BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

Summer--when it sizzles. Baking in the sun like an old boot. Watching glamour boys frolicking in their Speedos. The way chlorine gives your hair that greenish tinge. Nose plugs and goggles. Strawberry daiquiris and hot pink rubber thongs.

My favorite things happen in the summer--drive-in movies, watermelon seed spitting contests, making out in the back seat of a T-bird convertible. All it takes is a few hours splashing around in the plastic Barbie pool to get that sun-kissed, hot tamale glow. Cheap beauty money can't buy.

By August I'm too hot to handle--a blond bombshell whose gorgeous loveliness makes men beg for mercy (unless I'm peeling or have a lot of chigger bites). Let's hope there aren't any visible bites August 7th, the night Fat Lady on the Beach opens at Drunk Goat Dinner Theater. The play is Bunkley Threadgill's gift to the city of Axel. A brilliant entomologist, Bunkley was expected to go into the family extermination business. Instead, he heeded the sirens' call and went to New York City.

Now he's as famous as Playboy Gary Hart--at least to people here in Axel. A couple of weeks ago he rolled up outside the beauty shop in a '75 El Camino with New Jersey license plates. Wearing a gold lame' t-shirt and <Ray-Bans>. Waving a script and drinking a Diet <Grapette>.

"It's hot enough to fry escargot," he said and right away you could tell he had been hanging out with the Village people. He had gone platinum blond. He sported a happy face tattoo and a sombrero.

Misty Dawn catapulted from her room behind the beauty shop the minute she heard his voice.

"My God, Bunkley, you look just like a Dallas whore," she said. Bunkley and Misty have been best friends since high school.

"I see you're not on American Gladiator yet," said Bunkley.

"Not yet. I think they cancelled it," said Misty, pooching out her lower lip.

Soon they were rolling on the floor like a couple of puppies. Putting June bugs down each other's shirts. Making prank phone calls. Eating fried baloney sandwiches. Just like the good old days. But best of all was Bunkley's play and the role he had penned for Misty.

"It's not American Gladiator but you get to wear Spandex," he said.

"Bunkley, this is good. Real good," said Misty. "'Behind her <Wal-Mart> sunglasses Mama's eyes are fearful, like a bewildered cow rescued by animal rights activists, set free on this beach.'"

"Your lines are highlighted in pink."

"Oh, here it is. 'Mama's no land lubber. Raw walrus blubber.'"

"It's kind of avant-garde," said Bunkley.

"No, it's good. I swear. Real good," said Misty.

"Your character Gerta is a brooding Swedish shop girl who stows away on a Russian tanker. She falls off the boat and gets amnesia on the way to Galveston. Her mother finds her at a sidewalk cafe sharing an order of fried octopus with a marine biologist who specializes in cephalopods. I wrote the play to show that octopuses are a hundred times smarter than humans."

"Gosh," said Misty. "Do you think I'm up to it?"

"You're perfect," said Bunkley.

You may be wondering what all this has to do with me. Bunkley says I'm perfect for the mother. I argued for the Swedish shop girl, given Misty's limited acting range. But the costume won me over--a red and white polka-dot swimsuit with a bathing cap that makes my head look like a pineapple. Very Esther Williams. Every move I make is echoed by the Shadow Ladies, 10 women of escalating size who wear the exact same outfit. It's a <Busby Berkeley> extravaganza.

Rehearsals are grueling. I haven't worked this hard since gator farm days. But what's a little sweat in summertime? See you Friday night!