full frame in the mirror over the sink. The Ladies Room was a flurry of activity. Women changing out of work clothes and into dancing gowns; tampons and pads being exchanged and discreetly (i)tucked(i); knives and guns tucked as well. Pistols strapped, daggers slid, purses stuffed with tissues and weapons.
The aroma of perfumes and hairsprays and starches and ladysweat kept building.
"Why you say?"
"Now he's set himself up at a table in the hall and won't budge until he's (i)viewed(i) every last prospect." The woman standing center stage in the mirror silently mouthed the words, (i)unreasonable(i), (i)budge(i), (i)prospect(i).
"I mean, what does the guy even need an assistant for?"
A third woman, without pushing, took the helm. The mirror framing way too thin but somehow not frail. Sinewy. "I could tellya but I'd have tah killya," she mocked in a gangstah tone.
Pearls and silvers and golds being taken out of little jewelry boxes from Department Stores. Nails and shaky hands fumbling with clasps. Leaning-ins almost clashing earrings.
From behind the tall, tall women adding even more dazzle a small voice, a bookish woman, said, "Guy hasn't moved from that spot because," her voice faltered. All the women in the bathroom formed almost a cave around the woman. "Because why honey?" One put a hand gently on a forearm.
"He, uh," clearly a struggle, how to word such import. "Out with it," said a slightly older woman. The bookish woman looked into each set of eyes looking at her. Then quickly blurted, "He got stabbed."
"Like mugged?"
"Who hasn't?"
"Girl fights?"
"Like he's been defending the Hill against Soviets."
A heavy as lead feeling plummeted upon the space and the women stood together not speaking for several minutes.
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