The Pearl Inside of Anything

4:30 p.m. in the Mirabella Hair Expo booth

"Listen to this," says Tommy, he's in full conspirator mode. "We have some SERIOUS competition."

It seems Margaret, Taco and Precious have been busy sniffing about on a reconnaissance mission. We're up against a pagoda, the Taj Mahal and a Christmas tree for sure. The others are still in various states of undoneness, but Margaret is convinced one of them is shaping up to be either the Eiffel Tower ... or Stonehenge. She's not sure.

"So I'm the only natural disaster?"

"So far!" says Tommy cheerfully. "Maybe there's some Wonders of the World theme going on. I'm worried about the Eiffel Tower thing though, that's got some serious potential to be gorgeous." He frowns and starts lining up teasing combs, rollers and cans of hairspray from a supply box.

"...four, five, that should do it."

Five cans of hairspray?

"Better make it six. Just in case. Now, where's my secret weapon" He keeps rummaging in the box, and pulls out another gold can. "Take a look at this!" he says excitedly. He turns the can upside down and squirts the nozzle into the palm of his hand.

Shaving cream? Oh s___t.

"It's called mousse! Very experimental. Va va va volume, hasn't even hit the market yet." Tommy looks around slyly. "C'mon, partner, we're here to blaze a trail!"

6:45 p.m.

"Attention all stylists and models! The semi-finals for solo sculpture will begin in 15 minutes. Please proceed to the mainstage."

Tommy lets out a little yelp and clenches one last bobby pin tighter in his teeth. "Just one more strand..."

I shut my eyes and hold my breath once more, just like I've done through the past four cans of hairspray.

"There," he sighs, "you can breath now."

Barely. I'm not exactly sure what has gone on up there. Tommy didn't want me to watch him while he worked, so he turned me to face away from the mirror. Down the aisle in front of me is Christmas Tree. Her stylist made all these tiny braids, then folded them into branches and pinned them into a Styrofoam cone. Mini decorations hang from every single branch and there's a candy-cane striped ribbon that coils all the way up to where a battery-powered gold star is wobbling on top of the cone. It is the jingliest thing I have ever seen in my life. I think of what Mrs. Daltry says when she's appalled by something in Harper's Bazaar, like purple, terry-towel headbands and parachute pants. "Uniquely abominable, Wendy," she says, stressing every syllable. "Uniquely abominable."

On the other hand, it may be so ugly it's cute. That is very possible.

The only other sculpture that I can see is coming from further down the aisle. I'm pretty sure it's either full-on Princess Leia hair, or a matching pair of cinnamon bun earwarmers. Either way, I am not exactly feeling the heat of serious competition. Yet.

Maybe Tornado will take it all tonight! I close my eyes and try to conjure up a creative vision: Me, a bouquet, someone putting a tiara on my head, but I can't quite complete the picture, because I still have no idea what Tommy has been up to for the past couple of hours.

He unsnaps my cape and shakes it out. "Now, just before I turn you around, a couple of notes," says Tommy. "First of all, we don't accessorize tonight. The judges look at the sculpture only. No distractions, no tricks, no gew gaws and no costumes. That's all for tomorrow night's finals. So this might look a little plain. Don't worry about it, we'll play by the rules and rock it tomorrow."

Uh oh, somebody needs to tell Christmas Tree she's about to get disqualified.

"Second of all, no touching, no twirling, no tweaking, no tugging. Do not adjust the set." Tommy looks very tense, like he doesn't quite trust me, and he's sounding a little squeaky. It's a good thing he told me though, because my head is feeling very tight and I'd like to just pull my hair a teeny, weeny bit loose. Tommy gives me an "I know what you're thinking and don't you so much as lift a finger" look. I drop my eyes guiltily and clutch my hands in my lap.

"Ready then?"

"Ready!"

The chair spins and stops and for a second I'm not sure what I see. On first glance, it's a fiercely frosted cupcake-head. But then I look closer. He's actually nailed the form of a funnel cloud. A tight, narrow spindle of hair that widens into a full-blown pink tornado. Bizarre.

I'm impressed and horrified at the same time. This is the best thing that has ever happened to my hair, and the worst thing and I don't know how that can be. Turn left, see good. Turn right, see bad. I have definitely breathed in one too many cans of Elnett.

"It's very, um... confectionary?" I squeak.

"Exactly!" says Tommy. "The fusion of country fair cotton candy clashing with a titanical twister! All the catastrophe of a tornado swept into a breezy summer updo!" Tommy collapses beside me in the chair.

I should be crying right now. I ... should ... absolutely... be... crying. That's what Christmas Tree is doing, I see behind me in the mirror, and I don't blame her one bit. Her stylist is madly snatching the decorations out of her hair.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The solo sculpture competition begins in five minutes. Models and stylists please make your way back stage now."

Most of me is weirdly calm. But my head is getting itchy. I lean forward and start to raise a hand.

"No touchy! Only looky!" Tommy screeches, leaps over and swats my hand away.

Okay, got it. I bet he's had a gallon of Diet Coke today.

Time to pretend to be the grown-up in this relationship. I stand up and smooth the wrinkles out of my striped man-shirt as best I can. My stirrup pants bag at the knees from sitting so long and my neck is stiff. I want to stretch and shake but Tommy will pounce on me for sure. My head feels a bit tippy, like I'm balancing a bucket on top of it.

When I look at Tommy and see how zonked he is, I can't complain. I also need to hide the Diet Coke. He is going to have to go on a major cleanse after this, for sure.

What was it Mrs. Daltry said? I am the carrier of an idea, I am not a coat rack. Just when my thoughts start degenerating into "I am not an animal, I am a human being..." there's a sharp bark, literally, in my ear.

"Come on you two! Make it snappy!" says Margaret bustling past us. "Chop! Chop!" She's got Taco tucked under one arm, Precious under the other. "I've been on pins and needles all day. What are you waiting for?"