The Saddest Song in the World - Part 2
Read Part One
I didn't know about Gail long enough to form any kind of opinion as to what kind of residence she would keep. I might have pictured a comfy home with a an overstuffed couch and loveseat combo, an old avocado stove and fridge, tasteful ocean watercolor prints on the wall. The simple brown stucco home's exterior looked retro, charming, a throwback to the days of scarred wooden surfboards and brown coconut tanning oil. She threw open her arms and grinned, and I gasped in surprise as much as confusion as I hauled my Avon crap over the threshold.
"I don't know who the hell you are, but you look like a merry soul. Come on in!"
Gail towered over me, and as I passed I realized the top of my head barely grazed her chin. She wore slim black slacks and a crisp white men's shirt with the arms rolled high and the hem loosely tied at her waist. A black bandana hugged her head, and it was obvious she had no hair. She didn't have eyebrows either, at least I didn't think she did because one was smudged as if she drew them on in the morning and then wiped her brow a couple of hours later in a fit of forgetfulness.
I stood in her foyer, breathing in that sweet sad music, trying to make sense of the space, the objects, the countless.... cats.
"Whatsa matter? Cat got your tongue?" Gail snorted and whooped, scooped two tabbies from a futuristic vertical zig-zag sculpture, powder-coated red, the backside painted black. She pointed to the artwork, her grin breaking into a full-tooth laugh as I stared at it without moving a muscle, my mouth trying to move, trying to make some kind of intelligent noise.
"It's a chair, love. Ever see the TV show MacGyver? This is straight from the set. Sit down and tell me who you are."
I perched on the edge of the zig-zag, afraid it would fold into a flat square on the floor beneath me, but it felt sturdy and true. The song ended. Another one began, the same lonely voice from some sepia-toned alternate reality.
"Hi, I'm Avon. I mean I sell Avon. I'm an Avon Lady." My voice cracked and waddled. I stared at a thousand Birdies staring back at me. The walls held a million mirrored squares set in concentric circular patterns. A velvet couch red and rolling like an angry ocean wave stood sentry in the middle of the room. Seven cats slept in the spaces between the curves, stray paws and curling tails flung over the sides.
"Ok, nameless Avon Lady who is not Avon but sells Avon. Give me one of your books. I do like a good lipcolor." Gail took a seat upon a delicate white cushion. Everything in the room was black or red or white, and I noticed for the first time Gail's carefully applied scarlet lips.
I handed her a brochure and rummaged through my bag for some samples. Damn. No lipstick. I pulled out a few squares of facial creams and my demo bottle of the new Naturals Pink Grapefruit & Rose Shampoo. A million shampoo bottles cascaded across the room like some kind of perverse beauty kaleidoscope.
"Oh sorry! My name is Birdie! Here - take these samples! And would you care to smell the new Avon Naturals haircare stuff? It smells just like roses and grapefruits, and I love the way it makes my hair shine." I held out the bottle and Gail grabbed it. Her hands were long and thin like her body, and she inhaled one, two, three deep lung times, snapping the lid shut at the same moment the CD stopped playing its last tune. A black and white mottled cat rubbed against my bare legs.
"Was this animal tested?" Gail turned the bottle over in her hands, squinted her eyes as if reading the fine print, and she opened it once more, smelling the shampoo with a satisfied nod.
"Oh no! None of the Avon products are tested on animals! No way, Jose! Avon does NOT do animal testing!" I stopped short, realized I was yelling when a Siamese yowled and jumped from his cozy black perch on the window sill.
"No, love, that's not what I meant. Is this shampoo safe for cats?" Gail wiped her left hand across her forehead, smudging her bad eyebrow. Tiny beads of sweat gathered at the edge of her bandana, and as she dropped her arm, I noticed it shook.
"Well, gosh, I don't know. It is supposed to be a fairly "natural" sort of product, so I don't see why you couldn't bathe a cat with it." As the words popped out of my mouth, I started giggling. I couldn't imagine anyone bathing a cat with anything of anykind - let alone fruity Avon shampoo.
"The only way to find out is to give it the old college try, then. Come on, pick a cat." Gail stood, handed me the bottle, turned her head right to left to show me just what an incredible cat selection she had, and I chose the fattest cat on the premises, a hefty white ball of fluff with a crook in his tail.
"Oh Lord. You picked a cat, you did. That's my Hell Cat. His name is Fat Bastard."
To Be Continued!! So I lied, Part two ISN'T the end!
9:19:36 PM 
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