“These are amazing,” Lola said, delicately drawing a wipe from the pack. “They have verbena, Turkish sea salt, vitamin A, sage, and ginger.”

“Do I eat it?” Scarlett asked, taking the wipe by the corner as it was offered. “Sounds healthy.”

“It’s about twenty times better for you than soap,” Lola said with a smile. “They’re a hundred and fifty dollars a pack and very, very effective. I only have them because the company rep likes me.”

Lola resealed the pack with the same kind of care that doctors use when packing up organs for emergency transport. Then she left for a few moments to let Scarlett rub herself down in spicy-herby-salty goodness. At first, it was freezing cold. Then her skin tingled wherever the rub had touched. Actually, it almost burned—but it was a strange cold-burn. The wipes clearly did something. She wrapped her pajama top around herself and stood there shivering in the heat.

“Feel clean?” Lola asked, as she came back in.

“Clean, and kind of rashy.”

“That’s the ginger,” Lola said. “It’s stimulating your pores.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Lola’s smile said that it was impossible for pore stimulation not to be a good thing.

“Now,” she said. “I just need to get you some things. Drink your coffee.”

Scarlett sat and sipped while Lola dug around in the next drawer, the one filled with perfectly folded panties, spooned together bras, floral sachets, and tiny packets of special detergents for the most delicate materials.

“Here we go,” she said, lifting a complicated adjustable bra from her drawer. It looked like something that had been removed from a parachute, all clamps and straps and impossible-to-disengage safety features. She helped fasten Scarlett into it, then removed the dress from its padded hanger and handed it over.

“What is this thing you’re going to?” Scarlett asked.

“A clambake.”

Scarlett stopped with the dress halfway down her face.

“You’re leaving me with Marlene for a clambake?”

Lola pulled the dress down and shifted it into place. It strained a bit over her hips, but it eventually gave.

“This looks great on you,” she said soothingly. “It’s a little long, but I can fix that by tying this a little tighter.”

The dress tied at the back of the neck. Lola adjusted it carefully. It was only when everything was moored in place that Scarlett was allowed to put on deodorant.

“Clambake,” Scarlett muttered. “Chip and the clambake. It sounds like a mismatched partner cop comedy.”

“See? You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere yet.”

“Come on.” Lola steered Scarlett in front of the mirror. “Let me fix your hair.”

For a non-curly-haired person, Lola could handle Scarlett’s anarchist hair with surprising skill. More products were pulled from the magic drawer. A curl was pulled out here, scrunched up there. Two types of fine mist were sprayed, and a small amount of a light-as-air waxy substance was snapped over the tips.

“Perfect,” Lola said. “Why don’t you try out the makeup I got you yesterday? That red lipstick would be fabulous with this. I’m going to go tell Marlene what’s going on.”