Miracle worker

Holly’s iron levels, ravished by chemotherapy, were replenished with a five hour intraveneous drip of the black element.  Afterwards, she was up for something to make her feel perky.  The three musketeers (better known as sisters Holly and Penny, and sister-in-law Sandie) headed to our favorite miracle worker at the Clarins counter at Macy’s.  “Let’s visit Natalia,” said Holly in a deep rich Russian voice.  Think of Natasha calling Rocky the Squirrel or Bullwinkle and you’ve got the accent.  “She’ll make us all feel better.” 

We walked in.  Natalia turned, looked at me, and to my surprise, uttered, “Penny, güd to see you” in the very same voice as Holly had imitated.  She smiled.  Not only did she remember me from our last visit nearly a year ago, she also recalled every product she’d applied to transform me from a pale-faced grandma to a face that stood out in a crowd.  Personally I thought maybe the makeup had been applied a little too heavily.  But when my plane had landed that evening in California, Couponman met me at the gate.  “Wow!” he exclaimed, “what’d you do?  You look great.”  The only thing I could discern from that tete`-a-tete´ was that Couponman is fond of street walkers.

So yesterday I once again sat down on a stool in a Utah Macy’s in the middle of nowhere (oh, but then again anywhere in Utah is the middle of nowhere) for a makeover.  Natalia pulled a white disposable headband over my hair.  She squirted a glob of lotion in her hands and massaged it.  She came at me with both palms and pressed them gently into my face.  Her fingertips worked their magic.  She tamed my wild brows with what she called, “Walks.” 

“What’s that?” I asked.

“She means wax,” Sandie laughed.

Then the magic serums came – anti-wrinkle creams, smoothers, fillers, fluffers, puffers.  If those products didn’t work, I spied an air compressor and a spray gun in the corner of the booth.

Next up was Sandie.  Natalia applied another wide disposable headband over her hair.  I still had mine on.  “You look like a cafeteria worker,” Holly claimed looking at me.  She gazed at Sandie.  “You look wounded.”

While Natalia was transforming Sandie, Holly and I strolled around the beauty section of the store.  “This is Taylor Swift’s newest fragrance,” said a young woman, handing us a card that smelled. 

We both lifted the card to our nose and sniffed.  “Not bad,” Holly said.  “But I don’t use perfume.  Every time I tried a new scent, Mom would say, ‘Did someone in here just use the bug spray?’”  I laughed.  “I once dabbed a little vanilla behind my ears, and she asked, ‘Where’s the cookies?’  So I just gave up.”

Then Holly had her turn on the stool.  A slip of the brush, and Natalia gave Holly a black eye.  I don’t want to say it, but Holly’s luck may be a little on the downslide right now.  Natalia took one of those magic sponges (from Mr. Clean, I bet), and cleaned her right up.  I’m hoping the doctors treating Holly’s cancer can work the same wonders to wipe that nasty tumor out of her body.

The night was still young when Natalia snapped our glamour shot.  “What exciting place are you three off to now?” asked Natalia. 

“I don’t know,” I replied and smiled.  “Maybe Dairy Queen.”

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