Don't Forget to Write: A Novel(51)

“Yes,” she said finally, when she reached the end. “This is what I had in mind.”

She rose, setting the book on the coffee table. “Get your purse. We’re going out.”

I looked down at my clam diggers and knotted blouse. “Let me just get dressed first.”

“No need. We’ll do that after.”

“After what?”

She grinned. “Get your handbag.”





Ada’s definition of “going out” was a trip to the beauty parlor in town. I looked up at it warily, uncertain about its ability to live up to my New York hair standards. But I wasn’t about to say that to Ada. And if they butchered it, well, the beauty of hair was that it grew.

We entered a world of pink and turquoise, customers and stylists alike greeting Ada as if she were the mayor. I looked at her as she waved to everyone, scolding a couple of people for not coming to see her, and wondered if maybe she WAS, in fact, the mayor. She knew everyone, their business, and what to do about it.

Ada’s stylist of choice led us toward two chairs, one of which was in use, but the client was quickly relocated to another spot to accommodate us. Ada introduced me as her niece, then gave detailed instructions about her own hair. I let my attention drift to the mirror, observing the women behind me, looking for mannerisms I could use in the book.

Ada was saying, “—a bob, I think. Something like what that Jackie Kennedy is wearing.”

I looked at Ada’s platinum hair, which was already in a bouffant bob. Then realized she was talking about me. The stylist agreed, coming around to put her hands in my shoulder-length hair.

“Wait, what?”

Ada smiled at me in the mirror. “It’s 1960, darling. Let’s make you look like it.”

“And the color?” the stylist asked.

“I’ll leave that up to her,” Ada said. “Marilyn, would you like to look more like your namesake? We can go blonde.”

I held up my hands. “Let’s start with the style.”

Ada laughed. “Probably for the best. They say gentlemen prefer blondes, and we don’t need more of them sniffing around.”

I cringed, but the stylist didn’t seem to notice. “Does that sound good?” she asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

She laughed. “I do what your aunt says.”

“You and everyone else.”





An hour and a half later, freshly coiffed, we left the salon. “I bet your head feels lighter,” Ada said.

“It feels . . . bigger, for sure.”

“You mark my words. If Jackie is wearing it, everyone else will want it. If her husband wins the White House, it’ll be half because he’s handsome and half because she is.”

I didn’t follow politics enough to argue. I knew he had my vote for the reasons she listed. And as we passed a shop window, I admired my new style. It did look appealing.

“Thank you,” I told Ada. “A new look is exactly what I needed.”

“Oh, we’re not done,” Ada said.

“We’re not?”

“No. Go get dressed in the fanciest thing you brought. We’re going to Atlantic City tonight.”

My shoulders drooped.

“What’s this?” she asked impatiently.

“I—Freddy took me there. When we first—”

“When you first started sneaking out at night?”

I stared at her.

“I told you the day you arrived—I miss nothing.”

“Couldn’t you have warned me?” I said.

“I did.”

“No, I mean, said, ‘I know what you’re doing, here’s why it’s a bad idea.’”

“Would it have stopped you?”

I opened my mouth to say yes, but the word got stuck in my throat.

“That’s why,” she said. “We all have to make our own mistakes and learn some things the hard way.”

I studied her profile, wondering what mistakes she had ever made. If I asked, she would either say that it was an impertinent question or that she was the exception to the rule. But she wouldn’t have said it in the first place if that were the case.

“But get dressed and put some makeup on. You haven’t done Atlantic City the right way yet because you haven’t done it with me.”





Half an hour later, I left my bedroom in a baby blue sundress, paired with my highest heels and the lipstick Ada actually allowed me to wear. I pursed my lips at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Ada was right—the haircut suited me.

Her bedroom door was open. “I’m ready when you are,” I called in, taking care not to cross the threshold.

“Not yet you’re not,” Ada replied. “Come on in.”

I hesitated briefly, wondering if she was going to let me wear her lipstick, then entered.

Ada was dressed to the nines in a beaded dress cut similarly to mine. A white mink stole was draped over her arms, held up at the elbows, and a long strand of pearls hung around her neck, gigantic matching earrings dangling from her lobes.

“Hmmm,” she said, circling me.

“This is the best I have,” I told her. “And I won’t fit in your dresses.” I was curvier than Ada, and anything that fit her was likely not going over my hips or bust.