Unlovely (45 page)

She didn't feel bad about what had
happened with Mark. It had been out of her control. It was a dream. It never
really happened.

After her discharge from Woodside Claudia moved into
the apartment above Melanie's garage, and soon it actually felt like home. It
was a small space, less area than she'd even had in her rooms at Jameson, but
comfortable. She had a sitting/sleeping area, a kitchenette and a bathroom. The
floor plan was cleverly conceived, and Claudia appreciated the thought that
went into designing it. It would serve its purpose.

Besides the couple of nights a week when
she had dinner with her parents, the weekly meal with Melanie and her family,
and the regular tutoring sessions she'd arranged with high school and college
students, she spent the majority of her time alone. Of course there were
counseling sessions, as well, but those were biweekly and brief. Communal
living and the lack of privacy at the hospital had taken a lot out of Claudia
and she welcomed the solitude. Claudia was better able to organize her thoughts
when she was far from the madding crowd.

Melanie kept her word and wasn't too
intrusive, although she couldn't resist peeking through the curtains every
evening to be sure Claudia's lights were on, and then again a few hours later
to make sure they were off. Once in a while she would climb the stairs to the
garage apartment to share a cup of coffee and a chat. She would stay until her
hostess made small indications that she wanted to be alone again. Usually the
visits were brief indeed.

If anyone had asked Melanie why she'd
invited Claudia to live in such close proximity to her own family, she would have
answered simply that she loved her. They had been very close when they were
children, practically living in each other's pockets, and with such a history
between them, it was natural to reach out and help Claudia in her distress.
Nonetheless, now that the move had taken place and the initial period of warmth
and gratitude was behind them, Melanie was surprised to find herself uneasy
around the woman she'd thought to be the closest friend she'd ever had.

The two had kept up since graduation,
exchanging letters and phone calls, and getting together for a meal when
possible, but they hadn't spent any extended period in one another's company
since high school. Melanie had thought she was renting an apartment to a sister
in need, but within the first couple of weeks she realized that in fact she'd
rented it to a moderately close acquaintance. In short order she came to
understand that her relationship with the adult Claudia was only superficial.
What Melanie knew of the person Claudia was now was, in fact, only derived from
what information Claudia had shared with her over the years. Melanie began to
suspect that this information had undergone a rigorous editing process.

Claudia was generally guarded and remote
when she joined Melanie's family for dinner. Conversation wasn't allowed to
flow naturally; Claudia seldom wanted to reminisce about old times or to laugh
about whatever ridiculous things the children were up to. Even the
preschooler's excited chatter did nothing to relieve the tension. Weirdly,
though, Claudia appeared at pains to include Melanie's husband in every
discussion. She consistently made Scott, by nature a quiet man, the center of
attention, and asked him so many questions that it made him exceedingly
uncomfortable.

Although Claudia had agreed to babysit
occasionally, Scott and Melanie had taken advantage of her services only once.
Frankly, Claudia didn't get along with the kids as well as they'd hoped. The
baby was easy enough for her to manage, but the two oldest were balls of energy
and the four-year-old definitely had some oppositional behavior. Claudia had no
patience for shenanigans. Considering the ordeal her friend had been through in
recent days, and wanting to reduce her stress, Melanie concluded that time with
the little ones would prove more detrimental to Claudia than palliative. It was
resolved not to leave the children with her anymore. The kids, for their part,
were fine with that decision.

Still, Melanie had invited Claudia to
live in their garage apartment – she'd made a commitment to her – and she would
honor it. Claudia was as good as family. Perhaps she wasn't so much a sister,
more like a cousin, but nonetheless she was still family. Who knew what inner
struggles she was having? Melanie believed it was contingent upon her to
maintain their relationship and to let Claudia know she was loved and
supported.

One Saturday afternoon, about a month
and a half after her friend's arrival, Scott took the children to the
playground to enjoy unseasonably warm weather. After hustling her crew out the
door, Melanie decided to pop in on Claudia for a quick visit. She climbed up
the short flight of stairs carrying a plate of cookies, knocked on the door and
waited for a response. None came. She knocked again with the same result. Just
as Melanie was about to head back down the stairs, the door opened and a
strange face appeared.

It was, of course, Claudia. She had gone
to a salon and returned home with a very short haircut, almost as close as a
marine's but less flattering. Not only that, her hair had been dyed platinum
blond.

In addition to the new style, her face
was concealed beneath a mask of makeup. She'd put on foundation and blush with
an inexpert hand; it was blotched and heavy on the balls of the cheeks, unblended
near the hairline. Her eyes were rimmed by lashes thick with black mascara, and
her lips were as pink as a plastic tulip. A trail of pressed powder was visible
on her nose.

Melanie was stunned. Claudia smiled
broadly, pleased to have elicited such a reaction, and stepped aside to let her
into the room.

"Wow," Melanie said, handing
off the plate of cookies and blinking in disbelief. "Wow."

"I know. Pretty wild, isn't it? New
look for a new start," Claudia chirped, shutting the door.

"Yes, I should say so."

"So what do you think?"
Claudia asked, taking a seat across from Melanie at the dinette and tilting her
head to create a beguiling aspect.

Melanie thoughtfully considered her
friend's appearance, squinting her eyes ever so slightly and biting her lower
lip. Claudia looked like a nightmare.

"The hairstyle really brings out
your cheekbones," she said truthfully. With the short, impossibly light
hair, Claudia's head looked like a painted skull.

"Thanks. I think so, too. Of
course, part of the effect is from the make-up."

Melanie nodded. "Why'd you go so
short?" She caught herself; she didn't want to sound negative. Was that
too negative? She quickly amended her statement, "It's very
dramatic."

"I told the hairdresser I wanted
something completely different. I brought her a picture of a pixie cut I liked,
but she said I couldn't get it because of the texture of my hair. It wouldn't
lie right. She said that when men with hair like mine come into the salon she
gives them a brush cut. I told her to go for it. She didn't want to, but I
finally persuaded her."

Melanie wondered if they could sue the
hairdresser. "That's brave. Good for you," she smiled. "What
made you decide to bleach it?"

"Blonds have more fun. I deserve a
little fun, don't I?" Claudia winked playfully. A flake of mascara settled
in the trough beneath her eye.

"Hmm," Melanie said. What kind
of fun was she anticipating? "And the makeup, too. You know, I don't think
I've ever seen you in makeup."

"Oh, I bought it last week."
Claudia rubbed her lips together to freshen the color. They became more
electrically pink. "I know I need some practice with it. I've never worn
much, but I thought it would be fun to experiment."

"Sure. Fun." Melanie, at a
loss for words, got up from her seat, filled the kettle with water and put it
on the stove to heat. "Here, I brought some cookies," she said,
returning to the table and removing the plastic wrap from the plate. "Have
one."

"Yum." Claudia took a cookie
and put it on a napkin in front of her. "So, do you like it?"

"I do," Melanie lied, nodding
and making an effort to look sincere. "It's very hip."

Claudia watched her friend carefully,
her own eyes narrowing to slits. "No, you don't. You hate it."

Melanie opened her mouth to protest, but
changed her mind. Claudia was her friend. She should be tactfully honest.

"All right. To be truthful no, I
don't like the haircut. Not yet. But it will probably grow on me. Maybe it
takes some getting used to. You just look so different."

Claudia's lip curled and she made a
sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a snort.

"Are you sure that's what it
is?"

"What do you mean?"

Claudia sighed. "Come on, let's not
play games, okay? The real reason you don't care for it is that you don't want
me to make myself better-looking. I think you like it when I'm more
conservative in my appearance. You like me plain and ordinary. You're used to
being the flashy one in our friendship."

Melanie laughed. "You're joking,
right? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Don't laugh. I'm not kidding. You
have certain ideas about me and what I'm like, and you don't want to see me
change. That's very normal. But I want to change, and I'm going to, whether you
like it or not. Whether anyone likes it."

The kettle on the stove began to heat
and its trembling rattle was the only sound for several long moments before
Melanie found words. "There's no need to get defensive. I would never
discourage you from making positive changes in your life. This is just a
startling thing, this new look. Surely you can understand that."

"Positive changes? You don't object
to my making them?" Claudia rejoined sarcastically. "Well, thanks,
Melanie, it's very generous of you to support my positive changes. But guess
what? You don't get to decide what would be a positive change for me."

"I didn't mean to imply I did
-"

"I'm responsible for my recovery –
not you, not my parents, not even my doctors. I learned a lot at the hospital.
It was humiliating, but I learned. Believe me, they drummed it into me that I'm
responsible for a lot of my own misery. Well, now I'll take responsibility for
my happiness."

"Of course you're in charge of your
own life," Melanie said, confused at the sudden hostility and a situation
that was inexplicably turning ugly. "Claudia, this is a makeover we're
talking about, isn't it? I'm not judging your recovery. I'm just commenting
about your hairstyle and lipstick. I know that's a matter of personal taste.
It's not a big deal."

"No, it's not just a makeover. It
is a big deal.
It's
part of what I am now. Externals
matter. I didn't used to think they did, but I've learned that they do."

"Oh?"

"Yes, they do. You know, I've
always been jealous of girls like you. Not when we were younger, of course. You
were a disaster then. But eventually you became one of the pretty girls and
that's when our lives started to diverge."

"We've been friends forever. You
moved away, that's when our lives diverged. You can't blame my looks for it.
That doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense. Once puberty
hit, we were like two different species. You could behave any way you wanted
and it all worked out. You didn't need good grades or even a good
personality."

"You know, that's very
offensive," Melanie bristled, finding it increasingly difficult to remember
that Claudia was recently in the hospital and needed to be handled with care.

"No – don't get me wrong, Melanie,
I do think you're smart and a kind, good person, but understand: you don't need
to be. You're good because you want to be. You could be a shrew and people
would still love you, because you're lovely to look at. People will always want
to be seen with you. It's like they think your prettiness can rub off on them.
Compared to me, you've had it easy. The path was cleared for you."

"How can you say that? You know
what I've been through with my parents.”

"No, of course it was hard for you,
living with those two. But be real for a minute: it was a hell of a lot easier
for you than it was for me. If you felt lonely or sad, if your parents were horrible
to you, there was always a set of arms waiting to welcome you. You whistled and
the men came running."

"Claudia, that's crazy."

"Of course you'd say that, and I
don't blame you, but you can understand this, right? I mean, grasp it
intellectually. You have no point of comparison about pain or anguish. You did
have a relatively hard time growing up.
Relatively
. If a person has
never known real pain, a blister can plunge him into despair."

Melanie felt tears of hurt and anger
stinging her eyes. "Do you honestly think I haven't suffered? Remember
high school? Remember the baby?"

"I remember."

"You don't think I deal with regret
and shame all the time?"

Claudia looked long at Melanie – perfect
Melanie, with her perfect husband and children, her beautiful face and figure,
her new-found sanctity – and sneered. "Why would you? I thought you were
Catholic now. I thought that was all behind you."