The Pearl Inside of Anything

4:25 p.m., at the edge of the curtain

"Tommy?" I ask hesitantly. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! Great!" Tommy exclaims, but he's nibbling on all his nails at once, like chewing down a row of corn. This needs to be over soon, just so the poor guy can relax. "Do you think it's big enough?" he says, nervously. "Maybe I should've used more mousse?"

"It's fine! It's as big as your car and you know it."

"Maybe it's too big? What if it's too big? Are you saying it's too big?"

"Hey," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder and speaking very slowly. "You're forgetting already: there's no such thing as too big hair."

He breathes out slowly, and smiles, caught in his own word. "You're right. You know, I really like it, actually. Margaret says the talk is that nobody's seen anything like it."

Somehow I had a feeling.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE WELCOME OUR NEXT FINALIST, TORNADO BY TOMMY TOH OF MIRABELLA SALON..."

This time when I step forward I'm ready for the bright lights. I blink, and can just make out Patrick's t-shirt-of-the-day. I can't exactly read it, but I know what it says by heart:

The ZOMBIES are out and they're looking for BRAINS. Don't worry, you're safe!

Beside him that looks like...Dad? And Mum is sitting right between him and Yvonne! Yvonne's face is expressionless, while Mum is grinning at me like a madwoman. Dad reaches up and takes his ball cap off and holds it over his heart.

Man, do I love my family.

I tap my toes, waiting for the familiar bass notes of "Jessie's Girl". And then IT comes on. Whoa...that's no guitar.

"I remember when rock was young..."

Whaaaaaaaaaaaa... "Crocodile Rock"? What the heck??!!?!! From her seat, Yammy is doing this frantic CUT IT motion with her hands. But it's too late. We're rolling.

"Me and Suzy had so much fun..."

Good Godfrey. This is what it comes down to. My modeling debut is as a girl in denim overalls and pink hair that traps action figures and compost in its wake. So not my wildest dreams.

Right, then, Wendy. Enough thinking. Time for walking.

I square my shoulders, stick my hips out, full-speed ahead. I can see Patrick bopping around in his seat. And are my parents actually chair dancing at a hair show? What is wrong with them? Why do they look so happy? Come to think of it, everyone except for Yammy, who has her face buried in her hands, are doing dance grooves in their seats while I walk. When I make it to the end of the stage, I see that Yvonne has this funny twitch going on with her foot. It's tiny, but she's actually with it, too. Yvonne's got happy foot.

"When your feet just can't keep still."

Oh. What. Ever. I turn, smooth, slow. Tilt my head. Give them all the angles I can imagine. A husk of corn falls loose. Unbelievably, I catch it and before I think myself out of it, I take the husk and toss it out to the judges.

"Burning up to the Crocodile Rock..."

Turn, turn, and that's it. Back to Tommy.

9:15 p.m., back at the Mirabella booth

Second. Silver. Sad.

I am quiet while Tommy unpicks my hair. He's quiet, too. Yammy and Yvonne are catching bobby pins as quickly as he drops them into their hands. Everybody else has gone home. At first, Patrick didn't want to leave when Mum and Dad gave him the "it's a school night" thing. He just stood in front of me and stared at Joe until Tommy fished him out and handed him back. "Thanks," he said, seriously. "Joe had a good time." Tommy told Patrick he could bring Joe around to the salon any time, he'd trim his sideburns, no charge.

Now Tommy has finished picking out all the garbage, and starts unteasing the flyaway mess piece by piece. It's slow work; finally he douses me in a bottle of conditioner and combs it out over the sink.

"Guess what? I left the hot rollers plugged in." Tommy's got a gleam in his eye that reminds me of when I first met him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Big?"

"Bigger than big!"

What's another ½ hour in the chair? Tommy wakes Yammy up from where she has fallen asleep on the floor, her head on Taco's dog bed. Together they twist and roll pieces of my long pink hair into the rollers and pin them in place. The heat is wonderful, a little sauna crowning my head.

Yammy and I help Tommy clean up. I'm still stunned at how quickly it all happened. The stage moments are a blur now, maybe I was too fast, didn't give them enough time to see what Tommy had done. I remember watching the Montreal Olympics on TV five years ago. There was this silver medalist who just bawled on the podium. Totally lost it, and those were no happy tears. I think it was a gymnast. She said later she felt she let her whole country down. And I didn't get it, I mean, I can't even do a cartwheel and there was someone at the Olympics, on the podium with a medal. And crying in front of all the rest of us in the world who would never know what it feels like to put on any Olympic hardware — just because it wasn't gold.

Makes total sense now.

***

When they called the three of us forward, me, Suzanne and Jackie, all the blood rushed to my head. My heart was pounding and I looked out to see my parents clutching each other, like I was standing on the edge of an abyss and ready to tip. Yvonne sat proudly and elegantly, the corners of her mouth turned up, nodding her head with approval. Patrick and Yammy were holding up their hands to me, grinning like maniacs with double-fingers crossed.

Jackie took third place as if it was first. She did a smooth shimmery glide around the stage, gave everyone this radiant smile while flashbulbs popped and the light bounced off her gown.

And then there was no more time for hope. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this year's solo sculpture is..."

The next thing I knew, somebody had stuffed a bouquet of carnations in my hands and pointed to the stage exit. As in, just get out of the winner's way, please. I stepped back and nearly bumped into Eiffel as she started her victory walk. "Careful!" she hissed at me. At the end of the runway she reached one long arm down and a guy in a black t-shirt and jeans, took her hand and hopped onto the platform. He turned and took a bow, flipping his feathered hair back as he straightens up. Very Keith Partridge. Eiffel takes a step back and applauded him.

Walking backwards in sandals two sizes too big is not easy, but I somehow made it to the wings and there was Tommy, shoulders and Mohawk sagging, trying to put on a brave face.

"Oh Tommy, I'm so sorry!"

"Me too," he said dejectedly. I gave him a hug and could feel Joe knock against his head. "Ouch, that guy can kick," said Tommy, rubbing his temple.

"It's all the Ninja training."

Tommy twitched a tiny smile and we watched Suzanne pivot and display every side of her Eiffel Tower, rotating like a music box dancer to George Harrison's "Here comes the sun". The crystals in her sculpture caught the light as she turned and Tommy said what I was thinking: "That is a beautiful thing."

"C'mon," he said to me, "time to get you out of that rig. It's gotta be itchy under there."

"No kidding!" I said and poked him in the ribs.

***

Tommy pulls his hands through the curls and they tumble down in waves over my shoulders. My hair is glowing. It fills the entire make-up mirror. I look like all I need to do is pull on a tail and a coconut bikini top and I'll be ready for the Mermaid Ball.

"I love it!"

"Those are the words I live for," Tommy sighs heavily. "Well, that and an all-inclusive trip to Dallas and the Worlds. But we all know that's not going to happen. Who says hair is fair?" He grabs his car keys from the counter. "C'mon," he says to Yammy and I. "Let's beat this popsicle stand. Don't you two have exams or something tomorrow?"