Page 14 of Dear Pink

I begin to undress but spot another glass of wine on the side table. When did more arrive? It must be from earlier.

“I only have a medium,” Tina says, throwing open the door again. I stand in front of her in my new lace panties and bare breasts. She doesn’t even blink.

“Thanks.” I sip the wine in my fresh glass, my taste buds numb from all the alcohol. “I’ll try this one, but no more.” I take the shirt and hand her my stack of clothes. “I want these.”

“I’ll put them by the register. Shall I run your credit card?”

“Yes. I’ll be out in a minute.”

The new blouse isn’t flattering at all. I throw on my T-shirt from this morning, and whirl around, searching for my joggers. They aren’t anywhere. I sit on the empty bench and breathe deeply. Skipping breakfast this morning was a dumb idea. The sweet wine’s getting to me. I squeeze my head to focus. How many glasses did I drink?

“Uhh, Tina?” I rifle through the few clothing items left in the room. Oh, wait. I bend over and find a pair of lacy purple panties with pink polka dots. Super cute. I should get these too.

“Tina? You out there?” I yell a little louder. No answer.

How much longer until she comes back to the dressing room? I sit on the bench again and contemplate napping. There’s a small sip left in the wine glass, so I gulp it and call again. “Tina? I need help.”

She isn’t coming. I drop to the floor and crawl around like an intoxicated animal. Where are my damn joggers? Shit. I must have put them in my to-purchase pile. Maybe I can peek my head out and call her? I don’t want people to see me half-dressed, but I’m desperate.

I step tentatively into the hallway and hear voices. Tina says to someone she’ll be back with a glass of wine. Damn wine. I burp and peer around the corner. There are several customers in the store now. “Tina?” I whisper yell. She doesn’t hear me.

I’m standing in the aisle in granny panties and a T-shirt. Not my best look. I giggle, and the sound is rather hysterical. At least my hair’s fabulous.

I spot my joggers beside the cash register, but they’re clear across the room. I’m gonna have to run if I want to get my pants. No way I’ll make it without anyone seeing me streaking through the store.

I refocus and eye the nearest rack. If I take five steps into the room, I can hide behind those skirts. Three . . . two . . . one. I sprint, shrieking with glee. I hope no one has their phone out. The thought of being on social media in these saggy panties makes me laugh harder. An older woman turns and frowns at me. Abandon ship. “Forgot my pants,” I say. “Oops.” Darting back to my dressing room, I fall apart in fits of laughter.

Tina finally checks on me. “Hannah, you okay in there?” she asks, opening the door.

“I acci . . . den . . . tally gave you my joggerssss,” I slur.

“Oh, dear.” Her eyes widen at me sprawled out on the bench. “I’ll be back.”

That’s when I see ten pairs of discarded pants on the floor. Why didn’t I put one on and walk to the cashier like a civilized person? Oh, yeah, the wine. I laugh hysterically again.

I stumble out of Retro Rags loaded with three shopping bags full of new clothes. One stop left for the day, makeup. Libby would seriously haunt me if I didn’t stop at her favorite store.

Hell yeah, we’re going to Sephora today. Mama craves some new lips.

I stop at the corner and wait for the light to change. My gaze travels to a tall man decked out in bright green on a red bike. Oh, my cantaloupes. It’s Mr. Fancy from the elevator. I hide my face behind the giant Retro bags before I realize the crazy gesture is more obvious. Trying to decide my next move, I remember my new haircut. Hallelujah, he won’t recognize me.

I relax my arms, dropping the bags to my side, and peek over at him. He bobs his head a little. Must have earbuds. His foot rests on the pedal, waiting for the green light. His calves are cut. Turning, he catches me watching him. I shake my hips a little, pretending I hear his music. He shoots me a confused look.

What am I doing? I’m insane. It must be the gallon of white wine encouraging me. I stop dancing and turn into a homecoming princess, waving in a parade. He raises his hand, but there’s no recognition there. The light turns, and he speeds off. I shake my hips again for no apparent reason, garnering stares from other pedestrians. Who knew white wine turns me into a dancing queen?

***

Sephora is jam-packed with customers and aggressive salespeople. I’m too tipsy for any serious interaction, so I wave them off. Maybe I shouldn’t pick out makeup when my eyes are filled to the brim with wine. It isn’t until I stop in front of a mirror surrounded by bright lights that I reconsider. My face is pale and washed out. I could use a little color. At least a new lip gloss. I head to the Mac counter and straight to the Lipglass section.

“Well, hello there.”

I jump at the sound of his voice. “Oh, hi,” I say, avoiding eye contact.

“What brings you in today?” The sneaky salesman narrows his eyes at me, sizing me up.

“I’m hunting for glosses.” I fumble with a sample container and drop the tube on the ground. I should leave. Or sit.

“I would love to give you a free makeover.” He points to a chair. “You could use a little pick-me-up for your face.”

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