“Have you checked the dishwasher?”
She pulled a face. “It’s empty. I hope she turns up, I’ve missed her. Right. I’m off. Good luck tonight! I’m out, so you have the place completely to yourselves. I’ve even cleaned the swing.”
I shut the lid on the cake, my appetite suddenly waning. “Thanks, Jane, but it’s only the first date.”
“Exactly!”
RED: thanks for the cake
EZRA: I knew you’d love it. Just wait until your surprise. See you soon, Red X
* * *
I stood in the building the cab had dropped me off at, none the wiser about what to expect. Was this the date? I’d brought my dress with me, just in case. I wasn’t even sure where I was. There’d been no signage out front. Inside, every hard surface was white and glittered like diamonds, interspersed with cherry-red soft furnishings. It was like being inside a mouth in a toothpaste advert.
“Hi,” I said to the pristine twentysomething boy on the front desk. “I’m supposed to be meeting Ezra Chester, is he here?”
A man stepped out through an opening in the plush red curtain that hung behind the desk. Fifties, tanned, bald, dressed fully in black from loafers to black-rimmed glasses. He looked me up and down, then clasped his hands.
“Ezra! My best client. You must be Evie,” he said in a soft Scottish burr. He whipped a hand out. “Gary. So lovely to meet you.”
I shook it, perplexed.
“You’ve no idea of the treats we have in store for you.”
“I really don’t,” I told him.
Gary gave me a once-over. “Come on, let’s get you out of that coat.” My beloved duffel coat didn’t deserve that tone. It was snatched off me before I could protest, and I was wrapped in a brilliant white gown.
“Where’s Ezra?”
“He will be here to collect you at five p.m. sharp.”
“But that’s seven hours away!”
“I know, it’s not much time, but somehow we’ll have to fit it all in.”
“Fit all what in?” I asked.
“Why, Evie.” Gary pulled a cord to draw back the curtain, revealing the kind of salon that had clients, not customers. “Your makeover, of course.”
* * *
He’d booked a makeover for me? That was presumptuous, hugely insulting, and so . . . NOB. My fingers twitched, my first thought being to tell my friends. But of course I couldn’t. So I messaged him instead.
RED: is this my surprise?
EZRA: Doesn’t every great rom-com have a makeover montage?
But this was real life, and what I’d wanted was the script, not a makeover. Especially not one that lasted seven hours. Cosmetic surgery took less time. By the time Gary had returned with a trolley, I was fuming.
“Okay, you wee red-haired siren. Let’s take a look at you.”
“Actually, I’m just going to go. There’s been a huge misunderstanding.” I thought NOB might be a decent human being.
Gary rested an elbow on his hip. “Of course. This is one of the most exclusive salons in London, I’m absolutely incredible, and everything is paid for up front. Why wouldn’t you walk away from such an opportunity? Though aren’t you just the tiniest bit curious to see exactly what Ezra has lined up?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Let me see the list.” He handed me a brochure and I almost dropped it when I saw the prices.
“It’s just the ones that are circled.”
“Most of them are circled.”
Gary smiled. “Yes. Did I mention that he’d paid up front . . . ?”
A plan began to form.
“Can I have a pen?” Reluctantly, he handed me one and stood there tutting as I went through the list. “Nope. No way. Absolutely not. No wax. Olive oil hydrating wrap? You aren’t basting a turkey. Okay, that one’s fine.” I handed it back to him and when he saw what was left his face fell.
“Gary,” I told him, “you’re the best, aren’t you? Work with what you’ve got.”
He removed my hair elastic and shook my curls out. They sprawled over my shoulders in a formless mass. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d had them cut. Gary took a step back, then another, as if he were still too close to see them all. He clapped his hands for attention, raising his voice. “I need some backup!”
* * *
The first thing they wanted to do was dye my hair.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s going to look so natural you won’t even notice. We’re going to tame and enhance.”
“So my hair is both too much and not enough?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
I thought it over. Normally I wouldn’t even consider getting my hair colored, because in London that cost around the same amount as a small car. Plus, after years of merciless adolescent teasing, it had taken a lot of time and effort to achieve the love I now had for my red curls. And yet, this was supposed to be a makeover, and I wanted to make an impact, and it was free . . . I made Gary show me the exact shades he was using before I’d agree.
“Only seven more hours of this,” he said as he mixed the dye. “Lucky me.”
The thing about montages is they’re sped up. I had to sit through every bum-numbing minute. In the movie version, it was unlikely you’d see the half-hour phone call with my mum about my bridesmaid dress and the part where I ate a sandwich.
* * *
“Now the makeup!” barked Gary, a mere four hours later, and a girl with a pixie cut and porcelain skin lugged a huge silver trolley over. He spent the next two hours creating a blank canvas of my face by obliterating every freckle. He worked all the way down to my shoulders, and when I strained I could see my skin was now a smooth creamy color. Then, artfully and with great care, he painted a new face over mine.
Another hour later, Gary wiped his brow. “Okay, we’re done.” His team gathered round to look, their expressions telling me nothing. Gary had covered the mirrors “For the big reveal.” He shooed them away. “Evie, darling,” Gary said, “I knew I could see a minx inside you, and, by God, I think we’ve coaxed her out. I believe you’re ready for the final touch.”
I was pushed through some heavy curtains into a changing room. On a cushioned seat was a large hexagonal box with a toffee-colored satin bow.