isa dressing

September 1, 2011 § Leave a comment

Isa put her hair up. She did it briskly, her mouth full of pins. Like this she looked like a dangerous woman, she thought, and posed: the hair pulled back from the planes of her face, her eyes exaggeratedly narrowed, her lip lifting to show her incisors. After a while of imagining herself in a helicopter, corralling dinosaurs with steel nets, she moved again to the bedside table and swept, with a barely perceptible sound, her earrings onto her hand. Cesar was still sleeping, his vigorous face slackened, his expression almost childish. She was worried about him. To show it she arranged his slippers so that they were neat on the floor where he would, waking and yawning, first touch his feet.

Light came in from the window; the air from their backyard, where green-headed things were pushing up and opening, smelled strong, as if you could scoop up a handful, or dab a finger lightly in it, and apply it to your eyelids, your palms, the depression between your collarbones. As she did this, with a spritz of perfume, she felt calm unmoor her, a large balloon airily lifting, from thoughts of her work, their son, Toni. Her jewelry was minimal: two smart points in her ears. She stroked on eyeliner and mascara, her mouth she left unadorned. She put on pantyhose, a skirt, a blouse printed with a patterning of svelte flowers and then a scarf, which she had bought from a noisy plaza in Barcelona, too expensive, but it had made her feel better then, just as it made her feel better now.

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