The life of a covert operative is both more tedious and more complicated than people realize. Take, for instance, the matter of disguises.I’m a woman who grew up in the 1980’s. I grew up on Mission Impossible re-runs and the new Mission Impossible show, then got swept up in the Saint movie and Alias. I was into disguises. They were powerful tools in the business, clearly, and a whole lot of fun.When I became an agent myself, I realized disguises were the worst part of the job. Most performers who wear that much makeup and costuming have professional assistants or attendants. Makeup artists. Costumers. Directors, PA’s, other performers who can lend a hand. As an I agent, I’m all on my own.It can take several hours to tediously alter my appearance. Hair, skin, eyes, basic palette. Most performers’ makeup has to pass at a distance. My disguises have to pass close-up scrutiny. It’s like a difficult test with my life on the line.I reflected on all this as I sighed and looked at my sink. As usual, I was in a dingy hotel, all by myself, with guys across the street who had binoculars in one hand and guns in the other. No pressure, right?This was already my second disguise of the day. I’d come in this morning looking one way, changed my appearance, and had now come back. And here I was, back at the sink where I transformed.I sighed again, and tossed the scissors from the sink back onto the bed. There was a bottle of hair dye on the sink, as well as special conditioner to use after coloring. The basin was filled by a ball of rust-colored hair with dark, mahogany undertones. My hair. Another sigh.“Here goes,” I mumbled to myself, as I pulled the bottle of glue out of my pocket. “I hate putting this crap back on.”
Nevets - lol! Glue??!! You have a whack sense of humor!
I'm not gonna lie, that picture - totally grossing me out.
"Are you sure this is how it's supposed to work?" Charlie asked. "Oh yeah, I've done this a billion times." Cynthia, Charlie's older sister, was a fahionista. Always critiquing celebrity outfits, teacher haircuts and grandmother shoes. "First you cut your hair to be all spiky like you want it."Charlie winced at the mirror, "And this is what 6th grade girls like?""Totally. Everyone's all into Edward and anime. Then you shampoo it, work up a lather and spray on the cleaner. It's like 30% bleach. That'll give you some nice highlights."
Oh that was fun. Nevets- Glue sucks. So does spirit gum. Especially when you have your own stubble underneath the costume beard. Good story!
BN - bwahahahahahahaha! REAL bleach!? Great story!
A knock at the door. I leave my computer and go to screen the peep-hole. Ugh, my relentless neighbor. Maybe I'll just wait it out, I think."I can see your shadow under the door, Kelly," he calls. His voice muffled by the door between us.Damnit. I undo all three lock - deadbolt, chain, doorknob - and crack the door just enough to peek through."What do you want, James?" I ask, not at all attempting to conceal my annoyance."I just wondered if I could use your shower?" he asks. "Mine's busted, the super's up there working on it right now.""Can't you wait till he's done?""Nah. I have a date, I'm sorta in a time crunch right now. It would really help me out.""A date?" I ask. This guy had asked me out no less than ten times in the 3 months since I'd moved here and the last time was only a week ago. Now he tells me he needs my help because he has a date? Did someone else move in? Maybe her could ask her."Please?" He asks again, his pathetic look reminding why I'd turned him down in the first place."Fine," I say, opening the door wide. "But be quick, I've got plans myself." "Thanks a lot," he says. Bending to pick up the towels and toiletries that are resting in a pile at his feet.I close the door behind him and turn the locks."Nice haircut." He calls, heading towards the bathroom. All apartments in our building are laid out in exactly the same way. "Did you just get it..."He trails off, entering the bathroom door."Um, Kelly?" He asks, poking his head back out the door.Oh shit. I think remembering the mess I'd left in the bathroom."Did you know there's a dead squirrel in your sink?""Very funny." I reply, entering behind him and scooping the pile of hair out of the sink and into the garbage can.He eyes me, incredulously."Did you cut that yourself?" he says, gesturing towards the now discarded hair."Yeah. Your point?""Girls really do that sort of thing?" He asks, shocked all over his face."All the time.""Huh," he shrugs his shoulders. "Who knew?""You're the one who just said it looks good!" I shout, getting aggravated."It did." He says, backtracking. "I mean, it does.""Whatever." Like I care if this loser thinks I'm crazy. "Just hurry up." I say, slamming the bathroom door.I walk back into the kitchen and grab a soda out of the fridge, still fuming. I flick the tv on and settle into the loveseat, mindlessly flipping channels.Thank God he didn't show up yesterday, it could've been way worse. I laugh to myself.He could have caught me with my bleaching cream, waxing strips and anti-fungal ointment all strewn about the bathroom."The things we do for guys." I say to myself."What?" James calls, the water having just turned off."Nothing," I yell back. "Nothing."
I love Saturdays. Saturday is "Dad Day" at our house, which translates into mom is one step away from an aneurism and needs to spend a few hours alone in Target. After Target she and aunt Joan do lunch for a few more hours. Technically, lunch shouldn't take that long but, as grandad Russell says, "Those Russell girls love their wine."So, Saturdays are a win-win in our house. Mom has permission to get sloshed with her sister and we get to spend quality time with dad. quality time with dad n. 1. a period of exceptional enjoyment, involving little or no actual time spent with dad, although he is present on the premises in case anyone should need first aid."She's gone!" yelled my little brother Markie as he let the back door slam behind him. This announcement was toasted by the sound of YooHoo caps hitting the kitchen floor and the glug of the chocolatey drink being poured over Cap'n Crunch. The only sounds that could be heard for a good five minutes were crunching and slurping."Want some dad?" Markie's eyes were dancing around in the sockets like a human pinball machine as he greeted dad's entrance into the kitchen. Markie was on his third bowl of breakfast."No thanks," dad said as he shoved a grungy St. Monica Bulldogs cap on his head, "I promised your mother I'd mow the lawn." J.H. and I smiled silently at each other as dad disappeared into the backyard. Dad would expend all of his energy wrestling with the mower and then collapse in a dead snooze on the couch for the rest of the day."So Markie," I said to my sugared out brother, "J.H. and I have come to a decision.""Really?" Markie was usually suspicious of us even talking civilly to him, but his desperate desire to be included always won out."I can be in your club?" "Yes, but you know there is an initiation." J.H. had the squinty eyes and straight face of a warrior. I nodded in agreement and tried my best to look serious."What do I have to do?" Markie was wired and ready to do service.I looked him square in his jumpy brown eyes and handed over the clippers. "I think you're familiar with the procedure.""I don't know," he winced. "Mom doesn't like me using sharp objects.""Well, that's your choice," J.H. stood up to leave. "It's too bad though because your victim will be passed out on the couch later. We had to wait till the middle of the night when it was our turn.""Besides," I said all casual, "you only have to make one swipe with the clippers. Kind of like a reverse Mohawk."Markie held out his hands with a pained look on his face as I passed the clippers like a silver chalice. This was going to be good."We'll leave you to it," I said solemnly. "Remember, put the proof in this plastic bag and hang it on the front door knob. That will be our signal to come home."Markie nodded. As J.H. and I exited the house I swear I saw tears in the poor kids eyes."You sure he's up for this?" I was kind of worried now."Relax," my brother laughed. "Dad will be so passed out he won't hear or feel a thing. Besides, he needs a haircut anyway." I had to admit it was going to be pretty funny. Dad was a good sport about all of our pranks as long as we didn't injure anyone.An hour later we swung by the house. No baggie on the door yet. Another hour and still no baggie. One more hour and... bingo."Shit!" I hissed as we parked in front. "Mom's home already. She must have gone in through the garage because the baggie's still on the door knob.""Don't panic," J.H. said. "She's going to find out anyway as soon as she gets a look at dad.""Yea, I guess you're right," I shrugged.We tiptoed anyway up to the door to retrieve the baggie containing dad's hair. J.H. stopped in front of me."Shit, shit, shit," he whispered."What?" I felt panic hit my gut.J.H. turned around holding up the baggie. Something more epic than mere panic swelled up inside me.We carefully opened the front door and slid in. No yelling or crying. Silence.We groped our way to the living room, holding onto the walls for moral support. There was dad, sitting silently in the recliner, like he'd been waiting for us. He raised his eyebrows without a word. It was worse than I thought. J.H. and I no choice but to shift our gaze to the passed out woman on the couch. Damn, she was going to be really pissed when she woke up.
Oh - my -go-o-o-o-oh! Deb! If I were drinking something, I would have had to scrub down the monitor! That was hilarious! hahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahhahahahahahaha!
Thanks! Btw, all the stories were so good!! Nevets, RJ's right...you do have a whack sense of humor! hahahaB., you've done that bleach thing haven't you??Very nice story EJ, I could totally picture it all and the dialogue was right on.