Stay Tuned by Lauren Clark

Marc Jacobs. I shivered with anticipation, put my back to the mirror, and with a shimmy, tossed my clothes to the floor.
    A few minutes later, I was in heaven. A black Ralph Lauren ruffle-front blouse and trousers that clung in all the right places. I fell in love with a jacket, pants and sheer blouse, all Calvin Klein. A bright tangerine Milly cardigan and pants looked divine when I spun around in front of the three-way mirror.
    Cher paired a Diesel jacket over a leather Michael Kors skirt—fun, but too much for small town TV. Jones New York, DKNY, and Ellen Tracy all started to blend together. An array of jeans, shoes, flats, heels, and sandals decorated the floor of the dressing room.
    After two hours, I was exhausted and exhilarated. Customers had come and gone, the cash register sang, the bells on the door jingled, the phone rang.
    “Help,” I laughed to Cher. “Get me out of here.”
    Cher stopped and put her hands on her hips. “What’ll it be?” A smile played on her lips. She was no pressure and I loved that.
    “I adore everything. You have a gift!”
    Cher blushed. “The clothes are perfect for you!” She winked. “And your job.”
    “Thanks. But the job is short-term, at least for now. I have to do a lot of convincing.” With a heave, I lifted part of my new wardrobe onto the counter. “This is a major part of it. A fresh start. The new me.”
    Cher scurried behind me, snapping up loose shoes and skirts from chairs and the floor. “Can I be honest?” Her face took on a serious expression.
    I nodded and shrugged, handing her my credit card. Before she could take it, I changed my mind and offered Chris’s plastic instead.
    She was probably going to tell me I didn’t have a prayer in the world of anchoring full-time in Podunk, USA, let alone here. A face for radio. What everyone always said about anchors who looked a little horsey or weren’t quite thin enough.
    Cher took a deep breath and started ringing up the clothes. A few customers floated by, we made small talk. When the last pair of shoes had been rung up and bagged, I strained to see the total. Instead, Cher came around the counter to where I was standing.
    “You see, the thing is.” Cher’s voice strained to a stop. “My sister owns this shop.”
    I felt a tug of empathy while she struggled to keep her emotions in check.
    Cher swallowed hard and tried to continue. “Five years ago, I was drifting from job to job, crashing with friends when I could, practically homeless.” Cher’s eyes welled up with tears.
    Her confession threw me. I blinked and tried hard to hide my surprise. “Oh,” was all I could manage, trying to picture the petite girl in front of me sleeping in the streets. It was horrifying. What if this was Kelly? I shook off the thought, promising myself she was fine.
    Cher wiped at her lashes with the back of one fingernail.
    “My sister gave me a second chance when no one else would,” she continued. “She made me finish my degree and had me come live with her. She helped me re-invent myself. Just like you said, a fresh start. I adopted a little girl, bought a house. I have a good life.”
    Tiny goose bumps dotted my arms. Re-inventing Melissa.
    “When I talked about change, making over my life, my sister always used to remind me that it’s what’s inside that really counts.” Cher pointed to her heart. “So, the clothes will help.” She touched my hair lightly and cocked her head. “Highlights and a great cut would make a big difference. But true change comes from within.”
    I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the counter. I winced, stepped back, and frowned, biting my lip at how right she was.
    Cher patted my hand and went back around the register, putting three feet of counter between us. “Sorry, I always talk too much. My sister says I should have been a talk show host or a psychologist. It’s none of my business.”
    Her apology softened my initial reaction. “Don’t worry about it. You’re