyder says to Cybil and me. “Now you can go over there and help Ms. Wyndham with the shoes.” She points to a table across the room.
I stifle a moan. Cybil gives Sneaky a forced looking smile. We trudge over to Ms. Wyndham’s table and she gets us arranging shoes by size and color. There are some pretty decent shoes, some with designer labels. I notice that at other tables people are sorting scarves, jewelry and belts. We finish with the shoes and in a nano flash Sneaky is at our sides.
“I’m impressed,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll do well when you help with the makeovers after I give my welcoming address.”
Help with the makeovers? Will we never get out of here?
Sneaky thrusts stacks of papers at us. “The women will be arriving here in a few minutes. I want you to stand over by that door.” She points. “Hand out these information sheets. It tells all about the Return to Work project, plus housing assistance, the Food Bank, etc. And be friendly!”
Cybil and I each take a door. Within a couple minutes women who mostly look as if they are somewhere from thirty to fifty years old start to filter in. They all have a down on their-luck look, and act kind of hesitant, as if they aren’t really sure they should come in.
“Welcome to Return to Work!” Cybil says, handing each woman an information sheet. Even in my body she is able to flash a beauty queen smile.
Not to be outdone, I smile at each woman as I greet her warmly and make sure she has a copy of the information sheet. I know I have the more dazzling smile, but the women look as if they are responding more positively to Cybil. Hmm. Maybe because she’s in my body with my face they can relate better.
It isn’t long before all the women have arrived and been seated. Cybil and I sit in the back and wait. Cybil checks the time. She must be as anxious to get out of here as I am, though I’m not sure why. It’s not as if she’s going to Snowball’s party tonight.
Sneaky does the test the microphone thing, then starts her talk.
“Welcome! You are here today because you will be returning to work in the near future. We are here to provide clothing for job interviews and to wear to work, plus haircuts and makeup advice. We will also provide information on job related workshops, seminars, and career coaching. We not only want to help you get a job, but to keep a job.
“But the first order of business is to get you ready for job interviews. The clothing and hairstyles are the outer shell. You need them, but it’s how you will feel about yourself in the clothes and new hairstyles that’s most important. If you think of yourself as invisible, people will treat you as if you are invisible. If you present yourself as confident, that’s how people will see you. You’ll still want to be you—but the very best you.”
I look around. There’s some nodding, but I’m not sure everyone is convinced. I don’t sense a lot of confidence in these women.
Sneaky continues. “Women are judged on appearance by far more than men. No one cares, for instance, if a man wears the same suit three times in one week, but with a woman they notice.” She pauses as the audience murmurs and nods. “You don’t have to look as if you just stepped out of a fashion magazine—though, it’s okay, of course, if you do.” She chuckles and there is a little nervous laughter from the women. “You just have to look professional.”
She goes on about short term success and long term success, blah, blah and blah. Next thing, her talk is over, there’s a smattering of applause, and the women are directed to line up for clothes, shoes, accessories, haircuts and makeup. I’m thinking maybe Cybil and I are off the hook now, but no.
“Darcy,” Sneaky says to Cybil, “go over and help Ms. Nissen with the makeup, and Cybil, you help Ms. MacKenzie with the haircuts.”
The two stations are next to each other, with long lines forming already. I’m not sure what on earth I can do to help with haircuts, but I follow along as Cybil shuffles over to the makeup table with what looks like about as much enthusiasm as I feel, which is, to be technical, none.
[Cybil]
Ack! Usually I’d love fooling around with makeup—but at a department store counter, not here. Will this day never end?
“Hello!” Ms. Nissen says, like all bright and cheery. “If you’ll just hand me the makeup as I ask for it, we can make this as smooth as an operating room. Okay?”
“Okay.” As if I have a choice. Next thing I know Nissen is calling out the names of lipsticks, foundations, mascaras. I mean, she knows the brand names and color name of everything on hand. After a while, I get, I don’t know, caught up in it. Some of the women have way too much makeup on, but most have none. But they all, like, come up and sit in the chair looking, you know, down and out about themselves. Then there’s a flurry of makeup activity and Poof!
The women are checking themselves out in the mirror and there’s this transformation that goes beyond makeup. I mean, some of the women insist they don’t even want any makeup. If they really don’t, then Nissen just gives them a quick facial and applies some moisturizer or astringent or whatever works for their skin. I think the pampering alone does something for them. Sometimes they’ll change their minds and say, Well, maybe a little lipstick, or Maybe just a touch of blusher and Nissen knows just the right shade for their skin tones.
A woman with wild curly hair who looks kind of tough (and a little scary), sits down and says, “I’m Tasha. When I look crummy, I feel crummy. My mind just goes nuts.”
I check her hands for weapons. Luckily, I don’t see any.
“Well, Tasha,” Ms. Nissen says, “we’ll make you look good.”
Tasha snorts, as if she doesn’t believe it. Five minutes later she’s looking in the mirror and nodding. “Okay. Ya done your part.” She grabs her hair with both hands. “But what about this?”
“Ms. MacKenzie will do your hair,” Nissen says.
“Do my hair. Well, la dee da,” Tasha says.
Tasha looks as if she doesn’t want to believe that she really can look good, and I’m kind of wondering if she still feels bad enough that she’ll go nuts or whatever. Totally to my relief, she gets into the haircut line instead.
After that episode, I find myself telling the women how totally awesome they look, and I mean it. Okay, they don’t suddenly look like Anne Hathaway or Kate Hudson, but they look better. They look happier with themselves. Sometimes I find myself urging them to try just a little makeup, because I think they totally want to and what they need is just a little, you know, encouragement.
[Darcy]
Hmmph. Cybil looks as if she’s actually having fun. She’s talking to everyone, even making suggestions about the makeup. Miss Congeniality at work—and the women are loving it! Meanwhile, when I’m not standing here handing various scissors and curling irons to Ms. MacKenzie, I’m sweeping hair up off the floor. Big. Fat. Whoop.
A sort of scary looking woman sits in the chair next. She’s wearing makeup which makes her face appear softer than it probably would naturally, but there’s this I’ve had tough times-and I’m an angry person look on her face. The wild hair doesn’t help.
“My name is Tasha,” she announces. “When I know I’m lookin’ good, I can manage that bonkers feelin’ in my brain, so, go ahead, make me look good.”
I almost expect her to add, “If you dare.”
Ms. MacKenzie says, “That’s what I’m here for. To make you look good.” And the next thing you know, Tasha’s wild hair is tamed into a soft fluffy frame around her face. Ms. MacKenzie hands a mirror to Tasha. “Well?”
“Well, shoot!” Tasha says. Only she didn’t say shoot. “I’m lookin’ fine! And when I look fine, I feel fine!”
Not all the women are as, uh, unreserved as Tasha, but they all looked pleased with their new haircuts.
But I wonder if I’m really contributing here. I know zero about cutting and styling hair, so it’s not as if I can give helpful hints. And I think my looking like Cybil, because, well, I am her, sort of, intimidates most of the women. Okay, there are a few who, after their haircuts, start to look pretty, if worn around the edges, but still not anywhere near Cybil’s realm of looks. They do, however, look better than they did before, and much more confident, which is the whole reason for the Return to Work project, so maybe I am contributing some small part to that.
Still, it’s not fair. Sneaky is going to think Cybil is putting more into this than I am. I’m sort of grumbling to myself about this, and thinking about how I should at least be memorizing lines for the play or something, when I hear the woman in the chair now getting a cute, short haircut say something about how she wishes she could just find a nice, inexpensive apartment, that one room would be okay, just something clean and cozy, how lovely that would be.
And all of a sudden, my brain clicks, my mouth falls open and I find myself singing, “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?” the song from My Fair Lady about finding a nice room somewhere to live in. I take the broom I use to sweep up the hair and I start dancing with it. I’m Eliza, and all I want are the warm room, the big chair and the chocolates!
For a second, everyone just stares, mouths open. Then they smile, and tap their toes. Next thing, Cybil is singing along with me. I’m thinking, Copycat! But it’s cool hearing my voice coming out of her. Some of the women—not many, but a few—join in. I think I’m almost having fun.
[Cybil]
Whaaat? Darcy’s singing? Does she think she’ll get one up on me? Well, two can play that game!
I start singing too. And if Darcy’s going to dance, then I’m totally going to act! I gesture and I dream of that warm room. People are smiling and keeping time to the music and even singing along. It’s seriously almost fun. We come to the end of the song and the whole room applauds. Darcy and I bow.
There are even cries of “Encore!”
But Principal Snyder takes the microphone and asks for silence. “Ladies, that was wonderful! But we have a lot to do today, so we’ll have to skip the entertainment for now.”
There are a few good natured “boos” from the women, but everyone returns to what they were doing.
Snyder approaches, and I’m thinking, Uh, oh, we’re in trouble. She’ll say Darcy and I were being disruptive.
“Girls.” Snyder crooks her finger, indicating Darcy and I should come off to the side with her.
Not a good sign. Darcy gives me this, are we-in-trouble look. I shoot an it’s your fault-you started it look back at her.
“Girls,” Snyder says, “that was wonderful the way you loosened things up around here. The women look much more relaxed.”
“Um, thank you,” Darcy says, as if it was all her doing!
“Yes, thank you,” I say to make sure I get credit too.
“Some more volunteers have just arrived,” Snyder says. “You two have done a wonderful job so far, but I think you deserve to have a little more fun. How would you feel about helping the women pick out clothing and accessories?”
“I’d totally love it,” I say. I will so show up Darcy.
[Darcy]
“Um, uh, okay,” I say. I’m still not really used to choosing accessories and stuff even for myself, but maybe the practice would be good for me, and, besides, I don’t want Cybil to look all cooperative and me not.
“Wonderful!” Snyder says. She leads us over to an area where women are picking out clothes and deposits us there.
Cybil starts looking through some of the shoes, handing a pair to a woman who has just stepped out of one of the freestanding curtained dressing “rooms.” I’m not sure what to do, so I look around and try to find a woman who looks both non threatening and as if she needs some help. I see one in too tight jeans and a sweatshirt, who is short, plump, has a round face with a slight sag under her chin and some threads of gray in her short, layered hair (which looks very nice, by the way). I figure she’s a displaced homemaker or something safe like that.
“Um, hi.” I introduce myself, thinking maybe that’ll put her at ease.” Can I, uh, help you pick out some clothes?”
“Oh, yeah, please,” the woman says. “I’m Lizzy.”
“Hi, Lizzy. I point to the table of suits in front of her. “Is this your size?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Okay, then.” I start looking through the suits. Lizzy would probably look good in a solid color, something dark, but not too drab. No black or gray, I don’t think. I pick up a deep cranberry colored pantsuit and hold it up. “What do you think of this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never worn a suit before.” Little stress lines form on Lizzy’s forehead.
“Well, um, why don’t you try it on?” I point to the dressing area. “I’ll look for some accessories and stuff.”
“Uh. Yeah. Okay.” Lizzy takes the suit and heads for a dressing cubicle.
“Oh, what size shoes do you wear?”
“Nine.” Lizzy says, then disappears behind a dressing cubicle curtain.
I find a “gold” bow shaped pin that I think will look nice on the suit lapel, then I start hunting for shoes. Cybil is pawing around in the table next to me. She picks up a pair and says, “These are totally cute!” to no one in particular, then heads off to find someone who needs a pair of shoes.
I think a low heeled shoe would work better for both Lizzy and the suit than some of the higher heels, and I think black would look good, unless I could find something in cranberry. I’m not finding many size nines, and the ones I do find are red or yellow or have three inch heels. Cybil comes over to the size nine table and starts looking. The way she oohs and ahhs you’d think she was shopping for a pair of shoes for herself.
Suddenly I notice someone standing next to me.
“Um, how do I look?” Lizzy asks.
“Ooh, that suit looks so nice on you,” I say, and I mean it. Wow, I did okay at picking out a suit. If only I could find some shoes.
[Cybil]
Ack!! Pradas! I can’t believe I found a pair of Pradas in this mess of shoes!
I’m startled when a woman in a cranberry-colored pantsuit asks, “Any luck findin’ me some shoes?”
When Darcy says, “Not yet, Lizzy,” I realize Lizzy wasn’t talking to me.
But. I’ve got these Pradas in my hot little hands. And they so would look totally great with that pantsuit. The shoes are low heeled, black patent leather with a little gold buckle. They are like, unfortunately, three sizes too big for me. So. “Excuse me,” I say to Lizzy. “How ‘bout these?”
“Oh,” Lizzy says. “Those look nice.”
Nice. What an understatement. I hand them to her. “Here. Try them on.”
Lizzy looks at the shoes, then Darcy, then me.
If the laser rays flaring from Darcy’s eyes could kill, I’d be, like, six feet totally under right now. Not that I care how Darcy feels, but I really want Lizzy to try on the shoes. “Um, Dar—uh, Cybil, don’t you think those shoes would look nice with that great pantsuit?”
Darcy gives me this scorching stare. She glances over at Lizzy who’s looking all what-should I-do? Finally, Darcy says “Er. Yes, those shoes would look nice with the pantsuit. Why don’t you try them on, Lizzy?”
Lizzy tries on the shoes and of course they look seriously perfect with the pantsuit. Weird, but for just the briefest nanosecond I feel as if I’m back in my own body! But then I’m not, I’m in Darcy’s—and my stomach is growling. Maybe lack of nourishment is getting to me. It’s been a long afternoon and I haven’t had even a sip of water since lunch. When is this Return to Work project going to end, anyway?
[Darcy]
Hmpph. Why did Cybil have to butt in? I was doing all right by myself. Okay, I confess, those shoes look perfect with the pantsuit, but now it’s my turn. “Let’s see how this looks.” I pin the gold bow onto Lizzy’s left lapel.
“That works,” Cybil says.
Lizzy fingers the pin. “It does look very nice. Thank you.”
I get this weird out of body feeling, sort of like one of those scenes where someone is in a hospital bed, but floats up and looks down at herself as people are begging her not to die, and she doesn’t. She zaps back into her body and wakes up and everyone’s laughing and crying at the same time. Only I’m not in a hospital bed and the feeling passes almost before I even realize I have it. I’m feeling awfully hot. Maybe I have a fever or something. I better not come down with something before the party!
Lizzy says, “Thank you so much.” She gives us each a hug, but a shadow of doubt crosses her face. “I just worry, though. I don’t have much schooling. The only college course I ever took was Flower Arranging at Lane Community College, and that was just for fun.”
“Well, that’s something,” I say.
“Yeah,” Cybil says. “You can say you attended college!”
Lizzy’s face brightens. “You two know how to make a gal feel good! You know what to say, and you sure know how to dress me up. I wore them prison grays for so long, I forgot what it feels like to wear something nice!” She gives us each another hug and runs over to the Job Information table.
“Prison grays?” Cybil’s face turns chalky white.
“Er ….” A small shiver of fright sweeps through me. I’m picturing the women murderers on Snapped. Of course, they always kill their husbands, so I suppose Cybil and I are safe. Yikes, anyway. “Whew,” I say. “I’m glad Lizzy liked her new look.”
“Yeah,” Cybil says. “No kidding.”
A dozen or so outfit put togethers later and the afternoon is winding down. Cybil and I help pack away leftover suits and accessories. It turned out to be kind of fun in a helpful, charitable sort of way. But enough is enough. I need to get ready for the party.
I jump when Sneaky says, “Girls, you did a great job!” With those rubber soled shoes, I hadn’t heard her coming.
“We do this the third Saturday of every month,” Sneaky says. “I hope you’ll sign up to volunteer on a regular basis.”
“I-I’ll try,” I say. Not.
[Cybil]
“I’ll have to check my calendar.” And make sure it’s full every third Saturday.