Deirdre tries massaging my shoulders, but she seems devastated that her efforts aren’t consoling me at all. “Isn’t there anything I can do?” she asks.I think for a moment, and then I say, “Could you send up someone to do my nails? And maybe an eyebrow wax, too? Maybe I’ll feel better if I can do something about my appearance.”Deirdre assures me that I look lovely, but she happily obliges, and a few minutes later I’m soaking in a warm bath while the chattering first generations massage conditioner into my hair and strip my eyebrow line of both hair and a layer of skin. They’re the same women who prepared me on my wedding day, and it’s a relief that they’re so absorbed in their gossip that they don’t notice my distress. It makes what I’m about to do that much easier.“The day we met, you asked if my eyes were natural,” I say. “Can irises be dyed?” It sounds painful and absurd, but I’ve seen stranger things in my time here.The women laugh. “Of course not!”
