Luella Zavala judged her appearance with the most serious expression; angling her body into different positions to get a full view of the look she created for herself. Today would be her first day in court, and though her lawyer told her not to worry about her appearance ┄ she wanted to look extra nice. Her mind kept drifting to the twelve strangers that would be judging her in the courtroom, trying to dig deep into her soul to figure out who she is. Her appearance, Luella considered, was to be her golden ticket. Heck! The reason she became an actress was not due to her talent or her dramatic nature, but was instead that of her looks. She was the perfect person to represent what is considered to the American public ┄ an attractive Latina. This held true even though Luella considered herself to be only half-Spanish. It was her looks that saved her from the devil, or el diablo, as her father would say.
After searching around her closet for hours for an outfit she had planned out last night, Luella decided to play it safe and go with her signature color: red. The color was one that her hijo (brother) always said made her look like the magical flaming bird: the phoenix. But instead of one of her classic floral dresses or tight mini dresses she wore to the bars and restaurants, Luella opted to wear a jumpsuit designed by her favorite designer, Marc Jacobs. The deep red jumpsuit was striking in appearance with a twisted halter neckline and exposed not just her shoulders, but a good proportion of her back. Although the dress might be considered inappropriate to wear to court, this jumpsuit was the closest to a professional outfit Luella had in her massive closet. Unfortunately, Luella was not a fan of pants or business suits. She found them to be as hideous as the once trendy shoulder pads women wore in the 80s. “I can wear my white blazer to cover my back,” she thought. Luella turned towards the far back row of her closet, where shoved in the corner were three blazers: white, red and black. Back in Luella’s younger age, having only received a few small parts here and there, her agent had suggested that she buy a blazer to look more professional for interviews. At first Luella did not understand her agent’s advice that directors required her in business casual, but nonetheless she had taken her agent’s advice and driven to Nordstrom Rack to buy three blazers in her size and price-range. Three well-designed blazers cost her less than $100 at the checkout.
Luella took the white blazer off the rack and placed her arms through the sleeves. She looked at the mirror and was surprised to see that after so many years it still fit her perfectly. Though it wasn’t liked she gained weight. Even after having children, her body reversed back to its prenatal weight. The only changes she experienced was that of her hips and breasts, but her OB/GYN said that was to be expected. “Children change our life personally and physically,” her doctor had said jokingly at her checkup.
Luella pulled her dark, black hair into a neatly-made ponytail, so her hair would be able to swish freely against her back. When she turned her back to look at the mirror, Luella noticed that her hair was getting too long for her liking. Her raven locks were reaching close to the middle of her back, a style Luella had not modeled since her teenage years. Now, as an adult and mother, Luella much rather preferred her hair to be no longer than her collarbone, which would make it less accessible for her children to jerk at. Whenever her children were bored of being lugged around the house, their mother’s hair was the next closest thing to a toy. Her children found the pulling to be a fun game, but Luella cared little to have her hair straightened, pulled or twisted between her children’s grasp.
“I need a haircut,” Luella said out loud, for it had been so long since she last went to the salon. When she was a child, her mother would cut her hair. The two of them would climb the enclosed steps up to their cedar attic. Once in the attic, her mother would push the covered-up victorian mirror close to the circular window near the edge of the small space, allowing light to bounce off the ancient reflecting glass. Then her mother would pull out her most trusted pair of sharpened scissors, collect Luella’s beautiful hair and begin to cut. “Snip, snip, snip.” Loose strands of Luella’s black hair would fall to the floor. When her mother was done with Luella’s new look, she would ruffle her daughter’s head and stroke Luella’s newly trimmed locks. She would also reshape her daughter’s face to match the new haircut.
“Prefect,” her mother would say when she was done. She would cup Luella’s smooth cheeks into both of her hands. “Absolutely, perfect.” Her mother would then smile brighter than the sun, pull the cover-up over the mirror; pushing the mirror back into place and would persuade her to climb down the stairs, to prepare for their afternoon meal.
This tradition between mother and daughter continued throughout Luella’s teens and for a long time, Luella preferred no one else manage her hair.
Phasing out of her memories, Luella looked down at her nails and smiled at her polished red tips. She had gotten her nails done yesterday in preparation and wanted her hands to look elegant. She remembered hearing something on the television about clean hands being an essential part of one’s appearance when involved in business.
Before exiting her closet, Luella stepped into her nude Steve Madden high heels, grabbed her black Coach handbag from the vanity and reapplied a fresh coat of red lipstick. Checking off her list of things, Luella then descended down the stairs. As Luella reached the final step of the grand staircase, she paused and looked at the door in front of her, which looked like a massive barrier, guarding her from the outside world. She had never felt so suffocated since the preparations for the trial. She remained indoors as her lawyer insisted she must avoid conversations Though her lawyer only wished to protect her from the scrutiny of the media, the lawyer never considered the mental strain this demand had on Lucia for all these months in isolation. The hours spent at home Luella felt cagey and slowly her mind started to replay the events of the past: Locked up memories that Luella wished had stayed buried.
She slowly walked to the door, placed her hand on the golden knob and exhaled deeply, mentally preparing. “You can do this, you can do this.” Luella then pushed open the door, stepping out into the world after months of alienation. “Today is the day.”