By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 4
Glory caught up to Donna right after Automotive Basics, waving the sleeve of her sweater like a flag of defeat.
“Look at this. Grease stain of doom! You know how to clean garage stains, right?”
Donna eyed the smear. “I’m sorry. My aunt’s the laundry genius, not me. I’ll ask her about it.”
“Please do,” Glory said with a forced smile. Then she added, “Also—big news. The band scored a last‑minute gig. They’re going to play at some teen spot this Saturday. They have to cram their rehearsals to get ready. They’re meeting tomorrow night. Mike wants to know if you’ll be coming back. I think he’s into you. You don’t have to do anything special—just hang out with me and the guys. You can shake a tambourine if you feel like it.”
Donna didn’t care about the boys, but she liked being with Glory. “Yeah. I’ll come.”
“And is our study session still happening tonight?” the brunette girl asked.
“Yep. Come over about six thirty to seven.”
#
Glory showed up that evening armed with her textbook, a six‑pack of soda, and enough energy to power a small town. Elisa greeted her politely and then vanished, leaving the girls to spread out at the kitchen table.
For two hours, Donna walked Glory through fuel systems and timing chains. Glory listened like every word mattered, and Donna realized she knew more than she’d ever given herself credit for. It felt…good. Like she was finally the one who understood things.
“You’re saving my life,” Glory said, leaning back with a sigh. Her vanilla perfume drifted across the table, making Donna’s breath hitch. “If I pass this test, it’s because of you.”
“You’ll pass,” Donna said, warm all over from the praise.
When Glory packed up, she reminded her, “Don’t forget—rehearsal tomorrow.”
#
The next afternoon, Donna left school thinking she couldn’t show up looking like she was a fugitive from a junkyard. If she was going to meet Glory, she wanted to look…not completely awful.
The house was empty when she got home—Elisa was probably buried in clients again. Donna ate the leftovers waiting in the fridge, then headed upstairs. One look in the mirror told her school clothes weren’t cutting it. Too baggy. Too grimy. Too eager to be ignored.
She showered, picked her outfit from the thrift‑store pieces that fit best, and checked the mirror again.
Not bad. She could almost pass for a normal girl at school.
#
Once more she bussed across town. Mike’s garage felt smaller and hotter than it had on Friday. Mike and Jake were already setting up. The second they saw her in better clothing, something in the air shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.
Mike gave her a slow once‑over, the kind boys applied to girls in the hallway. He didn’t look away when she caught him staring.
“Damn,” he said. “You clean up nice.”
Donna’s stomach dropped. Maybe dressing like a standard person had been a mistake.
Jake’s glance had a new brightness to it also. “Tambourine’s there if you want it, Donna.”
She took it without answering. She continued to feel the boys’ new vibe crackling around her—charged, expectant – and in some way totally wrong. It reminded her of the way pretty girls sent a surge of power through a room just by walking into it. Except, this time, felt directed at her. She was the target, not the bystander.
Still, Donna refused to bail. She kept her face neutral and, when the boys started making music, she tapped along with their off‑beats. She pretened that she didn’t feel like she’d somehow wandered into the wrong universe.
Glory arrived a few minutes later, and Donna felt relieved not to be alone anymore. For a while, the dark-haired girl just watched them jam. When the second tune started, she jumped in with her rattle‑stick instrument. Donna relaxed enough to follow her lead. Whenever Glory shot her a welcoming smile, Donna managed to send a small one back back to her.
By the third song, the other two members of the band had shown up. They drifted toward Mike and Jake, engaging them in loud talk. Glory tugged Donna aside.
“You’re killing it,” she whispered. “I think you’ve got music in your blood.”
“That’s nice, if it’s true.”
Also, I can see that Mike and Jake are totally into you. Don’t freak—they’re harmless. Mostly.”
“I knew they were acting weird,” Donna muttered. When she glanced back at the boys, she caught the late‑arriving boys staring at her, too.
“Don’t let boy-staring get in your head,” Glory said. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you about Saturday’s gig. If you want, you can be up onstage with us.”
“Why I can’t play anything,” Donna said. “I’m barely managing this tambourine.”
“You’ll pick it up. Maybe you can sing, too, if your voice matches your face.” Glory grinned. “But if you want to dance, you’ll need to dress the way party crowds expect.”
Donna stiffened. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning, let them know you have legs and cleavage that won’t quit,” Glory said bluntly. “I’ve got an idea. We’re basically the same size. Come over tomorrow—I’ve got dresses that’ll make you look like a dancer with everything to offer.”
“No way. I’m strictly the butch type,” Donna said.
Glory shook her head. “Nope. You may enjoy dressing butch, but your body doesn’t fit the fashion. Trust me—you’d look amazing flashing something hot. But no pressure. Wear whatever you want.”
The reassurance didn’t help. Donna’s stomach twisted at the idea of walking into a room full of strangers gawking at her skin.
“I… I’ll think about it,” she managed.
Glory heard the hesitation and pushed right past it. “Come over tomorrow. I’ve got ideas about setting a whole new vibe for you. Everybody wants people to notice them.. Dressing the right way is a giant step toward doing that.”
Donna wanted to say , “Absolutely not”—but she didn’t want to mess up whatever was germinating between the two of them. So she swallowed the automatic refusal.
#
Just before 10:00 pm, Donna caught the city bus home. The boys’ music was still echoed in her head—horns, strings, the thump of the bass. But mostly she thought about the way they’d been looking at her fully covered. How would they act if she showed up in a flirty dancing dress of the sort Glory was imagining?
She slipped into the house and passed Elisa by without a word, and then shut herself in her upstairs room.
Donna stripped down to her underwear, intending to change into pajamas, but something made her stop in front of the mirror. She wanted to take a good look at what the boys were seeing. Damn it! Before this, it really hadn’t registered how she’s look to boys who were hot to trot. She looked like the kind of girl Langdon would have dragged to a mattress without thinking twice.
That thought made her skin crawl. She yanked on her sleep clothes, shoved in the earbuds, and lay stiffly on her bed while the familiar recording played. She barely heard it. Her mind kept drifting back to Glory—her smile, her voice, the way she smelled like vanilla.
#
All the next day, Donna kept telling herself she wouldn’t go to Glory’s house. She wasn’t going to try on all those party girl dresses. She wasn’t going to let herself be turned into someone she didn’t wish to be.
And yet, that evening, she found herself standing on Glory’s porch, finger pressing the doorbell.
Glory opened the door immediately and pulled her inside. The house was quiet—the girl’s parents being gone, as usual. Lamps filled the room with soft light and cherry-scented candles flickered on the sill of the big picture window.
Donna followed her hostess upstairs, feeling like she was being led into some kind of enchanted cave. Glory’s room had an agreeable smell and a nice look. Fairy lights dotted the walls. A full-length mirror occupied one corner like a shrine. A clothing rack beside the bed held dresses of every color—delicate things that looked like they belonged to someone half her size.
Donna crossed her arms. “I still think this is a bad idea.”
“What's with you?” Glory laughed. “How does a girl make it to seventeen without getting obsessed over dresses? I swear, there’s a whole wild, sensuous woman hiding inside of you. We just need the right bait to coax her out.”
“You think these are the clothes that can do so much?” Donna asked skeptically.
“Just try them,” Glory said. She was already taking a burgundy dress from the rack. “If you hate it, you can bail. But at least give it a shot.”
Donna sighed. “Fine.”
Glory helped her out of her clothes and into the burgundy dress. It was sleeveless, flared, and richer in color than anything Donna had ever worn. She looked in the mirror and shook her head.
“Nope,” Glory said immediately. “Next.”
The blue babydoll that Glory foisted on her was even worse—short, sugary, and impossible to wear modestly. Donna kept pulling the front hem down, and this only made it ride up in back and show off her briefs. She could imagine s0om other girl looking incredible wearing such an outfit. Just… not her.
Glory's next offer was a pale yellow sundress with thin straps and a neckline so low that showed her bra. The thing was a total loser.
They went through outfit after outfit, until Glory finally lifted a green dress from the rack.
This one didn’t so much scream for attention like the others did. It was quiet—dangerously quiet. It offered the kind of quiet that made people stare without knowing why.
Donna had gotten less surly endlessly about trying on these dresses. She stepped into this new one, and when she turned toward the mirror wearing it, she was too surprised to speak. Glory was rendered quiet, too.
The dress fit Donna like it had been made for her. When she moved, it moved with her, caught the light, and transformed her posture like it had fashion sense of its own. She stood with her arms slightly out while beholding the reflection, unsure what to do with her hands.
“Uh, this one at least has character,” she said, refusing to admit to its strong effect on her.
Glory stepped behind Donna and gently lifted her hair, twisting it into a loose shape that changed the whole line of her shoulders. “Look at yourself now.”
Donna stared. The changed hairline did make a difference. The girl in the mirror wasn’t no longer just pretty—she was elegant. She could suddenly see herself with boy’s eyes, herself as boys would see her. In fact, as she sized herself up, she she were a boy so she could sweep that girl into her arms and kiss her until her cheeks turned pink.
“I like it," Glory murmured, "but it’s missing something,”
Donna met her eyes in the mirror. “What?”
“I think you’re only seeing half the girl you could be.”
“I don’t get you.”
“You have a face you that's just begging for makeup,” Glory suggested softly.
“I’m not into makeup!” Donna said strongly.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious what you would look like if you became to total and complete girlie girl?”
“I… I think I’ve had enough of being girlie for one night,” she said, a rumble in her voice
“I believe you,” Glory said. “But unless we do more experimenting, we'll cheat ourselves of knowing how far this can go. Let me show you the full version of the perfect ou—just once. If you hate it, I’ll never nag you about it again.”
Donna couldn’t tear her eyes from the reflection. It fascinated her. She wanted—needed—to see how far she could go into girlhood.
“Fine,” she said. “One chance.”
Glory grinned. “Wonderful. The art world will thank you.”
"But go easy on the makeup!" she declared firmly.
"I will." Glory's voice was conveying no pressure, only the calm certainty that she was on the right track. "I'll use just enough to bring out the full effect of the dress. We'll see this girl with all the accouterments. We'll do it only once. If you hate it, I won’t bother you about makeup again."
Donna was easy to persuade because she as curious about getting the full girl treatment for once.
"Fine," she said.
Glory smiled. "The art masters of the ages are looking down, thanking you."
#
The vanity chair was positioned in front of the mirror, and Glory worked with the focused efficiency of a professional makeup artist. Donna sat very still and observing the changes on Glory's intense face rather than her own reflection—the slight furrow of concentration between her brows, the way her hands knew precisely where to go, the warmth of her fingertips against her skin.
All this was unfamiliar to Donna. Primer came first, cool and unfamiliar. Next, foundation so light it was almost nothing. Concealer was applied with patient fingertips. Eyeshadow in neutral tones and blended carefully was next applied. Liner, thin and precise. Two coats of mascara. A touch of peach blush swept high on the cheekbone and blended until it seemed to have always belonged there.
"Relax," Glory reminded her.
"I am relaxed."
"You're sitting as though you're already condemned and waiting for the sentence."
Donna unclenched her jaw and attempted to behave less defensively.
Then, horror of horrors, lip gloss was applied with a small brush. After that, Glory's fingers constructed a loose updo. In the end, she left a few strands loose to frame her face with calculated casualness.
Glory finally stepped back.
"Okay," she said.
Donna looked at herself in the glass.
What Glory had accomplished hit her like a splash of cold water into her face—not gradually but all at once.
What she saw in the mirror went beyond femininity, beyond mere prettiness. She could eyelining make her eyes so electric? If a speaker with such a face shouted, “Off with their heads!” people would instantly obey. This was a face to launch a thousand ships.
The makeup gave her cheekbones a definition she had never imagined. And the green dress, which had seemed nice enough before, now looked to be something designed by the Maker of the Universe specifically for this face, this hair, and for the strange luminescence that seemed to hang about her.
She stared, trying to reconcile herself to the idea that she was the girl in the mirror.
Donna as she stared, it never once occurred to her that this vision of loveliness had once been Langdon. It was like she was someone different, living in a world parallel to his. What amazed her was that this girl had been lurking inside her all along and had only been freed this evening.
One can't build something from nothing. How had Glory used her scant raw material to build this vision of loveliness?
"What do you see?" her companion asked from behind her.
Donna swallowed. "I'm not sure."
Then Donna shook her head emphatically. "No. There's nothing to her. It’s all makeup!" she said.
Glory stood in place quietly for a moment. Then she admitted, "You’re right. What you're looking at isn't real beauty. Your face is acting like a canvas under a beautiful painting. There's a very real difference between real beauty and what this is."
Donna captured her reflected glance. "What's the difference?"
Glory rested her hands lightly on Donna's shoulders. It was several seconds before she started fashioning words.
"Beauty is a spirit," she said finally. "The makeup, the dress — those are just the material flourishes, like the costume an actor puts on. Physical things can't produce real beauty. They’re like a well-done statue. It can’t be a real person, but it suggest something that's ideal.
"What do you mean?" Donna asked. "What is real beauty?"
"I believe real beauty isn’t just how something looks. It’s the total of those invisible qualities that make a person deserving of love." Glory restated it simply. "All the best qualities in a living being heart and spiritis what beauty actually is."
Donna looked at the girl in the mirror. The glossy lips. The wicked promise hot flesh inside the green dress. She looked at the reflection of her own bright eyes that hypnotized and fascinated her.
"If you’re saying that this is only a disguise," Donna said quietly, "it's a very good one. I don't recognize myself at all."
"Nobody else would recognize you either." Glory agreed. "But that's not the point. The point is, the girl in that mirror isn't any real being. She's just a material suggestion of what beauty may look like in Heaven."
Donna frowned.
“If this isn’t beauty, is there any real beauty to be found in the world?”
The girl saw Glory’s reflected smile.
“Of course there is. Haven’t you seen a spring day? An orchard with fragrant blossoms as thick as flower beds?”
“Are you saying women can’t be beautiful?” Donna asked.
“In a sense, no. Beauty is spirit. Things spiritual can only be seen with the heart."
Donna looked back in the mirror. The girl was still there, but now she sensed something false about her. She saw paint and craftsmanship. She could not see the beauty of Nature that thrills and captivates.
"This is sad," Donna said.
"It is," Glory agreed. Neither of them spoke again for a span of time.
#
For a ride home, Donna walked to the bus shelter, again wearing her school clothes. She had told Glory that she wanted to keep the makeup a little longer. It was a small part of the evening that she could take home with her.
Before leaving Glory's wardrobe, she had picked out a garment that she could consider wearing with the band on stage. It wasn’t the green dress. Donna thought that was something special. It was too special to be shown to a room full of noisy kids.
She slipped into the house without encountering Elisa and went upstairs. For a long time, she stood looking into her own mirror wearing ordinary clothing, her makeup still in place. As she stared, she tried to reconcile the two existing versions of herself, the illusion and the reality. They were the artist’s concept of beauty, and the pretty-but-ordinary girl who felt more natural in a hoodie. She couldn't find the line between these two worlds. All she could fathom was that both of them were false.
Eventually, Donna went to the bathroom and scrubbed her face clean with methodical thoroughness. The paper towel came away showing colorful smears. She folded it and threw it into the basket without looking at it again.
But even yet something compelled her to keep looking at the bathroom mirror.
Langdon had seen her, he would have wanted the girl the girl in the green dress. Man! How he would have wanted her.
But would she, herself, have wanted the company of someone like Langdon?
She knew the answer.
Langdon lacked something he to make people like him.
He was always angry. He didn’t know how to be kind.
And there was still another reason for Donna to be sad. There was another something that kept her lonely. She could not believe that anyone could ever like her. Could she even like herself?
Then Donna went back to her room and climbed into bed, her intense feelings making her eyes burn.
Donna needed to think about something different, something less melancholy. That's why she reached for the small box holding the earbuds and the recording.
She needed to hear that familiar voice talking about broad shoulders, strength, and the promise that she was on her way back to becoming the person she used to be.
But tonight, like on other nights, Donna wasn’t listening, but not really hearing. She heard instead Glory's voice saying, “Beauty can only be seen with the heart.”
“Whose heart?” she asked herself.
She didn’t know.
Did Glory know?
Did anyone know?
Probably not.
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 5
