Page 73 of Worst in Show

To my surprise, I’m not opposed to her plans. Princess hair sounds good. The costumes I’ve made for the dogs and me are ready and waiting at home, and I couldn’t be more thrilled with how they turned out. I have a cauldron with dry ice set up right inside the doors of Happy Paws, and enough candy for several busloads of kids should it be needed. I’m ready for the trick-or-treaters. Hopefully, Micki’s expertise will also get me ready to see Leo again.

“Then work your magic, fairy godmother.”

“There.” Micki dusts the makeup brush across my nose and stands back.

I’ve been in her chair for hours, and she’s finally done. A cloud of hair spray lingers in the space, tickling my nose, and my neck is sore from holding still, but my reflection in the mirror is worth it. I get out of the chair and study my new self closer.

My daily beauty routine involves little more than mascara and, on occasion, blush, which is why Micki insisted on doing a full face today. “I want you to be Belle,” she said when I tried to protest. “That means shaped brows, lashes, lips, all of it.”

At that point in the process, she’d already plied me into compliance with a lengthy scalp massage, so I didn’t have it in me to say no. I am not sorry.

“I’ve never worn fake lashes before.” I angle my face this way and that.

“They’re magnetic. Super easy to take off. You like?”

I smile at her. “I do.”

Micki hands me a stick of lip gloss. “Put this on after you get dressed.”

“‘Pucker-up Pink,’” I read on the wand.

“Foolproof.” She winks. “What do you think about the hair?”

“What can I say? You’re a magician. I thought you cut it, but it looks longer.”

“It looks healthier.”

I shake my head so that the long waves bounce around my shoulders. “I could be in a shampoo commercial.”

Micki laughs. “Now, that’s a compliment. Does that mean you’ll let me do this on the regular?”

“Do I have to pay?”

She snorts and reaches out to fix a curl caught in my neckline. “I suppose it’s open for discussion. Maybe you make me a dress instead.”

“Deal.” I pull her into a hug. “Thank you for this. I can’t remember the last time I felt this pretty.”

“What are you talking about? You’re always pretty.”

“Not like this. Anyway, I should go get the dogs out before it’s time to get ready.”

“I only have this.” She picks up a witch’s hat from the shelf behind her. “There, ready.”

“Smart.”

“Donna is coming over in a bit, and she’s dressing as Dorothy. We’re pretending we’re coordinating.”

“Without the green face?”

“Too much work.”

“Says the person who just spent three hours getting me ready.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go, princess. Go get your prince.” She shoos me out the door with a promise to stop by the store later because her salon isn’t participating in the candy-giving.

I don’t think she knows the story of Beauty and the Beast very well. Belle doesn’t go get the prince. They have to fall for each other in order to turn him into one.

Trick-or-treating goes from four to six, and the streets are packed. Boris, Cholula, and Cap play their parts as my furniture sidekicks as well as can be expected, monitoring each child who enters for runaway treats. We pose for photos, admire costumes, and hand out candy until my cheeks hurt from smiling. When the flow of people finally subsides, I’ve been called a “real princess” by at least two dozen adorable kids. Micki will get a kick out of it.

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