Hello, Privet! #1: Hello/Привет

Chapter 13

SOPHIE

Candice and Viola's offices are all glass, modern furniture and modern art, sleek and rich, just like them. Viola Tharp, middle-aged, tall, slim and elegant, is the one who meets me. She shakes my hand and smiles warmly, and has me sit in front of a camera and then records me as she chats with me about general subjects regarding my stepfather's campaign. She seems nice enough, but then she's also going to be judging me and pointing out my flaws.

I'd worn one of Aphro's dresses, a skater dress made with Thai tribal ethnic fabric, which I paired with dark blue tights and purple ballet shoes. There are elephants on the hem of my dress. I thought Viola would appreciate the elephants, but when I arrive, all she does is give me a brief look, angling her head slightly to one side, and says to me, "We have to do something about your clothes."

"Okay," I agree good-naturedly. Of course she hates my outfit. She herself looks very polished and elegant in a gray suit with pearls. I knew I was supposed to dress all preppy and minimalist, but Aphro made this dress for me and she seemed so delighted I was wearing it.

"But we'll try some new looks on you first," she tells me.

Apparently, she had already booked an appointment at the hairdresser's that afternoon.

"We usually have more than a day to do a makeover, but this is an emergency," she tells me in the car on the way over.

So now I'm an emergency.

At the hair salon at Bergdorf's, which, according to Viola is booked solid for months, my stepsister Alison is also there, having her hair done. They make me sit in the chair next to hers, and while the hairstylist is washing my hair, Alison and Viola review my video, which she had saved in her mobile.

"What do you think?" Alison is asking her.

"She needs some work," Viola says, then glances at me. "A lot of work."

I smile at her sweetly, trying to be pleasant about the whole thing. She is, after all, criticizing me to my face.

"She does have a tendency to digress," Alison remarks.

I just love it when people talk about me as if I'm not even here.

"You'll have to teach her," says Alison.

"You're meeting the stylist later?" Viola asks.

"Yes."

"This will look good on her," says Viola, showing her an image in her iPhone. "For the Pink Heart Gala."

"Can I see?" I ask.

But the hairdresser, Arabella, is saying, "We can add highlights and straighten her hair."

"Good," Viola agrees.

"I don't think so," I say.

"Sophie—" says Alison, a crease on her forehead.

Viola intervenes, "We conducted an FGD and most people favor this color on you, so we need to lighten your hair a little bit—and they simply prefer a girl with straighter hair."

"Really?" I ask skeptically.

"It will help you—blend in more."

I know exactly what she's trying to say. Image is everything in politics, and I certainly look different from the rest of my fair-haired family, apart from Daniel, who also has dark hair like me. We have our father's coloring and my mother's delicate features—very dark hair, skin that tans easily, large limpid green eyes. "What do you mean?" I ask Viola, adjusting my eyeglasses. "Do you think I'm too ethnic compared to the rest of my family?" I know just the right questions to ask to make people squirm.