Jonni liked lace. Lace and serious wrist flounces, and collar ruffles, too, as if she were a foppish darned and darted dandy. You'd think she'd have it in for velvet jackets, but she preferred leather. Silk embroidered shoes, though, she couldn't resist. You'd have thought, too, that she wore her hair in a raised pompadour, sculpted into a cresting wave peaking ten inches off her forehead. But, alas, she was shorn to the scalp and, frankly, liked it that way.
Not at first. At first, loosing her hair had been a shock. She had held the braid out in front of her looking down at the three feet that had been severed from her head. It had been her choice, but still, seeing her cherished auburn tresses separated from her body brought tears to her eyes. After the shorter bits had fallen off the salon razor onto her shoulders, she had run her hand tentatively over the stubble, her lips quivering. It had not been easy.
Her sister Deanna had lost her battle with cancer, as had their mother and her aunt years before. Deanna hadn't lived to her 38th birthday. There had been others, then, afterwards that had died of one cancer or another until it seemed no one was free from its grasp. Last to die had been Les.
Loosing Les had been the worse loss and she didn't know if she'd ever really be the same again--feel the same again. For when Les took his last rasping breath, Jonni felt herself slip away along with him, leaving nothing but a temporal shell, incessantly murmuring unheeded romantic remembrances. It had been absolutely unbearable.
Les hadn't always been sick. When they had first met, Les was vibrant and vivacious, scrambling up bouldered mountain passes with a goat's agility, pointing out edible plants all along the way. They used to make love for hours, rest and begin again until their skin shone in the moonlight, slick sweat drenched sex, over and over, until they finally collapsed in a pile of heaped limbs, satiated and exhausted.
When he became ill, though, he had stayed ill. For a long, long time. So long that time had seemed to stop, her life consumed with emptying bed pans and wiping up spilled vomit, with pampering bed sores and encouraging him through his sullen depression and believing all would turn out fine even when there was nothing left to hope for. Not even a painless passing because Les hadn't wanted to live his last days too doped to see Jonni's face or to hear her voice.
She was singing, actually, when he died. Standing in the window, with the morning breeze blowing her hair out behind her frail frame, she sang as the sun rose. She hadn't known he was laying there awake, watching her. She hadn't seen his eyes streaming the saddest tears. She hadn't heard him sigh his last, a soft, rattling wheeze that released his life's breath. She only felt his escaped soul cut through her heart, then encase her like a chilled embrace. She had paused, knowing that he had passed, but hadn't turned to see. Instead. she had continued her song through wretched rib racked sobs, gripping the sill.
Locks for Love had been thrilled when Jonni walked in the door. She had hair grown to her knees and it was very thick. She had brought a cap, for afterwards, when the deed was done. And she had pulled it down low and sulked out the door as soon as she could.
That was all a long time ago, though, and there was a silver sheen to her smooth head now that hadn't been there previously. She sat on the divan at the foot of her bed, sliding diamond studs into her ears. She slipped her feet into red embroidered Valentinos and grabbed her back leather bolero. Layers of white lace flounced out on either side of her lapel, cupping her magnificent breasts. An ample layer of chiffon protruded from her sleeve, leaving just the tips of her fingers exposed. Her pants were tight, very tight, and her legs long. She looked good and felt even better.
When she stood in front of the mirror applying her lipstick, she thought of him. It had been a while since the last time Les had crossed her mind, and the distance between almost shocked her. Almost. It had taken her years to come back to life, to want to. It had taken Sven, and then Theo. But, she had. She had found a way to go on living. She had cut off her hair somewhere in the process and when it had begun to grow back she refused to let it. Instead, she kept it cleanly shaved.
Will didn't mind. He came in behind her and leaned in the doorway, watching her finish applying her make up. Seeing him over her shoulder, she smiled suggestively and kissed the mirror on top of his image leaving a luscious red imprint. He pressed his frame against her and the cool glass, and kissed her lipstick off.
"Come on! We're late!" he smirked. Will pulled her towards the door and she dizzily followed. She was still smiling as she followed him out of the house. And, smiling still when he opened the door for her. She smiled as he leaned in to fasten her seat belt, brushing her neck with his lips as he did so. She smiled for miles.
Hell, she's smiling still.
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