Rating: PG

Summary: Bad hair and nose days.

Spoilers: None.
 

"Quiet, child, quiet! Do not so restlessly
keep tossing to and fro! It's easier
to bear an illness if you have some patience
and the spirit of good breeding.
We all must suffer sometimes; we are mortal."

Euripides, "Hippolytus," Lines 203-207. Translation by David Grene. Copyright 1955 and used without permission.
 

Orgilos
 

May 8, 2000

I was up reviewing my biochemistry texts; I'd be working with Dana again when I returned from Mexico, and after a year of doing courses mostly in classics, with some side diversions in math, psychology and general chemistry, I was slow on my medical uptake. I'd not had time to review. The house was quiet, and after feeding the animals and taking a quick shower, I sat down at the kitchen table with the oversized textbook and began to make notes and create signs.

Langly had slept soundly; lots of Vicodin will do that to a person. I had studied him when I awoke, and even without my glasses, his face looked pretty messy. When I put my glasses back on, I noticed he'd developed, in addition to the bruising and swelling, pooling of blood under the eyes, making him look as he'd been slugged there as well.

No matter. Still the sexiest man alive. Alive is what counts, I told myself. And in spite of the distorted appearance the injuries gave him, they were, in fact, minor injuries.

I was surprised when Michael appeared in the kitchen not long after I'd gotten there.

"You're up early," I commented.

"Well, it's not like my love life is exactly keeping me up nights," he quipped, but not disagreeably.

"Like the do," I commented on his hair. And actually, it flattered him.

"You do? I'm having a hard time getting used to it."

"Well, you look very good, Michael." And I meant it. He shook his head, but he looked somewhat pleased.

"Yeah, Krissy worked us all over. Even made my dad look sorta human."

"Michael, that's nasty." And watch it, boy, I thought. You're going to look just like him someday. Even more than you do now. If Michael wanted to know what 30 years into the future would be like, he should look at Frohike.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly like Dad's a major stud or anything."

Oh, Michael, I thought, you have no idea what women find attractive.

"What's going on, Michael?"

"Got work to do. June issue. We gotta do it now, 'cause Juliet's here now, which means Byers isn't gonna be good for shit for a while, and you guys are getting married next week, which means you guys are gonna be useless-hell, Langly's already useless now. And my dad's totally freaking over this wedding."

"Well, he's been responsible for everything but writing the checks. He'll be fine when it's over."

"Hope so. Man, I thought he was gonna have another heart attack the other night."

That forced me to look up. "Hope you're joking, Michael."

"'Fraid not. He really scared the shit outta me Thursday night."

"He seemed fine yesterday."

"Yeah, I think he just got real stressed out, but y'know..." he let his thoughts drift off. "Good coffee, not like the shit Langly makes."

"You drink Langly's coffee? You're crazier than I thought."

"Only when desperate. You really like the hair?"

"I do, Michael. You're looking good."

"What're you doing here at this hour, fuckrag?" Langly issued a friendly greeting to Michael. Or what passes for one between them.

"Working-what the fuck happened to you?"

"Close encounter of the disgusting kind," Langly groaned. "I feel like shit, Ally."

"Langly, you're not that badly hurt. Quit whining." I stood up and kissed him.

"I need another Vicodin."

"No, you don't. I'll get you some coffee." I poured him a cup and handed him the accoutrements he required.

"She beat you up?" Michael teased.

"Not funny, Michael." Langly's tone indicated he wasn't going to put up with that sort of shit. "No, I got slugged by my ex-brother-in-law."

"Shit." Michael blinked his eyes as he sipped coffee. "Joan's ex."

"She's trying to get him into that position," I answered. "He hasn't responded to her petition for dissolution. Which means he's going to contest her. And that's always ugly."

"I'm gonna kill the bastard," Langly hissed as he chemically recomposed his coffee.

"Langly, we're getting married one week from today. At least wait till we get back from the honeymoon." He should be mellowed out by then, I thought.

"Want some help?" Michael offered.

"No, I think I want the satisfaction for myself." Langly's voice was whiny, nasal, and unhappy.

"So like are you gonna help us get an issue out the door, or you gonna lie around and feel sorry for yourself?" Michael addressed Langly as he began walking out the back door.

"Fuck you, asshole," Langly called.

An endearment.
 

"Mommy, I think you should brighten up your hair."

Miranda had been experimenting with makeup, and while I felt most of the things she'd tried would work just fine, she wasn't satisfied with the results.

"I really don't feel comfortable dyeing it."

"Why don't you put some henna on it?" Shelby suggested.

"What's that going to do?"

"Just brighten up the red a bit, that's all," Miranda assured me.

"I don't want it like screaming red," I warned her.

"Mom, it's henna, it's natural, it'll just perk it up. I mean, I don't mean to be rude, but you're getting sorta drab as you get older."

"Thank you, Miranda, I needed that."

"It's not what we mean," Shelby started damage control. "You're really pretty, Ally."

"Thank you."

"We're just trying to enhance how pretty you are." Miranda was nothing if not manipulative. And she was working it now.

"Fine. As long as it doesn't do anything extreme."

"It won't. Honest." Shelby was really trying to sell me.

"Okay, whatever."

"Cool. Just wet your hair down, Mom."

I did as instructed. The girls began to work the substance through my hair.

"It's green."

"Well, it doesn't come out that way." Miranda was massaging it in, and the motion was actually quite soothing.

"Feels like sand."

"Ally, relax. You're gonna be gorgeous." Shelby was trying to be reassuring.

"You'll be the most incredible bride ever." Miranda was smiling as she worked the gritty substance into my scalp. "Now just wait half an hour, then we'll rinse it out. You'll see."

"Aren't you excited, Mommy?" Miranda was bouncing around the room. "This is so cool. I can't wait for next Sunday."

"I'm excited to be getting married, if that's what you mean, honey."

"Well, yeah, but you gotta admit, it's gonna be a great party." Shelby's misery over her parental situation had been temporarily forgotten in the whirlwind excitement of the impending celebration. "I can't wait." It seemed as if the upcoming wedding was doing more for Shelby's state of mind than all the therapy my mother could pay for-and Dr. Shawe had done well with her.

"Lots of people. Lots of music," Miranda mused.

"Lots of beer," I added, and both girls laughed.

"Don't forget the tequila, Mommy. Grandma only buys the best." Miranda reminded me, laughing.

"And don't forget you're underage. You can have a little champagne for the toast. That's it." Both girls looked temporarily sullen, but that passed rapidly.

"I just hope they get the dresses right," Miranda was worrying aloud.

"Miranda honey, it doesn't matter. It matters that you're there," I reached over and hugged her.

"Yes, it does! We want good pictures."

"Well, honey, I hate to tell you, but Langly...had a little encounter last night."

"What, you guys go to Mitch's or something?"

"No, we went to Silver Springs. To Bo Han. Korean food."

"And?" Miranda was making 'come on' hand motions.

"You know Aunt Joan left her husband."

"No duh! I'm not that stupid." Miranda shot me the disdainful look that 14-year-olds do so well.

"Well, it looks like he followed us."

"What the fuck?" Shelby was aghast.

"Anyway, he and Langly got into it in the parking lot...and Langly's got a broken nose."

"Oh, fuck! He's getting married next week, and he goes and gets his nose broken!" Miranda was wringing her hands. "Wonderful. Fantastic. This is just great."

"Well, sweetie, it's not like he was looking to get his nose broken."

Miranda threw up her arms. "This is just so typical!"

"Miranda, chill!" I raised my voice at her. She backed down.

"Sorry, Mommy. I just...wanted to make it all perfect for you." She looked down at the ground.

"Miranda, if I get married, and nobody gets killed, it'll be a perfect day. Now chill."

"Your standards are low, Ally." Shelby laughed.

"No, just my minimum daily requirements."

"You ready to rinse now, Mom?" Miranda removed the plastic wrap from my head.

"Yeah." I dipped my head under the spigot from the bathtub, and ran the warm weather over my head. I let it run until I couldn't feel the grit in my hair anymore. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it over my hair, soaking up the moisture from my hair, and then tossed it into the laundry basket. "So? Am I gorgeous or what?"

I became mildly concerned upon seeing the expressions of consternation upon the faces of the two teenagers in front of me.

"Girls? What's wrong?"

"Uh-Mom?" Miranda looked a bit apprehensive.

"I think we might've left it on too long," Shelby looked upset.

I turned to look in the mirror, slipped my glasses back on-and screamed.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!"

"Well...we didn't think it would get that red," Shelby shrugged.

"You didn't think it would get that red?! What the hell were you thinking?!" I was shrieking now-not one of my more attractive habits. I noticed that as the wedding drew near, I was doing more of it.

My formerly strawberry blonde-apricot color was now a deep, hard copper. And not the lovely burnished copper that Dana possessed, or even the deep auburn of Byers. No, this was screaming, furious, inflamed RED.

"We're really sorry, Mommy," Miranda said in a very small, sad voice.

"Maybe if we put some blonde over it..." Shelby suggested.

"No. Don't come near me! Don't touch me! Everybody get the hell away from me!"

I ran into my room and sobbed.
 

I regained equilibrium a short time later. The girls had retreated to the dungeon-and I didn't blame them. I'd gone off on them pretty hard, and they knew it was going to take a while for me to cool down. Miranda sometimes will forget this, since she's of the sort that wants to talk it out, get through it verbally, get it resolved.

Me, I just want to retreat. I just want people to leave me alone so that I can get my balance back.

You ever wondered why you got sent to your room as a little kid? Let me tell you why. It's so your parents could have space to chill out without killing you.

I'd reached a point where I felt reasonably certain that I wouldn't shoot, stab or slug anyone, so I decided I'd make the best of it by curling my hair and then clipping it back.

And slipping a hat over it.
 

"What's doing, Ally?" Langly called out as I slipped into the office. He, along with Frohike, Byers, and Michael, were all industriously involved in magazine production. It looked as if there was an issue just about ready to hit the cyberstands.

"Not much," I said as nonchalantly as I could.

"Like the hat," Michael called out, looking up momentarily.

"Thanks." It was my favorite one-black velvet, cloche style.

"Isn't that a winter hat?" Byers asked curiously. "It's nearly 80 degrees outside."

"I don't know. I thought I could wear winter clothes with impunity until Memorial Day."

"I just figured you might be rather warm," Byers shrugged, and returned to production.

"It's a lovely hat, my dear," Frohike assured me, and absently stroked his own fedora. Frohike and I are both unrepentant hat collectors. And we're not limited by such factors as taste.

"And you'd know." Langly tossed in a sarcastic aside. "Hey, Ally. Proof this for me, would ya? I need a beer."

"Bring me one," caroled Michael.

"If you're buying, I'm drinking," echoed Frohike.

"Sounds good to me," Byers concurred.

"And don't forget your lovely bride to be," I winked at him.

"Jesus, anybody else want anything?" Langly winced as he left.

"So John? Where's Juliet?"

"Settling in. I'm just here for a couple of hours to finish up, then I'll help her again. She wanted to get out for a while, get acquainted with her surroundings. And I think she was getting tired of unpacking."

"Yeah, we might finish someday," I muttered as I found a few tiny errors in Langly's article. Nothing major. The boy could write. He'd also scanned in some cartoons he'd drawn, which surprised me; I hadn't known of him doing it previously. "Did you guys see the political cartoons Langly did?"

"Thought they were cool," Michael said, without rancor.

"He's really quite a good artist," Byers confirmed. I wondered where the charcoal of Susanne was right now.

"He should really show his work," Frohike didn't look up as he spoke. Another soul who could type and talk at the same time. It seemed to be a requirement to work in this office. "I don't know why he's kept it to himself for so long. He does have real talent." Then he looked up and fired me a warning shot. "And if you tell him that, my dear, I'll have to tie you up and put furry handcuffs on you. He's done some lovely works of you, you know." I wondered which sketches Frohike had seen, and I had a
feeling that some of them were, well, ones where I wasn't exactly clothed. I felt the redhead's curse creeping into my face.

"My dear, no need to blush, you're a lovely lady, you know that. And it's not as if I've never seen female anatomy before," Frohike assured me, trying to be kind.

"Just not anytime in the last century," Michael quipped.

"Michael, enough," Frohike groused. "If Langly here hadn't taken you for himself, I might-"

"Might have what?" Langly had missed the whole dialogue, and he was struggling with five Coronas.

"Nothing, babe," I was blushing furiously now. I got up to grab some beers away from Langly, and noticed that Byers was blushing as well. He probably wants to be an olive-skinned brunette in his next life, I thought. I know I wouldn't mind.

While trying to maneuver some of the Coronas away from Langly, I accidentally bumped my head against one of the cabinets, and my hat went flying to the ground.

"You okay-Ally, what the hell happened to your hair?" Langly asked me, first looking concerned, then aghast.

"Ask Miranda and Shelby," I hissed.

"Allison, are you telling me that one week before your wedding, you allowed two teenagers to have a field day with hair dye?" Frohike looked mystified, among other things.

"Normally they do a really good job. And it's not even hair dye. It's henna."

"God, it's like, really really red!" Langly exclaimed.

"Duh!" I spat out.

"You two are going to be classic in your photos," Frohike shook his head, pointing at both of us. "Blonde Boy with a busted nose, and you with your hair on fire. Of course, don't get me wrong, my dear. You still look lovely." Damage control.

Michael came in for a closer look. "Man, that is red."

And I think my face matched. I was still on the ground, and I began to cry again.

I was doing a lot of that lately.

END OF PART 81