Gwen. E. Lippert
strategies for rejection was to reject the other person first. So in general, Gwen was a class A bitch whenever possible. She purposely came off as arrogant and condescending. After the first few weeks, no one at the CPA firm went out of their way to chat with her. If a group of employees was standing around chatting, as soon as they saw Gwen heading their way, the group quickly dispersed. Gwen pretended not to notice. If she thought too much about this, it was painful, so instead, she found fault with everyone she met. “He’s a moron.” “She’s an airhead.” “Those boobs are fake.” “She’s just a slut.” If she didn’t like the person, she wouldn’t want to make a friend out of them, and if she didn’t try to make a friend, she didn’t get rejected.
Her bosses quickly realized that she was a great accountant. She got a lot done in record time with perfect accuracy, but she was not a good person to put in front of clients and not a good person to put on a project with colleagues, so Gwen did most of her work alone in her cubicle. She would listen to the voices and conversations around her. She would pretend that she was part of the conversation, and in her mind, she would answer questions or respond with witty comments, making her coworkers laugh, sometimes correcting them when they were wrong but always commanding attention with her brilliance and insight. In Gwen’s imagination, she was a beloved and integral part of the firm even as she looked down on and criticized her coworkers at every opportunity.
Evenings, however, were lonely. No one ever came to visit. Actually, the only time another human being had been in her apartment was when her parents helped her move in. Her phone rang once a week, every Thursday evening, 7:00 p.m. sharp, when her mom called to “check in.” Every few times, Gwen would just let the phone ring so that her mom would think she was out. Other than that, the phone never rang, and Gwen never picked it up to call anyone either. She had no one to call. Her evenings were spent either watching TV or reading—reading mostly. That made for long evenings, and she started to fill the time by drinking. Cocktail hour started the minute she walked in the door and ended around eleven or twelve when she finally fell asleep.
Eventually, that routine lost its appeal, and Gwen decided to try going out. She lived near Fells Point, a part of Baltimore that had a bar every few steps. She chose one a few blocks away because she had seen an advertisement for it that referred to the pub as a “dimly lit tavern.” If the lighting sucked, she could blend in.
As she was preparing to go out, Gwen examined herself in the mirror. There was nothing she could do about her beady eyes; her fat, flat nose; or her nearly nonexistent lips. But her color was pale. Turning her face from side to side, she wondered if she should run to the drugstore first and get some blush, maybe some mascara and lipstick, just to give her face some color.
*****
Gwen thought back to the one time about eight years ago at the age of fourteen when she had purchased makeup. She had noticed the other girls at school wearing makeup and how pretty they looked. She wondered if makeup would make her pretty too. She didn’t want to buy the cheap stuff either. She wanted to go to the department store, to the brightly lit counters where beautiful young women let you try different colors and brands, helping you to find just the right one. When Gwen got there, she pretended to be examining merchandise on nearby racks and just watched the ladies working there and the customers they served. They were all pretty. The women sitting in the chairs trying different colors, looking at their altered faces in the small mirrors, they were all pretty. Not one of them was ugly. Gwen felt that if she approached that counter, they would all wonder what she was doing there. She imagined one of them saying, “Oh sweetie, there’s nothing we can do for you.” Gwen left the department store and walked to the nearest drugstore where she purchased mascara, blush, and lipstick. She remembered buying neutral colors of blush and lipstick. No red for her. She wanted color; she didn’t want to stand out.
After her purchase, Gwen had hurriedly walked home. She wanted to get there before her parents got home from work. Entering the house, she ran upstairs and emptied her new cosmetics on her bedroom dresser. She stood looking at them for a bit, unsure how to begin. Her mom didn’t wear makeup, so she had never had that mother/daughter experience where the little girl sits and watches her mom primp. It just didn’t happen. Gwen decided that the best thing to do was to start with a clean face, so she carefully and thoroughly washed her face. Once it was dry, she started with the blush. She tried to mimic what she saw at the department store and brushed upward along her cheekbone, adding a touch of mauve to each cheek. She stood back and looked. Not happy with the results, she washed her face and tried again. It took a few tries to get the color just right.
Once her cheeks were right, she applied the mascara. She found this to be a bit easier. She had steady hands, and the mascara ended up where it was supposed to go. She did get a dot or two on her eyelid but quickly cleaned that up with a Q-tip. Lipstick went on next. The color was just enough to show that she actually had lips. She stood back and examined her reflection in the mirror. Not beautiful, but almost pretty, she thought. She brushed and examined her shoulder-length hair. It was just a mousy brown color, no real highlights. She had bangs, which she brushed to one side that day. She put her hair behind her ears, pulled it out, and put it back, trying to decide which was best. She finally decided that behind her ears showed off the color on her cheeks. Finally content with the results, she sat on her bed and waited for her parents to come home. She was too excited to read or do her homework or watch TV. She imagined her parents commenting on how pretty she was and oohing and aahing over her makeup.
When she heard her parents come through the front door, Gwen waited. She wanted to make her grand entrance at dinner. While waiting, she would look in the mirror every few minutes, excited to see the difference in her face—her cheekbones stood out, her eyes popped a little bit, and her lips looked feminine. She was very excited for her parents’ reaction.
When finally called for dinner, she calmly strode into the kitchen and took her place at the table. Dad looked up briefly, but if he noticed anything different about her, he didn’t show it. He was rambling on about something that happened that day with a student. As Mom served dinner and listened to her husband, she looked at Gwen, and Gwen could see a look of surprise on her face, but she said nothing for a bit. It wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that Mom said, “I see you have makeup on, dear.” That was it. There was no “My, don’t you look pretty!” or “You did a great job. It really looks nice.” Not even a “Don’t you think you should wait until you’re older?” There was nothing other than an acknowledgment that she was wearing makeup.
“Yes, Mom, I do.”
Dad did look a bit more closely at this point, but only muttered a “Hmmmmmm.” That was it. Gwen did her best to hide her feelings, to hold back her tears and not show her parents how hurt she was. Immediately after dinner, she ran to the upstairs bathroom, washed her face, and threw away the makeup she’d purchased only a few hours before. She had not bought any since.
*****
Sighing, Gwen shrugged her shoulders at her image in the mirror. It is what it is, she thought. She brushed her teeth and hair and was ready to go out.
Gwen exited her apartment and headed to the pub. This was new for her. She didn’t know how to act and felt a bit out of place walking among the partying yuppies of Baltimore. She kept her head down and literally plowed her way through groups of people to get to her destination. She was completely immune to the calls of “Hey, watch out, bitch” or the sarcastic “Excuse me” from one particular woman. Gwen had a biting tongue and knew she could bring anyone of these assholes to tears with just a few words, but she didn’t really have the energy to retaliate tonight. She was feeling a bit down and just needed company.
Gwen sat at the end of the bar for a good two hours. She did a lot of “people watching” that night, critiquing pretty much everyone else in the place. She noticed a small gaggle of young men who looked her way every once in a while. Finally, the tall one of the group headed her way.
He came up behind her. “Hey, can I buy you a drink?”
Gwen turned and looked up at him, ready to send him packing with a quick insult but was stunned by his good looks. “Sure.”
He sat down next to her, ironically enough