Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

“Okay, open them again,” says Kelly. “No, don’t look up, look at my shoulder. Try not to blink.” The little brush moves quickly, and Kelly scrutinizes her work critically. “More,” she decides aloud.

“Not too much,” says Pam. “I don’t want to look weird.”

Kelly smiles indulgently. “You won’t look weird, silly, you’ll look hot. I wear way more than this every day. Trust me.”

“I trust you,” says Pam, and tries to relax.

Kelly’s eyes are still puffy, but her hands are steady and certain. “Did I tell you I used to want to be an esthetician?” she asks.

“No.”

Kelly takes a fresh cotton swab from the bag of cosmetics purchased on the way home, and dabs a stray speck of mascara away with precision. “I did, about four years ago. My friend and I were going to open up a spa. She got married, though, so that plan kind of fell apart.” She snaps the brush back into its case. “Okay, now lips! I’m thinking next to nothing.”

“Great,” says Pam, relieved. However, next to nothing turns out to entail the application of three different products. Kelly’s face has nearly lost its former bruised appearance, though, and Pam decides to give her free rein.

“You must be so excited. I knew you guys were going to end up together,” says Kelly, her practiced hand moving the little pencil smoothly. “Like Brad and Angelina. Not that I’m saying you’re a slutty home-wrecker or anything. I mean, no offense, but you dress like a librarian. Do you know where you’re going tonight?”

“Not exactly. He said maybe Sophie’s.”

Kelly’s face is thoughtful. “The light in there’s better for brunch,” she says. “But what can you do? At least you’re not wearing black.”

Pam glances at the plain, cream-colored sheath hanging on the back of the door. She’d worn it to Roy’s nephew’s christening, three years ago, and then pushed it to the back of her closet. “I still don’t know,” she says. “I wanted to look… I mean, what you said about me looking like a librarian. Isn’t that dress sort of conservative?”

“Yeah, but for one thing, Jim obviously likes that,” says Kelly emphatically, extracting a tiny brush from its wrapper. “Also, that neckline is going to look completely different with your hair pinned up. Plus, I’ve done such an awesome job on your eyes, you are going to love me forever. That last thing isn’t a reason, it’s just FYI. Hold still.” The little brush slides over Pam’s lips. “Okay, press together.”

“Is it supposed to tingle?” Pam asks.

“Mint and ginger,” says Kelly, beginning to pack up the scattered packages on the dresser. She hands one to Pam. “Take this one in your purse for after dinner.” Her mouth becomes a hard line. “That person, who we aren’t speaking about, says this is the only lipstick in the world that doesn’t taste like the back of a stamp. Now, let’s go to the mirror, and you can tell me if I made you look weird.”

The face in her bathroom mirror is unmistakably hers. “No, I don’t look weird,” says Pam. “I look like me on a very, very good day.”

Kelly’s eyes are shining. “A very good day, like, five years ago!” she says. “I told you!” She puts an arm around Pam’s waist and they stand together, facing the mirror. “I’m good, aren’t I?”

Pam ignores the first remark and gives Kelly a grateful look. “Thank you for this. I mean, on today of all days…”

“Hush! I needed a project,” says Kelly. “Just tell me how awesome I am.”

“I think you should open that spa,” says Pam.

-----

She locks the door and glances up at him. “Find the street okay?” she asks, and winces inwardly at how forced and inane the question sounds.

“Yeah, no problem,” Jim says. “Good instructions. You look really great, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

They make their way to his car in silence. She stares at the road, then at her hands, then at the road again.

“Doing any drawing these days?” he asks, after a while, his voice slightly absent.

“Um, yes,” she says. “Actually, my mom just sent me my old copy of Where the Wild Things Are. I’ve been thinking I’d like to start a illustrating a picture book.”

He nods. “That’s so great! Which one is Where the Wild Things Are, again?”

“The one with the little boy in sort of wolf footie pajamas, and all the monsters.”

“Oh, right,” says Jim, nodding again. “Is that Dr. Seuss?”

“No. Maurice Sendak.”

There is another long pause. The breeze from the partially open window is not particularly cold, but it sends a wave of goose bumps up her bare arm. She darts a glance at Jim, as the car twists in and out of traffic. She feels strangely remote, like she is looking at him through a telescope.

“So, how was New York?” she asks before she can stop herself, and instantly regrets it. “Oh, shit. Forget that.”

He glances over at her, and then spins the wheel rapidly to the right. The car pulls over to the curb and stops. “Okay,” he says, turning in his seat. “This is just all kinds of awkward, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she says. She sighs apologetically. “I’d ask for a do-over, but I’m pretty sure I’d be even worse the second time.”

He raises an eyebrow, challenging her. “Really? So, what would you say?”

She is on more familiar ground now, and she takes a chance. “Oh, maybe something like, ‘Those pants fit you very well,’ and then I’d follow that up with, ‘I think my foot is on a copy of Karen’s CV.’”

For a second, she thinks she’s gone too far, but he grins. “Yeah, I noticed that when I unlocked your door,” he says. “I’ve been sitting here kicking myself, and hoping you didn’t see it. I should clean my car.”

“You really should. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?” she says.

He clears his throat. “Partly that. There’s also the fact that I’m finding it kind of difficult to look at you.”

“You’re looking at me right now,” she points out.

“I guess, but this is pretty dialed back,” he says. “This is my cool and indifferent face.”

“Okay,” she says, laughing up at him. “How would you be without the cool and indifferent face?”

“All slack-jawed and drooling,” he says. “Not pretty, especially on an empty stomach.” He is still smiling, but for a split second, before he looks away again, his expression loses some of its casual friendliness; his eyes are soft and dark. Pam feels a flick of energy, like the point of a needle, travel the full length of her spine.

Jim turns the key, and the car comes back to life.