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Ever since Joelle had moved into Ennet house, she’s finding herself to be a worse and worse conversationalist. And she hates that, she really does, but it was a definite, blaring fact. She just couldn’t do it. Sometimes she’d find herself forgetting her lack of social skills, and then she’s thrown in front of another person and all her words are gone. Like they were hidden way far in her skull, and some major digging would be required to wiggle them free. By the time she found something to talk about, the other person was gone, moved on. She hated it. She hated that she couldn’t hold any sort of volley. Joelle wanted in on the club.
When she first arrived, she realized that one of the only people she could maybe talk to in this place was Kate Gompert. Not that Joelle was above the other residents, but they quite frankly gave her the creeps in one way or another. Kate, however, slightly awkward but incredibly normal for an addict, seemed like a fine person to pass the time with. But god, it was like pulling teeth to get the girl to talk a lot of the time. If you caught Kate on one of her flipsides, she would snap off conversation in an instant. Like it had burned her. And this was enough to keep Joelle at a distance.
Joelle thinks this over while sitting on the couch-side of the commons, across from Kate. Conversations would start, then falter, with both girls looking down at their shoes, or out the window. And it didn’t help that Kate would stare at Joelle, with her black eyes looking like beads underneath copious amounts of dark makeup. Staring back, Joelle wonders if Kate wants to look like this. Like she was checked out of her own head, and only a few lights were left on for later. It takes a few minutes for Joelle to realize, quite self-consciously, that she may appear the same under the veil. It sends the creeps crawling through her body.
“It’s gonna snow,” says Kate in this bored tone, as if talking was taxing. Her body is turned around, her chest facing the back of the couch and feet tucked behind her. Joelle takes this time to study the other girl, making note of everything she’d feel too rude to observe while eye-contact is at play. She’s learned that people are still able to tell when eyes are on them, veil or not. Like some sort of lame, annoyingly human superpower.
She’s a pretty girl, Kate is, and it was startling to Joelle how she didn’t realize it herself. Kate carried herself like a kicked dog, metaphorical tail tucked between her legs, floating through the house, there one minute, gone the next. It wasn’t uncommon to be talking to Kate, either alone or in a group, and she would disappear. The conversation would carry on.
Joelle particularly liked the color of Kate’s hair, as obvious of a dye-job it is. The color would be impossible without the help of some sort of stylist, although Joelle couldn’t imagine her subjecting herself to a salon treatment. Kate seems to be the kind of person to do it on her own, a bolshie middle finger to whatever standards keeps her dying her hair anyways. It reminded Joelle of a raven, dark and slick.
“How can you tell?” Joelle asks, lifting her eyes from the middle of Kate’s back. She’s talking low and slow. “That it’s going to snow, I mean. I’ve lived here for quite a while and I can never figure out how you all know it’s going to snow.”
“You’re not from here?” Kate asks, still staring out the window, back to Joelle.
Joelle shakes her head, although knowing Kate couldn’t see. “Nah. I was born in Kentucky.”
“That explains a lot,” Kate says, turning her head around. She was smiling. And even if it wasn’t a wide smile, it still was there. Her front tooth was chipped. “I’m just kidding.”
Joelle can’t help but smile back. “Well? How can you?”
“Know it’s gonna snow?”
“Yeah,” Joelle says. “Is it like a tornado? You’ve ever seen one of those? It’s real scary, especially the first time, or, like, when you’re a little kid and don’t know better. The sky turns green, like a dark swampy color and then all the sudden you hear this distant noise, like a freight train or something. It’s gone as fast as it comes.”
Kate now faces Joelle, arms wrapped around her knees. She’s wearing fuzzy brown socks, decorated with small embroidered reindeers. They make Joelle happy, for whatever reason. “Spooky.” Kate says at the mention of the tornado. “Snow isn’t like that. Everything looks normal besides the clouds. They’re like rain clouds, but lower, closer to the ground.”
The sky is a pinkish tint, warm with the setting sun, and the clouds are hanging low, looking heavy. Joelle moves next to Kate for a better view. She pretends not to notice as Kate shifts her body to the left, moving her weight away from Joelle. “I used to love going sledding when I was a kid. Anything in the snow, really. Snowball fights, making little igloo-looking forts. I’d stay out for days.” says Joelle, surprised when Kate hands over eye contact. “One time, I convinced my own personal Daddy to let me sleep in one of my forts, but I didn’t last an hour out there once the sun went down. I came inside, and he already had hot chocolate ready for me.” Joelle doesn’t remember how old she was when that happened. Maybe about four, still in love with the world and everything it held. “Were you the same, growing up? Massachusetts winters are beautiful.”
“Too cold,” says Kate, now studying her cuticles. Joelle had noticed earlier she had a habit of chewing them when in blank thought, usually while watching an old entertainment cartridge. “My mom kept me busy as a kid. I wasn’t outside a lot.”
“Hmm,” Joelle said, with an understanding nod, although she did not understand at all. “Lemme guess… you were an art kid.”
Kate narrows her eyes, though Joelle can tell it’s playful. She must know better than anyone that she looks like an eclectic mix between a groupie and a kindergarten teacher. “Hey, I know what you’re doing, judging me on how I dress. And no, it wasn’t art for the record. I’m terrible at drawing.”
“Well, now you have to tell me,” Joelle says, leaning back on one of the couch arms. It’s pleather skin was leaking polyester onto the cushion. “Because I can tell for a fact it wasn’t theatre. You wouldn’t dare.”
“People are very different as children.”
“This is true. But that doesn’t make me want to know any less. And besides, you’re dragging it along now. My expectations are really high, so unless it’s, like, clown camp, I’m going to be disappointed.”
Kate taps her finger on the side of her mouth. Another habit Joelle has noticed. Jeez. Maybe she should start writing these down. Like maybe Joelle had cracked her code, although now thinking about it, seems grimly impossible.
“If I told you, you can’t tell anyone,” Kate seems serious, so Joelle puts her hand on the other girl’s knee. She’s learned to show earnesty without facial expressions, or worse, pinkie promises.
“Who would I have to tell?”
“I can think of… how many residents do we have? Staff members too?”
“I’ll have you know I'm an incredibly trustworthy person. I’ve been told that. Several times actually.”
“...”
“You're really hyping up this one, Kate,” Joelle says, placing her head on the bony frame of the couch. Her veil hangs over the edge, and it ripples every time she breathes. Somehow, her hand is still on Kate’s knee.
“Oh fine,” she says, slumping away in an adolescent fashion. “I did child pageants.”
Joelle has to clasp her hands over her mouth although there was no way for Kate to see her agape smile. “No! I thought pageants were only a thing in places where dads will seriously sell their daughter’s virginity.” Her tone isn’t mean, and that incites Kate to continue.
“Pageants aren’t divided by politica, I’ll have you know. Anyones got a shot, as long as you pay the fee and wear a flipper.”
“Flipper?”
“Fake teeth. Like a sports retainer with a smile painted on.”
“Weird.”
Ken Erdedy shuffles by at that moment. He doesn’t even look at the girls anymore. They weren’t interesting to keep looking at. Kate wasn’t willing to put in the work that he expected from most women, which to Ken, was incredibly unattractive. He had told Joelle this, as if she was some sort of confidant. She then asked why he expects a woman to dress up for him if he’s been wearing the same boat shoes everyday. Brown shoes with black pants? Please.
And Joelle was wrapped up like a Christmas present from the shoulders up. There was nothing to base any fantasy off of, which can be sexy at first, but men grow tired of what's in their head real fast. That’s why porn cartridges make up half of the collection stored in the entertainment cabinet.
Kate lowers her voice, although Ken had already turned the corner, climbing up the staircase. “You can’t tell anyone that shit.” Kate looks serious, but part of that is the dark makeup covering a good portion of her face.
Joelle pats Kate’s knee, reassuring her. “Swear to Jesus I wouldn’t tell anyone. And, really, now that I think about it, it makes sense, weird pageant undertones aside. You really are a pretty girl, Kate, and I’m not the type of girl who just says that to hear it back. You are pretty.”
Kate hums, looking out the window again. The clouds only appear more pregnant, ready to sprinkle snowflakes over the muddy brick parking lot they hang over. “I like to pretend that compliments like that don’t mean anything to me. But I think I’m in that mindset where I’m just clawing for plusses instead of more minuses. Not that I’m desperate… more like waiting.”
Compliments were regular for Joelle growing up. It was normal, the way that so many would stop to feed her with sweet words. It would be restaurant servers, substitute teachers, librarians. Her own personal Daddy would go to the same butcher every Saturday for their end-of-week sale, and the man behind the counter would package up various meats as a ‘gift.’ As if her child beauty deserved paper-wrapped ground beef. But boy did Daddy appreciate that.
But years later, she can’t decide if she misses it. Not the meat, obviously, but the attention. She never misses the way her skin would crawl when tall men would look down at her, that wet slimy feeling. But there is something about someone telling you that you were beautiful from a truly objective place. Not in a lustful way, which is how it is for most men past the age of 12. This would be in a gentle way, other women letting Joelle how pretty she really was, just in case she somehow didn’t know. In case she hadn’t heard it that day, they would say. It happened semi-regularly, pre-veil of course, but every time it happened to Joelle, she felt like crying. Like this woman wasn’t giving this compliment to get something in return, but to truly give, and somehow raise her octave for the day.
“Well, I don’t know why you don’t get complimented more,” says Joelle.
Kate smiles, but in a mean way. To herself, as if she was the joke. “Oh, I think I do. And I don’t even hate myself.”
Joelle responds with a soft sound, curious to pull more out of her.
“And I do it to myself, I’m quite aware,” continues Kate. “I read somewhere, like in a Cosmo or something, that men don’t like women who wear lots of dark makeup.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Why don’t you?”
Joelle blows out of her mouth slightly, causing the veil to ripple.
Kate covers her mouth. “Oh, God, sorry.”
“It was funny, don’t worry,” says Joelle. She watches as Kate grins stupidly through her fingers. “But the question still stands.”
Kate shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I've figured out that I don’t want to be pretty. I have no want for anyone in my life. And apparently, according to Cosmo magazine, makeup can fix that for me.”
She nods. Joelle understands. She understands in every meaning of the word, although there’s no way she could even begin to explain this to Kate. Or maybe she could. If she could explain it to anyone, Kate would get it. But Joelle doubts she could even get the words out in the first place.
…
It’s close to midnight when Joelle sees Kate next. Hours ago, Ruth van Cleave, who was adapting horribly to her new setting, turned off her bedside lamp and told Joelle goodnight. Goodnight was a stretch. It was a huff, and honestly, Joelle wishes she didn’t say anything at all.
She’s still able to read by her own lamp, so Joelle fills up the time by following a hairstyle tutorial. She found the article in a teen magazine that was definitely in Ennet House for the wrong reasons. Looking at the glossy pages, and holding her limp hair in her hands, she reminds herself to call Molly Notkin tomorrow to bring her something else to read. Something that wasn’t so mysteriously crispy. She makes an effort not to think into that fact too deeply.
Kate turns the corner of the room, wearing two towels, one tucked under her arms and around her body, and one around her head. She stands in the doorway, hand on the frame, looking at Joelle, as if she was considering saying something. It takes a second for Joelle to realize Kate isn’t wearing makeup. She doesn’t point it out. “Good shower?” Joelle says instead, looking down at the hair she had just braided. She's pleased with the results, considering she hadn’t braided her hair since the fourth grade.
“Good, considering the heat was working,” Kate says in response, and then, surprisingly, sits on the edge of Joelle’s bed. She’s still wet from the shower, small drops forming into larger ones, then rolling off her back. Joelle watches as the drops dive on to the blue wool blanket. She’s so distracted by the water, it takes her a second to realize how out of the ordinary it was for Kate to join her like this. They rarely talked outside of group conservations, and now Kate is seated across from Joelle, half soaked, bangs slicked to her forehead. She points at Joelle’s hair.
“Your hair looks really cool,” says Kate. She leans forward, taking Joelle’s hair into her hands. “It’s a dutch braid, if you didn’t know.” Joelle stares at Kate as if she was foreign. The closeness didn’t bother her, but she was somewhat shocked that Kate would close the space this much. She always seemed to float within feet of everyone. Never like this. Kate looks up at her, and Joelle realizes her eyes aren’t actually black, but really a deep brown. “Will you do my hair?”
Joelle blinks and adjusts herself, although she knows her expression is masked. “Like a braid?”
“No, like a business appropriate up-do,” Kate says sarcastically, shaking her hair out of the towel. “Yes, I want you to braid my hair. Just like what you’re doing now. Is that cool with you?”
“Yeah,” says Joelle. “You gotta come closer though.”
Kate shuffles closer to Joelle, holding her towel up with one hand, and finger combing her hair out with the other. “I haven’t had my hair braided in years. I used to wait around for girls on the playground to play with my hair. I kept it really long so I think they had a lot to work with.”
Joelle begins the braid on the far side of her head, above her right ear. “You’ve got nice hair. I was just thinking that.”
“Thanks,” says Kate. There’s a pause. “And I was thinking about what I was saying earlier. About my makeup. Because I think that I’d be okay with not always wearing it, you know. Like obviously, in the house, I’m going to want to wear it a lot of the time. But when I’m here with you, or even whatever her name is...” She points at the adjacent bed. “Or the other girls in the house, I don’t need to protect myself. Because there’s nothing to protect myself from.”
Joelle hums, knowing that all words that she’d offer would fall flat. Kate's hair smells like springtime. She yawns, then looks back at Joelle. “I swear I could fall asleep.”
“You better not fall asleep before I can finish. Tilt your head back.” Joelle smiles, knowing that Kate wouldn’t be able to see her expression.
Kate leans her body back, resting on her elbows. She stays like that for a few seconds before putting her head on Joelle’s thigh, close to her bent knee. “This is fine, right?”
The way they were positioned was so intimate, so personal, although Joelle was just combing through Kate’s hair. She feels like she should be relaxed, but having Kate laying on her like this was making her heart go insane. A little piece of simulated love. It’s been a while. “You’re good,” Joelle manages to get out.
Eventually, Joelle runs out of hair to braid, and Kate has two perfect plaits running off her head and on to Joelle’s legs. Quietly, Joelle pulls the left one loose, and starts over. “I made a mistake,” She says simply.
“I don’t mind,” says Kate. “I am going to close my eyes though. I’m not falling asleep, so don’t worry.”
A few moments pass, and lost in concentration, Joelle realizes that Kate had started to quietly snore. She considers gently shaking her awake, but selfishly, she can’t stop staring at the other girl, so calm and comfortable, resting on Joelle’s thigh. There’s no way that Joelle could wake her up. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen Kate, who constantly seemed like she had knots in her stomach. She was at peace for once.
The second braid doesn’t take long to finish, with Joelle then realizing she couldn’t get out of bed without disturbing Kate. And as cramped as the bed is, the few steps to Kate’s bed seems like it would be more work than it’s worth. It has to be close to one by now, judging from the pitch darkness outside, and Joelle knows she needs full nights of sleep with the coffee served at Ennett house . She slides down the bed as much as she can, really only a few feet, trying her best not to disturb her new friend.
Just as Joelle is about to slide into sleep, Kate speaks up. “Were you going to let me sleep here with you?”
“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Joelle says, suddenly aware of her accent. Kate looks blue, painted in the shadows. Somehow, her eyes are lighter than ever. Like bird's eggs.
Kate grins, somewhat sleepily. “I guess that means you’re my boyfriend now,” she replies, and before Joelle can respond, Kate has closed her eyes, mouth turned slightly upward. She starts snoring again in no time, leaving for Joelle with nothing else to do but sit and stare. For once, she can’t wait until tomorrow.