Mr. Jacob’s Lipstick (2024 Best Small Fiction Nomination from MoonPark Review)
“Get your heart pumping again,” the doctor tells Mr. Jacob.
“Go on a date,” he adds. A retired widower with hearing aids and bifocals, Mr.
Jacob can’t simply snap his fingers to make himself feel dateable. As for his
heart, its pump went into standby mode last year when he lost his sweet wife,
Gert. No drive, appetite, interest, hope—whatever’s needed, he doesn’t have it,
only a fear of failure tattooed on his DNA. Yet, he isn’t a man to ignore a
doctor’s advice, especially when that doctor remained at Gert’s side for her
final moments. And so, Mr. Jacob takes a deep breath, then plunges ahead.
It’s at times like these when faced with a new challenge that
he really misses Gert’s help. If he had even half her skill at navigating
online, he’d easily arrange a date. By the time he eventually succeeds, he has
even less hair than when he started, torn out in frustration. But he can’t stop
there. First impressions are important. Preparation is everything. He’ll wear
jeans instead of his dress pants, a sign that, despite his sixty-five years and
teacher’s pension, he’s still got a bit of kick in him. No crease,
obviously—wouldn’t want to come across as a dandy, or worse, too fussy.
He chooses a pale blue shirt that accentuates his eyes. His
tweed sport coat was a gift from Gert at his fiftieth. “For the distinguished
gentleman,” the birthday card had said. Would his new shoes make him appear too
eager, trying too hard to impress? Isn’t that what he’s doing by wearing
contacts instead of his usual glasses? Or is he afraid of looking too old and
boring? Was the hot-towel face shave worth the cost? Is the scent of the
Pinaud-Clubman talc too overpowering with its mix of musk, orange, and
lavender?
For the final touches, forget the glitter of a gold watch,
the sparkle in silver earrings—they’re not him. Lipstick is what he needs for
hadn’t it made Gert look so alive in her coffin? Not just any color either. The
store’s cosmetician said the Chanel Rouge Velvet complemented his warm skin
undertones, something her simple color-analysis test proved true. Gert would
have gasped at the cost—forty-eight dollars for one tube. A matte rather than a
gloss finish better suits his personality—subdued, not flamboyant. He wouldn’t
even consider the hot pink Armani lipstick, not at his age.
Only red will do. Red reminds him of a blush—an irresistible
burst of emotion. It’s the color of a sunset’s promise, of courage taunting
risk or the hue of a resuscitated heart prepared to live again. Mr. Jacob faces
the mirror. He applies the lipstick slowly and carefully into all the miniature
creases, from the center outward, then finishes with the light blot of a
Kleenex. As he stares at his red lips, he remembers with confidence sweet
Gert’s words: “All’s well that begins well.”
