Part 25 (1/2)

'Hoorah!' I cheer, heading back to the wigs.

'Holy Mary!' Zo hisses, stopping me in my tracks.

That's her nickname for pierced people, on account of all their holes/perforations. I discreetly turn and find a face peppered with metallic acne glowering at me from behind the counter. Even the girl's ears are tattooed and she has what looks like a corkscrew skewered through her bottom lip.

'Bet she's handy to have at parties!' Zo notes.

'Wouldn't be any good at blowing up balloons, though,' I wince.

Heaving herself out of her deadbeat slump, Holy Mary introduces herself: 'I'm Vixen and I'll be your transformer today.'

Her delivery is pure morgue menace. She obviously wants to get the ordeal of transforming us over and done with as quick as possible and wastes no time a.s.signing us a celebrity lookalike each: 'You I could do as the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,' she addresses me. 'And you' she squints at Zo 'Beyonce in Goldmember.'

We exchange a dubious glance.

She sighs and tries again. 'Catherine Zeta-Jones and Jennifer Lopez?'

She's still not looking beyond our natural coloring. Hasn't she seen the wig changes in Charlie's Angels? Surely in Hollywood anything is possible.

'I want to be Marilyn!' Zo a.s.serts.

Vixen rotates her tongue stud and gives me a look as if to say: If you tell me you want to be Whoopi Goldberg I'm going to resign.

I try the diplomatic approach. 'Your suggestions are great but we were thinking more of cla.s.sic Hollywood stars.'

'That's kinda old,' she sneers. 'But if that's what you want.' She thuds a hefty Book of Looks on to the counter and pushes it towards Zo.

'What about Carmen Miranda?'

'Would you want a bowl of fruit on your head?' Zo counters, not enjoying this girl's att.i.tude.

'I take these two beauties!' A heavy Russian accent announces. It belongs to a sixty-something man with a lush sweep of white hair and expertly shaped eyebrows. Sending Vixen to prepare the Harry Potter costumes for the dry cleaners, he introduces himself as the shop owner, Boris, and apologizes for his niece.

'She's very skilled at the make-up but lacks charm,' he admits. 'Now! Let me see.' He studies our faces carefully. Something about his manner and the low rumble of his voice has us entranced. 'You want heyday movie stars, yes?'

We nod, hypnotized by his violet-lensed eyes.

'You would make wonderful Liz Taylor, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,' he strokes my jaw.

I purr appreciatively, 'Oooh yes, that would be lovely.'

'And you have Marilyn's curves, that is for sure.' He gives Zo an appreciative once-over. 'You leave rest to me!'

Zo claps her hands together with delight as he flips the Book of Looks around to face her. 'Okay honey, which Marilyn you want to be?'

First up is the iconic white flare-up dress from Seven Year Itch.

'Too obvious?' Zo voices her concern.

'Little,' Boris acknowledges.

Next, pink satin and diamonds.

'Too Madonna, Material Girl,' Zo frowns.

'What about an outfit from Some Like It Hot?' I suggest, remembering the Hotel Del.

'The nude beaded dress?' Boris's eyes light up. 'I think it will stretch.'

'Oooh yes!' Zo enthuses, envisioning herself sheathed and s.h.i.+mmering.

'Maybe you want to do mini-movie scene together? I could make you good Tony Curtis,' he tells me, 'you have his clear eyes, black hair, we could do a little dimple here ...'

I bat his hand away as he goes to smudge brown eyeshadow on my chin.

'I want to be a girl!' I protest.

'Oh go on, La!' Zo begs, taken with the idea. 'We could show Helen how funny would that be? She could put a picture of us up at work!'

'Can't you come back and do that with Todd?' I frown as Boris tries to set a captain's cap on my head.

'No?' he looks plaintive.

'No!' I pout. 'Isn't there something we could do together as two females?'

We all pause for a moment and then Boris suddenly whoops, 'I've got it!'

He swishes down the rails and then flourishes two floor-length red sequined gowns: 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes!'

'Of course!' Zo cheers, grabbing my arm. 'You get to be Jane Russell!'

'Gentlemen also love the ladies with the black hair,' Boris winks at me.

'Sold!' I cheer.

'We wouldn't even need a wig for you,' he says, sweeping my hair over to the side and flouncing it up, 'We set you just so.'

'This is so exciting!' Zo squeaks. 'What do we do first?'

'Take off your clothes!' Boris announces.

I knew there'd be a catch.

'Or at least your tops.' I can't believe he's trying to negotiate a strip. Then he hands us robes and explains that he doesn't want to get any make-up on our nice outfits. Fair enough.

'You want I play you the movie while we do the make-up?'

'Oh yes! And can we sing, 'We're Just Two Little Girls from Little Rock!' Zo requests.

'Of course,' Boris complies. 'Whatever makes you happy.'