Free Retail Therapy by Roz Bailey Page A

de toilette.
    â€œYou know, when they took me upstairs to HR, I thought, ‘That bitch! She could’ve lost me my job.’ ”
    I froze. She was talking about me!
    â€œBut it didn’t turn out that way at all,” Marcella—I finally remembered her name—went on. “I thought Mr. Pomerantz was going to yell at me, even fire me, but no! Instead, they are going to transfer me to the buyers’ division. Can you believe that dumb luck? A buyer, all because they think I have real potential, but maybe not so good at working directly with the customers. So I get to go to buyers’ school and channel my aggressions toward those idiots from the wholesalers. Can you believe it? So I should thank that hipster monster.”
    â€œYes.” I stepped out from behind the giant perfume bottle, my hands balling into fists. “You really should thank me.”
    Red’s eyes flashed with fury, and for a minute I thought she would spring onto me with claws and teeth bared.
    But no ... a subtle shift, a steely resolve. And what was that in her eyes. Respect? Or maybe a flash of humor.
    â€œThe hipster monster returns,” she said. “That’s good, ’cause I have something for you.” She took a box from the pocket of her smock, a small box with the Trenda foil seal on it. “I saved this for you.”
    I stared at the lipstick as if it would brand my palm. “Carnation Kiss?”
    She shrugged. “It’s all wrong for your friend. But don’t listen to me. Let her walk around like a hideous buffoon in clown makeup. Sometimes you gotta look the other way and let people be happy with themselves. Anyway, that’s what Mr. Pomerantz said.”
    The surge of delight over my victory was slightly offset by Marcella’s surrender and the fact that she had reserved a tube of lipstick for me ... well, it just wasn’t done.
    This woman was the rare exception, though I wasn’t yet sure if that was a good thing or not.
    â€œEverything OK here?” Hailey came onto the scene, moving tentatively. Her hair swung back as she looked over her shoulder. “No one called security yet?”
    I passed her the tube of Carnation Kiss. “Try this on.”
    â€œMy shade.” She brightened a little, then turned to the mirror on the counter. I think every clerk in cosmetics watched with bated breath as she slid the shiny marbelized tube out of the box, uncapped it, unrolled, applied.
    The bright red glistened orange on her lips. A clownish shade.
    Gorgeous Hailey looked hideous.
    â€œIt’s awful,” I delivered the verdict quietly. “It does make her look jaundiced.”
    Hailey smiled into the mirror, then shuddered. “Yucky.” She took two tissues from a box offered by a nearby clerk. “I can’t believe I ever wore that shade.”
    â€œYou were right,” I told Marcella, gracefully conceding. Like my father, I fight my arguments to the finish, but when proven wrong I defer to the truth. “Those were your words exactly.”
    Marcella straightened the lapels of her mint smock with pursed lips. “Uh-huh.”
    â€œI was so wrong,” I admitted, addressing the cluster of clerks. “This woman knows her colors. I will always buy cosmetics from Marcella.”
    The women chimed in with “Oh, sure!” and “She’s the best!” and “I thought they were doing a makeover.” The tension dissolved as people returned to their stations, shoppers went back to their shopping, and Marcella stepped up to the counter and picked up the controversial lipstick.
    â€œYou try it,” she told me. “It’s your color.”
    I rolled it on and blotted. Let me tell you, it looked like spicy red joy on my lips. “Hallelujah,” I sang.
    Marcella cracked her gum. The woman chewed gum. Unbelievable. “Told ya,” she said.
    â€œLook, I feel like an idiot,” I