“If this is a bad time, Annie, we can set an appointment. It appears I have interrupted something.”
“Not at all. I was just—well—hadn’t expected a call on Saturday. This is actually a perfect time.”
“Wonderful! Again my name is Ly-di-a,” she said, pronouncing each syllable as though my intellect was room temperature. “I only need about ten minutes to ask you a few questions, share our process for meeting with nannies, give you a little information about the typical family we find nannies for, and then we’ll see if you would like to get together. How does that sound?”
Lydia’s message was all business delivered in the sing-song tonality and pace of a kindergarten teacher…barely tolerable, that’s how it sounded.
“Sure, sounds great,” I said, faking enthusiasm.
“Your resume looks ver y good, Annie. What brought you to Indianapolis from Michigan?” I pulled up the resume I had created the night before so I could follow along with Lydia’s questions.
“The last day care center I worked for went out of business and the economy is so horrible in Detroit I decided to relocate.”
“Very good,” she said as I imagined her placing a gold star on my resume. After a few more obvious questions and three more verbal gold stars, Lydia slowly went through her process so even Forest Gump could have followed along…and we set a time to meet on Tuesday.
My first action item was to buy a car. Luckily, Jed’s Used Cars was only two blocks away. Another used car lot was one block from Jed’s and so on down the pike. It appeared that to be considered a used car dealer on Pendleton Pike all one needed was six cars parked close to the street and a trailer to call an office.
The salesman that greeted me was the poster child for “You know you’re a redneck if…” He wore a red and black flannel shirt and jeans stretched over his beefy body, accented with a skinny black tie from the 1970’s. His teeth were stained from tobacco, he was missing several of his molars, and he talked like he had a bag of marbles in his mouth. I assumed he was Jed. His conversation with me consisted of several grunts which made me wonder if he lacked a basic grasp of the English language. We walked out on the car lot together. I did a lot of pointing and he did a lot of grunting. Forty minutes later I was the proud owner of a tan Ford Taurus. Not the car of my dreams, but it would blend in well.
I headed back to the motel to check out of The Hell Hole Paradise and drove to the bus station to pick up the two boxes Theresa had shipped. Not too far from the bus station was a shopping mall. Theresa suggested I do as much as I could to change the way I looked—hair, make-up, and clothing. I looked in the rear view mirror. My auburn hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and my makeup was conservative; only foundation and light lipstick. This shouldn’t be difficult to change.
3
Inside, the mall had two levels of shopping and a top level with a huge game arcade and a movie theater. It was fairly quiet for a Saturday, but it was still early. I went from store to store looking for something new; depressed to have to pass my favorites, Ann Taylor and Talbots.
On the second floor were several stores displaying hip new fashion. I hadn’t worn hip new fashion since high school. The first store I stepped into had music blaring so loudly I couldn’t carry on a conversation with the overly perky sales girl. The second store was quiet. I’d never used quiet as criterion for shopping before. The sales girl looked to be in her late twenties. She was a couple inches taller than me with straight brown shoulder length hair pulled back off her face. Her clothes were stylish and classy, with a sexy flair.
“I’m Cheyenne. Can I help you?”
“I’m interested in changing my wardrobe,” I said. In unison we both looked over my khaki pants, button down oxford shirt and flats.
“You just leave your new wardrobe to me, ma’am.”
“Alright Cheyenne, but don’t call me ma’am. It’s D…Annie.” “Danny?”
“No, just Annie.” I said simply as if she heard me wrong; not quite sure how I would explain not knowing my own name…or at the very least mispronouncing it.
“Follow me, Annie.” Cheyenne marched me around the store holding up different pants and tops before she sent me to the dressing room.
Three outfits later I was depressed. “Cheyenne, all of these clothes would look great on you, but I’m more conservative. The pants are too tight, the shirts are too low cut and the colors are too bright.” She eyed my khaki pants and pale blue shirt on the floor.
“You’re just not used to them, Annie.” We debated back and forth and finally she shook her head.
“Here’s the thing, Annie. Nothing’s gonna look right with that hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“It just looks,” she hesitated, “old…and the color…” She wrinkled her nose. I tried not to be offended.
“I’ve been thinking about changing my hairstyle, but I’m new in town and don’t have a stylist.”
“Want me to make a phone call?” Cheyenne was standing still, folding her hands in a pleading way with an expression of sheer excitement on her face. I needed a new hairstyle and it wasn’t as if she stood before me with a pink and green mohawk. She looked great.
“Make your phone call.” I smiled.
Cheyenne pulled out her cell phone and shoved me back into the dressing room to try on more clothes.
“Ella, hey it’s Chy. I’ve got a make-over 911 here. What’s your schedule today? Can you fit her in?”
Geeze, make-over 911. I didn’t realize I was such a fashion train wreck.
“Gotcha all set up. She can take you now, but she’s gotta work you in between clients…she’s awwwwwesome.”
“Awesome. About the clothes; can you take it down a notch? I’m forty-two and…”
“Got it. How much do you want?”
“Ten, twelve outfits…and throw in a couple of those shoulder bags too.” I imagined my Versace purse would look a bit out place with my new wardrobe.
“Come back when you’re done with Ella and I’ll have everything ready for you. I’m here ‘til 7:00.” She handed me a business card with directions to Ella’s salon and I was off.
Five hours later I returned to the mall. My hair was chestnut brown with hair extensions down the middle of my back. My eyebrows were tweezed with a high arch, my make-up was flawless and now included eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, and eye shadow—none of which I had worn in a decade. My new look was complete with foundation, mascara and subtle pink lipstick. It wasn’t a make-over. It was a transformation. I could hardly stop looking at myself in the rear view mirror on my drive back to the mall. I didn’t look at all like myself. I was certain nobody would recognize me.
The mall was much busier now, but Cheyenne had all my clothes waiting. She had tops and bottoms—shoes, underwear, and jewelry too. She could hardly contain her excitement every time I came out of the dressing room. I walked out with a dozen new outfits and because she was worried I may deviate from her fashion prescription, she took photos with my cell phone of each one. I guess I can’t blame her for seeing me as stylishly handicapped…I like to think my style was just understated.
On the way back to the car I couldn’t resist a stop at the electronics store…in record time I had a new laptop,