The Pull Of The Moon. Darlene Graham
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had grown up among the privileged of Terwilleger Heights in the shadow of the elegant Philbrook Museum of Art, which had been dedicated when they were children. The hours they had spent exploring the museum with their mother, a docent, had imbued the sisters with impeccable taste. Now all three were wealthy widows in their late sixties, still active and productive in the community, still beautiful and stylish.
Unfortunately, Danni had not inherited the family penchant for personal style, and as always, she felt homely, drab and unkempt as she hugged her mother and her aunts.
“Danni, dear!” Her mother pushed Danni’s wild hair back and kissed her on the cheek. “I hope we didn’t wake you. I’m afraid we’re a bit early.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I was up, but I haven’t pulled myself together yet.” Danni straightened the collar of her robe and smiled at her aunts. “Rough day yesterday, and an even rougher night.”
“Lots of ladies having their babies, dear?” her Aunt Hetra asked kindly.
Danni nodded. “That old full moon again.”
“Well, as I always say, a good doctor certainly earns her money!” Aunt Dottie chimed in. “And you must be one very busy obstetrician! Look at this house!”
Olivia beamed. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” The sisters walked ahead of Danni, fluttering and chattering, into the sunny living room.
Danni was pleased with their reaction to her remodeling job. At least she had inherited one aspect of the Bartlet sense of style—a flair for interior decorating.
The aunts noticed everything. They praised everything. Even Jackie’s cinnamon rolls.
“Did you get my message about going to the gala with Wesley Fuerborne?” Olivia asked while she was stirring cream into her second cup of coffee.
“Uh...” Danni took a sip from her cup. “I don’t know about that deal, Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I, uh, don’t have a formal dress.”
“Well, who does this early in the season?” Aunt Dottie interjected. “That’s why we’re going over to Miss Jackson’s this morning, to start looking—I have a wonderful idea! Why don’t you come with us, Danni? We can all help you select something stunning.”
Olivia and Hetra cooed their approval of this idea.
“Oh, something blue.”
“Yes, get it done early.”
Danni raised a palm in protest. “I’m—Mom, I’m sorry.”
Just then, Jackie came into the room to collect the empty pastry tray.
“I can’t go,” Danni said and sent Jackie a conspiratorial glance. “I’m already going shopping with Jackie.”
Jackie raised her pencil-thin eyebrows, only a fraction, but otherwise maintained her smiling silence as she loaded empty china dessert plates onto the tray.
“Shopping?” Aunt Hetra asked as if something about the idea didn’t ring true.
“Yes. We go shopping together once in a while. For...essentials.”
“Essentials,” Jackie parroted smoothly, then bustled out of the room.
The ladies made their departure graciously, after Olivia had extracted a promise from Danni to decide about the gala “soon.”
Before Olivia had even backed her Mercedes down Danni’s driveway, Jackie pounced. “You know what, Doc? You weren’t lying. You are going shopping with me.”
DANNI APPRECIATED GOOD psychology when she saw it in action, and Jackie, it turned out, was the all-time master.
She started Danni out with a nonthreatening trip to the shoe department for some comfortable, classic, snipped-toe pumps, then she whisked her off to Better Sportswear to buy a silk pantsuit in a feminine shade of rose. Simple. Elegant.
Danni decided she was actually having fun.
At the perfume counter, Jackie sniffed and swooned like she was in heaven, but Danni developed a sinus headache. An astute saleswoman helped Danni choose a clean, understated scent that she loved, and that set her back $150.
“I will pierce my own ears,” Danni protested when Jackie tugged her arm in the direction of the local ear-piercing emporium. “I am a surgeon, for crying out loud.”
“Deal,” Jackie said and steered her to a jewelry store where she coaxed her into buying a thousand-dollar pair of diamond studs.
“These will look great against your hair.” Jackie held the open velvet jewelry box next to Danni’s jaw while they were downing a quick lunch. Then her smile dissolved into an appraising frown. “Speaking of hair...” She continued.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Danni clutched the big braid curving over her shoulder. “I’ve been wearing my hair this way all of my life—”
“Exactly. About time for- a change, don’t you think? And I know somebody who could work wonders on you, girl.”
Danni rolled her eyes, imagining that Jackie had some friend of a friend who’d give her a big-hair job that would knock your eyes out, perhaps literally. “No,” she replied in her best boss’s voice. “That is final.”
Jackie stuck out her full, crimson glossed lower lip. “Ah, now,” she said, making a pinch between thumb and forefinger, “not even a tiny little trim?”
JACKIE’S FAVORITE SALON was called Tres, for three—hair, nails, and skin—and Danni had to admit it was pretty chic.
First, Jackie hauled her over to somebody named Loretta, a cousin’s best friend, who gave Danni “the perfect French manicure,” keeping the length compatible with Danni’s professional duties. Not bad, Danni thought.
The facial they gave her while her nails dried wasn’t bad, either, Danni reflected as she lay under the soothing mask.
And she decided she definitely liked the pedicure. Not for the way her toes sparkled with ruby tips when it was over, but for the way her beleaguered calf muscles had completely relaxed under the pedicurist’s massaging hands.
Danni was beginning to wonder why she hadn’t indulged herself this way before, and then it was time for the haircut. “I can’t look!” she squeaked and covered her eyes as a “hair artist,” whose name tag read Naomi, winked at Jackie and raised gold-plated scissors.
The “tiny little trim” turned out to be a heart-stopping transformation of hideous proportions.
Jackie and Naomi kept patting it and exclaiming “Gorgeous!” while Danni looked in the mirror and wondered, What the hell have I done? Her formerly long, wavy hair now mushroomed up from her widow’s peak and cascaded into a thousand unruly layers that pricked at her cheeks and neck like tentacles. She looked like an extra on Star Trek.
“It’s...it’s big hair,” she stammered into the mirror.
“Uh-huh,” Naomi intoned professionally. “Big is back. ’Course, even with the perm, I had to use a lot of volumizer.”
AFTER BATTLING ALL WEEKEND to beat the mess on her head into submission, Danni showed up at her office Monday morning with two ridiculous little clips pulling her new bangs back from her forehead. She had seriously considered wearing a surgical cap for the next six months.
“What happened to your hair?” her staff asked in unison. The morning bustle of the office abruptly ceased, and they were all staring at her as if she’d walked in naked.
“Dr. Danni got a bad haircut,” she snapped. “Now let’s get to work.”
But, as usual, Carol