Throwback Thursday: ‘Beauty Takes Care of Itself’ by Bob Thurber

Six weeks out of rehab, just when things were beginning to turn around, I woke up stiff and sore on a park bench with the sun at the worst possible angle. Curled on my side, with no notion how I’d gotten there, all I could hear were the squeaks and squawks of early morning birds. That shrill noise, combined with the blinding light, knotted such pressure behind my eyes that it took me a full minute to blink, focus, and realize the racket wasn’t birds but children. 

Crowded around me, twitching and chattering, were a dozen girls in sparkly, colourful dresses, all with garish makeup and complicated hairdos. They looked like Munchkins dressed for the prom.

Someone said, “Ladies, please!” 

It was a man’s voice, thick and deep. Fearing it was a cop, I sat up. The girls shrieked and scattered. 

“Whoa, ladies!” the man said.

He was crouched behind a camera mounted on a tripod. “Great. You woke him. Nice job.” He removed his hand from the lens and stepped forward. He had long hair and a short beard. His arms were bare beneath a puffy vest with a dozen pockets. “Take five, ladies. Nobody go anywhere.”

 “Where’s the bathroom?” said one of the girls. 

They had gathered into groups like teams huddling before a play. I felt sorry for them. Their pale necks appeared too delicate to support their embellished heads. 

 “Hold your water until we’re back at the bus,” the man said, coming straight at me. His slanted expression distorted the shape of his beard; his baggy camouflage pants and rope sandals made him look like a commando Jesus. I avoided eye contact by staring at the girls. Faces peeked; whispers and giggles erupted in waves.

 “They’re something, aren’t they?” the man said, leaning uncomfortably close. “They’re the finalists. We’re supposed to be shooting over at the zoo but they’re experiencing some kind of monkey problem. Dead baby chimp, I suspect.” His shadow provided a softer view of the girls. “I’m breaking the rules shooting here. Meanwhile, I’ve got two worthless chaperones back on the bus, rubbing coconut oil on their feet.”

A big-eyed blonde, inches taller than the rest, timidly twirled her index fingers into the hollows of her cheeks. Without raising my arm I wiggled my fingers in reply. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” I said loudly.