He grinned back and subtly (not) adjusted his seat to get comfortable. Inside my guts were churning out butterflies faster than a hot summer day after a heavy rain makes mosquitos.He reached back into the back seat and brought two cold beers back and offered me one. Okay, so it’s not real champagne. It was the champagne of beers. Good enough.So we talked. And we caught up on what we’d been doing since the reunion last summer. That had literally been the last time I saw him, and otherwise we saw each other about once or twice a year. He had grown, appreciably, since I’d last seen him.The beer was good and cold. He had a cooler stashed in the back. I was starting to love that car even more. I asked about the cooler and the other mods. He smiled proudly.“I did it all myself,” he proclaimed, “Back seat cooler for beer, storage rack for cassettes, amp for the quadraphonics, power source, nitrous tank and valve spreader.” As he talked it occurred to me that it was now a. Her face in the mirror was a mess, with tear tracks of mascara running down her face."Well? I'm waiting." I, I suppose. Shouldn't I clean this off first?" Very good. Cotton balls, cold cream, and astringent are in the drawer."Maria began to strip away the old makeup, amazed as Anton's old face re-emerged, albeit surrounded by dishevelled curls. Cleansed, she paused waiting for the tingle to subside, looking at the lost identity peering back from the mirror."Get on with it, girl! I haven't got all day!"Maria began to apply the foundation, working it down from her cheekbones. When she stopped at the jaw line, Marilyn corrected her. "You don't want a Kabuki face, one shade on your face and your neck something else. Blend it down your throat." Maria continued, trying to apply the cosmetics in the order she remembered. The eyes were impossible, always blinking and refusing to stay put. Finally she quit, looked at the half-done face in the mirror, eyes screwing up to cry."Now, now, none of.
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