Rouge(57)

I’m about to go back to the cash register when the customer says, “You stay here. I could use another pair of eyes.”

“Another pair of eyes. Of course. We can be that for you.” Why not? Me and my reflection, two other pairs of eyes. She frowns at me though we’re smiling at her, waving as she disappears through the door. I turn to look back at my reflection, just to admire the Glow again, when I see someone standing between me and the glass.

“Mirabelle?” she’s saying. A little woman. Staring at me. Cropped blond hair. Pearls. A disregard for sunscreen that shows in her rampant lines and moles. Persephone? No, but she does look like a boss. Maybe I have two. Something about her reminds me of a small, yipping dog. It’s snapped at my heels before. I know her. I’d know her crisp white shirt and pearl-wattled throat anywhere, but when I try to recall her name, all I can think is Yip Yip.

The little woman looks surprised to see me. More than surprised. Shocked, really. Like she’s just seen someone dead. Like Tad did. “Mira, is that really you?”

I look in the mirror. The glass is empty, shining. I’m nowhere to be seen. I look back at the woman and smile. “Who else?”

“What happened to your…?” She brings her hands up to her own face, as if to check that it’s still there. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my shift, of course,” I say, gripping the fitting room door handle.

“Your shift? Here?”

Where else? “Yes. I work here.”

“You work here?” She looks at me confused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

I feel my phone buzzing again. I smile at the woman. “It’s very simple.”

“But… aren’t you supposed to be heading back to Montreal?”

“Montreal? I’m not sure where you’re getting your… information.”

“I see. Well maybe you’d like to come with me in the back? And have a little chat?” She’s looking at me like I’m a wild animal and behind her back is some sort of tranquilizer gun.

“That’s going to be a problem,” I say.

“Problem? Why a problem?”

“Well if I go back there with you, I can’t be another pair of eyes. For her.” And I gesture to the fitting room door. “I promised to be her eyes.”

“Esther can take care of that. Can’t you, Esther? She’s just back from her lunch break now.” I see another woman beginning to creep into my peripheral vision. She’s holding a container full of some sort of soggy salad. Glasses on a chain around her neck. Bloodless face looking at me blankly. “A little late coming back today,” the woman says to Esther, her voice slightly scolding.

My phone buzzes and buzzes. I shake my head. “No,” I say loudly.

“No?” the little woman repeats.

“I’m staying here for now.”

She looks at me for a long time. Not just confused, frustrated. And what else is in her face? Some sort of pity, why pity? Why can’t I remember her name?

“I know you’re in a great deal of pain right now, Mirabelle. About your mother. Is that what this is all about? Coming in here? I know grieving can be such a journey. Perhaps you’re working through something.”

I stare at her and she stares at me. Sylvia. That’s her name. Right there in the tight lips, the parched skin, the cropped blond spikes. My phone continues to buzz loudly. Persephone again. I silence it. Smile at Sylvia.

“I’m definitely working through something, Sylvia. My shift. Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually think I hear my customer calling.”

“I don’t hear anyone calling. Do you, Esther?”

Esther just stares at me.

“Mirabelle, listen—”

“Hello?” from behind the door. “Can you get in here, please?”

“Yes. Of course,” I say, looking at Sylvia. Frowning at me now. “I’ll be right in.”



* * *




In the fitting room, I find her standing in the ill-fitting dress without her shoes on, staring at me. Her arms are out slightly as if the dress has arrested her.

“Well mirror, mirror,” she says, locking eyes with me in the reflection. “Tell me. Is this worth the absurd amount of money you people are charging for this?”

I look into the full-length mirror. There I am, standing behind the seaweed woman just as I’m really standing behind the seaweed woman. Wearing Mother’s red dress. Still glowing, lifted, eradicated. So good to be synced up with myself again finally. I feel such relief seeing myself there in the glass. Smiling as I’m smiling. Ready to be of service, another pair of eyes. Everything nicely aligned in time and space, no more weird glitch. The chimes are still playing, maybe a little more loudly, but they’re pretty. I’m Mother’s best saleswoman.

“So are you going to tell me or what?”

“Definitely.” I smile at her in the glass. And it’s the funniest thing: the seaweed woman’s suddenly a bit blurry in there. Right when I go to really look in the mirror. I turn to my own glowing reflection. I’m perfectly clear. Sharp even, against the customer’s blur. Huh.

“Well?”

“It’s not entirely clear.”