Page 59 of Frankly, My Dear

“Did you hear the drums last night?” Reba asked with a shiver while Selene adjusted a clean towel on her narrow shoulders and combed her fine hair out of the coil at the nape of her neck.

“What drums?”

“The voodoo drums out in the swamps. I hate them. Truly I do. Fergus says there’s nothing to fear in all the mumbo jumbo. But I remember all the bad times when Giselle was alive, and everyone knows about the ghost that appears here sometimes. Giselle’s ghost.”

“What drums? I didn’t hear a thing,” Selene said, clipping expertly, choosing to ignore the ridiculous remark about Giselle’s ghost. Reba was entirely too impressionable. “I’m usually a light sleeper, but I guess I was too exhausted last night.”

Luckily, their conversation soon veered away from voodoo and ghosts. A short time later, Selene fluffed the ends of Reba’s hair, standing behind her before the mirror. “Now doesn’t that look better?”

“Oh, Selene, you’re a magician.” Reba preened before the mirror, beaming.

“Hardly a magician. And, please, don’t repeat that word in association with me. James gets decidedly uncomfortable anytime people connect magic with me.” She helped Reba to her feet, then added, “Also, the next time you wash your hair, you’ve got to scrunch it dry.”

“Scrunch?” Reba put her fingertips to her lips to stifle a girlish giggle.

“Yeah, scrunch.” Bending over from the waist, Selene demonstrated, tossing her own still-long hair over her head, repeatedly bunching and unbunching thick clumps of it. “Scrunching makes your hair even thicker and bouncier. Do you think you can do that?”

Reba nodded, memorizing her every move.

Selene tilted her head to the side, studying Reba. “One more thing. Don’t move.” Going over to the armoire, she took down her makeup case and examined the contents carefully before selecting a small compact of powder, brown mascara and eye pencil, and a tube of Pink Passion lip gloss.

“Oh, no! Never! I might be able to convince Fergus about the haircut, but he would never accept face paint.”

“Sit,” Selene ordered with mock sternness. “Honey, do you know how many thousands of men have said that they hate makeup, that they like ‘the natural look,’ just like their own wives or girlfriends have? Hah! Little do they know, it took hundreds of dollars and a carload of Revlon to achieve ‘the natural look.’”

“Red-lawn? Oh, Selene, please, no face paint. The haircut is enough.”

“If you don’t like the makeup, you can wash it off.”

With a groan, Reba gave her reluctant permission. A short time later, Selene stood back and let Reba get her first look in the mirror.

The hair layering had made an improvement in Reba’s appearance; the makeup brought about a miracle. Using only the tiniest amounts of mascara on her lashes and pencil on her brows, Selene heightened the vivid cornflower blue of Reba’s eyes. The powder added a tint of color to her toneless skin, and the gloss gave definition to lips that Selene hadn’t noticed were full and rather sensual.

Reba was a knockout.

Stunned, Reba gaped at her reflection. Then she did the natural womanly thing. She started to cry.

“Reba! Sweetie, we can wash it off if you don’t like it.”

“I…love…it,” Reba blubbered out, throwing her arms around Selene’s neck and hugging her thankfully. “Fergus will love it, too, but I’m not going to tell him. No, I’m not. It’s just like you said. He’ll think I got some sun, or was eating berries. Men see what they want to see. Oh, Selene, I’m so glad you came to Bayou Noir.”

It took Selene another ten minutes to repair the damage from Reba’s tears. Then Selene handed her the cosmetics she had used, as a gift, and they headed downstairs, arms linked companionably. Halfway down the second set of stairs they met Iris, the tall slave that Selene had met the night before, carrying an armful of clean linens. Iris took in Reba’s new appearance with a startled glance, then shot an accusing look at Selene, “When you be startin’ on my backside?”

“Maybe tomorrow, Iris. I overslept today,” Selene said with a laugh.

“I tol’ Hyacinth ’n’ Rose Petal ’bout your arrow-back exercises and they wants to do ’em, too. Do you mind, mam’zelle?”

Oh, Lord. James is not going to be happy.

“Hyacinth’s bosoms are big as cow udders, and Rose Petal’s got feet big as cow pies,” Iris went on.

“Oh, my goodness, Iris! There’s nothing a person can do to reduce the size of feet,” Selene said, trying hard not to laugh. “And breast reduction, well…” Selene stopped herself from discussing twentieth-century surgical methods.

“Don’t you be worryin’ none, mam’zelle. I reckon anyone who can do magic like this,” she said, waving a hand toward Reba, “can surely make feet and tits look smaller.”

“Yeah, right.” And there it was again. That word. Magic. James was definitely not going to be pleased.

Reba’s eyes widened. “Can you make mine bigger?” she asked, blushing, as she looked down at her flat breasts.