Beauty is Pain

“Just go in, talk to him, sign him out. He’s got nobody,” Bennet said, while staring at my chest. “You’ve been there.”

“No, I haven’t, and you’re never going there,” I said, chastely.

I know, it’s not what you’d expect to hear from me. The Tracy of old would have let him go there, and deeper, but no longer. Now, after my encounter with Dirty Old Man Malden, I’ve actually been considering… saving myself for the right person.

There. I said it. O Saint Fukelliakelle, patron saint of those who sleep around, forgive me!

As it turned out, though, Bennet wasn’t there only to get into my pants. He needed my help to save some kid named Jeremy, whose powers had resulted in the deaths of his parents, several innocent animals, and, apparently, his skin care regime.

When I saw his face, and heard his story, my heart went out to him. Here was someone just like me, someone in danger of letting great destructive power get in the way of really great looks. Out here in Hicksville, Wherever, he had the potential to be a real gem, someone I would let my hypothetical plain but overachieving daughter go out with in an attempt to make her prettier by association and thus make her worthy of my name, but now, with this disaster, he just looked so dreadfully… ugly.

Bennet was right. I’d been there, too. Except that when I murdered a man, rather than let myself fall into squalor, I made the right choice and slept with Senator Petrelli while he was still worth sleeping with. But if it hadn’t been for that one decision, I could’ve wound up riddled with guilt and acne, just like Jeremy.

There, but for the grace of Saint Fukelliakelle, went I.

From there, we started making plans. Bennet and I would adopt Jeremy, and we would pretend to be a formerly loving couple that had divorced on the grounds of irreconcilable ugliness. Jeremy would live with Bennet and mope about like a stereotypically banal yet secretly repressed teenager, I would come over for weekend power practice and softball games, plus heavily inappropriate makeout sessions with my “ex-husband,” and we would all get rich off the sitcom earnings.

It all would have been perfect, if Jeremy hadn’t gone and killed someone else, splattering noseblood all over us in the process.

In a flash, I realized what a fool I’d been. Bennet and Jeremy didn’t understand what it was to be beautiful, not really. For them it was all about murder and testosterone and trying to evade the law and “live normal lives” and whatnot.

Sorry honey, Beauty Goddess Tracy Strauss won’t play that game anymore.

“We could’ve saved him,” Bennet told me, after the fashion police had rounded up Jeremy.

“Why should I, Neville?” I asked, proud of myself that I’d remembered his first name, despite his unattractiveness. “You ever think the beautiful people could just… be beautiful? Out in the open?”

“After today, no,” he said, continuing to stare at my chest.

I glared. “Don’t ever call me again,” I said, and drove away, leaving him stranded in Hicksville, Wherever.

From now on, I would look for people who understood me, people who were beautiful… maybe even a community of beautiful people? There I would become queen and all would be well. I would find what I’ve been looking for.

Maybe even that special someone I’m saving myself for.