Mona Lisa Smile
By IridescentGentleman
Chapter 4 — Tuesday Afternoon
Big B, the shopkeeper at Shore Lines, was doing her nails with one eye on her work and the other on the clock. She had an afternoon shift today, which meant that she’d be able to go clubbing after. And she was dressed for it—her hair was done up, her makeup was thick, and she wore a tight, shiny, pink tube dress. She was almost average height with her towering heels on. She clicked them on the floor as she put another layer of polish on her fake nails. She smiled. The broad she had met yesterday, that Lisa girl, had put her in a good mood. It was so rare to see aspiring guidettes in this town, especially after the stereotype took off. The ding that accompanied a customer entering drew her eyes to the entrance of the store. And as Big B saw the customer, her smile only grew.
“Lisa!” she squeaked, getting up from the desk. “Shouldn’tcha be at the awffice right now? Since ya such a serious business bitch?”
Lisa shook her head, smiling. “I couldn’t focus,” she said, adjusting the silver necklace resting on her chest. “And you’re the only person I know who can help me. I can’t go to anyone else about what I’m feeling.”
Big B nodded sagely to Lisa. Her new friend, she supposed. She pulled a chair up to the cash register and patted for Lisa to sit. “Tawk to me, sweethawt,” she said. “You tell Big B what’s on ya mind and she’ll give you the solution. Ask my bitches I’m never wrawng.”
And so Lisa told her about the morning she’d had. About how she looked different. How she ogled a man she despised. How she had spent what should have been a productive morning snapping selfies. BB listened patiently, continuing to apply her nail polish as Lisa told the story in a near-panicked tone. As she came to the end BB let out a giggle-snort. “Well none’a that sounds so bad!” Big B said. “It’s awl simple, dawling. Ya just feeling yaself. Ya been fuddy duddy so damn lawng that ya coming out of ya shell. It’s a good thing!”
Lisa sighed and leaned back. “If that is the case,” she said, unwilling to concede BB’s point quite yet. “What the fuck do I do about it? I want to go back to normal and get back to my job and working on my promotion like a normal person.”
“Assuming ya want to,” BB cut in. “But once ya get that feeling, ya can’t just shove it back down. The best way to get ya head on after feeling yaself? Is to go awl in. And I know just the thing.” BB stood up and pointed across from the entrance to Shorelines. Lisa looked to see a salon there. The gaudy, pink neon sign said Shades, and through the front windows she could see women who didn’t look so different from Big B. Lisa saw big hair, bright clothes, and thick makeup.
“I thought I did my hair exactly like you said,” Lisa protested. “I thought that was good enough.”
“For an amateur? Sure!” Big B said. “But ya never gonna be able to do it as good as a professional. I think a trip to the salawn could give ya a boost and clear ya mind.” Big B shrugged. “Or whatevah. Personally I don’t see what’s up ya butt about the awffice and work. But it’ll make ya feel good, not to mention draw every stare for a gawddamn mile.” The promise of attention tapped into Lisa’s new urges. She smiled and looked at the salon.
“It couldn’t hurt,” Lisa said. “I’ve never really gotten a full salon workover done. Even for big events I usually just do my own hair.”
“You’re about to find out just what ya missing,” Big B said with a smirk. “Now if you want the good treatment, though, you tell ’em that ya friends with BB across the way. And don’t tell them ya Lisa Ricci. Ya do that and they’re gonna give ya pigtails. That’s a little girl’s name, not a woman’s.”
“Then what should I tell them?” Lisa asked, cocking an eyebrow. “My name is my name.”
“That’s not how it works,” BB said with a snort. “You think my maw and dad named me fuckin’ Big Betty? Fuck no, my name is Elisabetta Juliana Maria Viglioni. Big B is what fuckers cawl me. But you…” B stood up, looking at Lisa from every angle. She hovered for a moment, tapping her nails together. “I made my name shorter, yours should be lawnger.” Betty took another moment to think. “Well since ya my work of awt, maybe you should be Mona Lisa,” she proclaimed. “Mona Lisa Francesca Ricciolino. But folks can just stick to Mona Lisa.”
Lisa spent a moment in silence, considering what she was about to do. The implications of what Big B was suggesting were not lost on her. Big B wanted to give her a big, trashy guidette name. Lisa had spent her life trying to not be like the Shore trash from back home. But Betty’s offer was tantalizing. It was dangerous. It would make some people gawk and make other people mad. The truth was that she loved it the moment she heard it. Mona Lisa Francesca Ricciolino. It sounded almost musical to her changing mind. Eventually she couldn’t hold back her smile any longer. Lisa nodded timidly aa she stood. “I’ll let them know what you said,” Lisa finally agreed. “I’m interested to see how this goes.”
“Oh me, too, dawling,” Big B said as she gave Lisa a pat on the shoulder. “I think ya gonna love what they do to ya in there.”
Lisa left Shorelines, making her way to the salon. The bored-looking blonde at the reception desk gave her a skeptical look. But only until she introduced herself. “My name is Mona Lisa,” she said, trying to suppress the butterflies in her stomach. “Mona Lisa Ricciolino. And my friend Big B said you’d be able to give me a proper…” Lisa cleared her throat. “A prawpa makeover.” Lisa told herself she just wanted to fit in with her new friend. But Big B couldn’t hear her. And the nasally whine of the Jersey accent came off almost naturally. Like Lisa had never spoken any other way.
“Hey Angelo!” the woman called back. “BB sent you a new one. She’s your kinda challenge.” Lisa turned to see a tall, tan, muscular man with a deep, orange tab walk out. He had a smooth face, clearly shaven, with an angular jaw and full lips. His eyes were the same dark brown as his hair, which was slicked back with an irresponsible amount of gel. He wore a tight tank top that showed off his strong shoulders and powerful arms. And his tight jeans showed a hint of the definition in his legs. Lisa couldn’t help but stare at him. What a hunk. She had never been a fan of muscle heads and jocks. But Lisa found it impossible not to appreciate the man in front of her. He gave her a once-over and chuckled.
“You weren’t kidding, Trish,” he told the blonde woman. “She’s just my kind of challenge.” He turned to Lisa and offered a bright, cocky smile. “I’m Angelo. Your angel of beauty. And I’m gonna show you everything you can be, baby.” He had the same Jersey accent that BB had—it was less extreme, and against Angelo’s deep voice it was even sexy. Lisa couldn’t remember the last time a man had given her that tingly feeling, but she offered up a giggle for it.
“I’m Mona Lisa,” Lisa said with a coy wave. “And I can’t wait…ta…see what you have in mind, dawling.”
“So now it is time to make you as beautiful as the masterpiece you’re named for,” Angelo declared. The flamboyant Italian took Lisa by the shoulder and led her into the salon. Loud, thumping club music that she would have hated before today played inside, causing her to bob her head with it. Angelo led Lisa to the last seat at the end and sat her in it, covering her up. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself while you get ready, my dear?” Angelo said, running a hand through Lisa’s hair. “Tell Angelo about the woman behind the work of art.”
“Oh I’m nothing…nuthin’ special, sweet…hawt,” Lisa said, trying her best to keep talking in the Jersey accent Big B had loved so much. “I live on my own and work in an awffice. I’m actually up for a promotion.” Lisa’s smile faded for a moment as she remembered the preparation she should have been doing. How she had left Clark behind to be here. But did she even want the promotion? If she did, why did the thought of it suddenly cause her so much anxiety? “To be hawnest I don’t know if it’s right fa me,” she said tepidly. “Like yeah, I’m in the corner awffice but working is all I do. I work. I go home. I sleep. I work again.”
Angelo tsks as he prepares his barbering tools. “That sounds so empty, doll,” he chided. “So dull, so empty, so lifeless. How did a babe like you end up in a gray life like that?” Lisa considered that question. As she thought back, so much of her life that she had been proud of days ago seemed dull and unimpressive. Why had she studied in college instead of partying? Why had she skipped so many happy hours? Why didn’t she have a boyfriend? Why hadn’t she had very many boyfriends, and why were the ones she had so boring. Worst of all, why had she enjoyed this dull life she’d made for herself?
“I guess…” she finally replied to Angelo. “I guess I thought it was what I wanted, ya know?” Lisa shook her head. “I’ve been feeling funny the last few days, and maybe that’s why.” She managed a slight smirk. “Maybe it’s my quatah life crisis, right?”
Angelo chuckled at that. “Well you know what they say is the cure for sch a catastrophe,” he replied. “A new look! If you will trust me, I promise you will walk away feeling amazing. Do you trust me, Mona Lisa?”
“Faw be it from me to tell an awtist how to sculpt his mastapiece,” Lisa replied with a giggle-snort. “Make me beautiful, Angelo!”
“Say no more, my darling,” Angelo eagerly replied. “I will make you my greatest masterpiece yet.”
Lisa spent the next two hours listening to the trancey music and watching Angelo do his work. She’d never been through a makeover as extensive as this one, and it took a bit to get used to the poking, prodding, and pulling that came with it. She flinched as her hair was pulled out of her ponytail, straightened out and wrapped in a cap for dyeing. Then again for highlights. Then again for still more highlights. Lisa winced as her eyebrows were plucked, her dyed hair was styled, and her makeup was enhanced around the edges. But at the end she felt a squeal of delight well up in her as she saw the results.
Lisa was turned to the mirror to see that her hair had been dyed from its chestnut brown to a dark brown—almost black. The highlights she had felt were streaks of trashy, golden blonde and a few even of bright, neon pink—pink that matched the silver amulet she still wore. All that hair had been pulled back and ran straight down, save for a bump in the middle that showed off the heaviest highlighting. Lisa’s makeup had been touched up, but Angelo left her yellow blush in place. Lisa had become the same mess of bright, neon colors that had so baffled her when she had come to the mall last night.
And she loved it.
“Oh Angelo!” Lisa said. She jumped up from the chair, throwing off the tarp and getting on her toes to give Angelo a big, wet kiss on the cheek. “Ya such a miracle-worker!” The muscular Italian hunk returned the gesture, squeezing especially tight against Lisa’s slightly larger chest. “Oh what can I eva do ta repay you?” With her new look Lisa’s Jersey accent began to feel less forced, less labored. She was lapsing into it for real, and she didn’t even notice.
“$150 will do,” Angelo said, chuckling. “But beyond that? Promise me that you will not carry my art around in that hideous suit.” Angelo motioned to her suit, looking disgusted. “Please, my angel, I beg you to find something better to wear. I’m sure Big B will accommodate you.” Lisa looked down and couldn’t help but agree. The professional attire she’d worn into work today seemed wildly inappropriate for her new look.
“I prawmise,” Lisa said, leaning up to kiss Angelo’s cheek. She left faint, pink lipstick stains where she did. She sauntered her way back to the receptionist, paying the bill and leaving Angelo with a $50 tip. It only seemed fair given how happy she was with her new look. But she knew it wasn’t yet complete. With her new hair Lisa walked back over to Shorelines to make good on her promise. She needed a new outfit, and she needed to saw just what her new best friend thought.
The answer to the latter question came quickly. “Mona fawkin’ Lisa,” Big B said. “That can’t be you!” She walked up to Lisa and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I told you Angelo could do it! Ya look so good, baby!”
“Yeah I do!” Lisa replied with a giggle-snort. “But my new angel said it wasn’t enough and he’s right.” Lisa motioned down to her suit. “Just look at this thing! It’s a disaster!”
“A crisis!” Big B agreed. “But don’t you worry, Mona Lisa. Your gal Big B is gonna hook you up. Your credit card still working, dawl?” Lisa nodded and a big smile crept across her lips.
“Oh my gawd!” Lisa cried. “Are we goin’ on a shawping spree?!”
“You know it, bitch,” Big B said. She stepped out from behind the counter and put up a sign saying she was out to lunch and to come back later. But she didn’t leave Shorelines. Both women knew everything Lisa—or Mona Lisa—would need was right here. Her new wardrobe was tangled up somewhere amongst the leather, fake fur, animal print, and neon pastels of Shorelines’ clubwear selections. It was up to Lisa and Big B to find what would fit her.
Shorelines was closed for the rest of the afternoon as Lisa and Big B combed every rack and every shelf of the store. They finally emerged after sundown, with Lisa thoroughly laden down with bags upon bags of new clothes. Tiny string bikinis, stretchy lycra in garish colors, tight pants, high heels, belly-baring tops, and a whole new set of thongs and bras overflowed from the bags. But the crown jewel of their finds—a faux jaguar-print fur coat—hung from around her shoulders.
“Now you go home and try awl this awn,” Big B instructed her protege. “And be back here tomarra marning.”
“Tomorrow…” Lisa asked. “I mean…tammara? I gawt work, though…”
“This is more important!” B insisted. “The hair and the clothes are real nice. But we gawts ta finish ya look. And then I gawtta show ya what to do with it.”
For a moment, Lisa prepared to turn Big B down. She had fun today. But she needed to get back to work. She needed to work with Clark to prepare her presentation. She needed to beat Brad—handsome Brad—if she wanted that executive position.
Sensing her doubt, Big B interrupted Lisa’s thoughts. “Look at it this way, Mona,” she said. “You wanna really blow ya bawses cawks awf, right?”
“You mean socks?” Lisa asked.
“Whateva,” Big B shot back dismissively. “Appearances are a pawt of succeeding. You think you’re gonna be able to nail this half-baked like you are now? You look good. But you don’t look great. Not yet. If you wanna rise to the tawp, you’re gonna need to let me take you the rest of the way.
Normally Lisa wouldn’t have bought such an argument. But on the fence as she was and unknowingly under the influence of the silver necklace, it was the excuse she needed.
“I’ll call…cawl…in sick, then,” Mona Lisa said. “See you at 8?”
Big B giggle-snorted. “Eight? Sweethawt a real Jersey girl’s day doesn’t start at no eight o’fawkin’ clawk. I won’t be over my hangover until at least noon.” The shopkeeper reached down and angled her hand under Lisa’s fur coat to give the office worker’s ass a firm swat. “Now get home. Get some sleep. We gawt a big day tomarra.”