Freaky in Fresno

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  I’m stopped by Aunt April, who takes me by my shoulders, aims me toward the front dais, and gives me what I’m sure she thinks is a gentle shove.

  I stumble a few steps but catch myself and look back at her. She shrugs dismissively, and I realize that maybe she wasn’t trying to be gentle after all.

  “We love you, Lana,” one of the moms calls out, and I turn to look at her. “Sorry,” she says, and then to her daughter she mouths an even bigger, “Sorry.”

  I try to give her a smile, but her fangirling has made me more nervous than ever and my lip starts twitching.

  The whole crowd is mostly standing now and every last person in the indoor quad is holding up a phone to record me. Who on earth is going to watch all of this footage? I think as I make my way toward the stage in front.

  My heart is beating so hard I can hear it.

  A man holding a huge video camera has appeared out of nowhere, and he walks backward while filming me. His feed must be projected directly onto the TV in front because I’m walking toward a wide-screen movie of myself walking toward myself in real time. It’s a bit trippy.

  When I reach the front table, I don’t know which chair I should sit in, so I throw a look back to Aunt April. She holds up her hands as if to ask what’s wrong with me.

  I sit down in the closest spot and fold my hands in my lap, trying to hold the shaking in my right hand still with my shaking left hand. It’s not working out all that well. This is decidedly not fun for me.

  The throng’s cheers die down in small increments until the young ladies are all just staring at me adoringly. And expectantly.

  Most of them continue filming me with their phones until it gets a little weird. The weirdness factor grows until finally, I give another small wave and Lana’s fans go crazy all over again.

  Leaning forward, I say into the microphone, “Um, thanks?”

  Another high-pitched squeal rises into the air and bounces off the glass ceiling. One voice rings out, “I love you, Lana!” I look to the back and the fangirl mom shrugs as if to say, That one wasn’t me.

  I smile and imagine Lana replying with an insincere, “I love you too.” But I’m already being stretched, pretending that I’m Lana. Trying to imitate the fake version of Lana’s online persona is just too far beyond my acting capacity.

  I smile at my young admirer. “Love yourself first!” The crowd gets quieter.

  Either I’ve completely thrown them by going off script, or they’re now expecting me to launch into some sort of talk.

  All of a sudden, the full weight on my chest that I woke up with is back. My stomach twists and I feel like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the enormous room.

  I catch Aunt April’s eye in the back of the crowd and point to my face, indicating I could be about to have a panic attack. My aunt smiles and gives me a thumbs-up. Which isn’t at all helpful. I can’t do this.

  All of these phones recording me are just too much. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I try to imagine how Lana would get through this, but all I can picture is Lana’s calm-looking face as her mom dragged me away to this local mall purgatory.

  I can’t believe my cousin ditched me again the first chance she got. She could’ve jumped into our path and clung to the hood of the RAV4 and insisted on coming along for support. I again picture Lana’s serene expression as she turned away. But her look wasn’t just calm indifference. I rewind the clip in my brain and watch her turn again. She genuinely felt bad for me, I know it. I zoom into my remembered recording as it replays one more time and there, at her mouth, I see it now. The tiniest trace of a smile. Like, maybe she also felt something close to . . . relief?

  Because she knew I’d tank this interview and then she’d be set free.

  Gradually, the pressure in my chest loosens.

  One kid near the front must hate secondhand awkwardness because she helpfully calls out, “Hi, Lana, how did you get to the mall today?”

  I try to smile but my voice is shaky. “My mom drove me. How about you?”

  “Same.” She sounds disappointed. “My mom drove me.”

  Another voice comes from the middle of the crowd. “Hey, Lana, who’s your favorite makeup artist?”

  I actually have an answer to this question. With a wobbly breath I ask, “Have any of you heard of Rick Baker?”

  I’m met with a sea of blank stares and I can practically hear crickets superimposed over the recorded video version of this moment.

  “Rick Baker,” I repeat. “He was nominated for twelve Academy Awards.” I pull the microphone closer. “Come on. He won seven Oscars for makeup!”

  “Was he ever on BubeTube?” a girl asks.

  “Gah! He’s a special effects artist and he’s amazing! He’s worked on films for over forty years and semiretired recently only because CGI is basically ruining the industry, but . . .”

  I stop to take a breath and I’m greeted with more stares. A few girls even lower their phone-holding arms, a sure indicator I’ve lost them.

  I say, “Rick Baker designed the iconic characters in the Star Wars cantina.” I get a few rapid blinks in response to the Star Wars reference, so I go on. “Then he got his first Oscar for makeup on An American Werewolf in London in the early eighties.” More blank faces. “He did all the looks for Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ video,” I say. “And, hey, anyone see the 2001 Planet of the Apes reboot? How about Benicio Del Toro in Wolfman?”

  And I’ve totally lost them. Murmurs of discontent begin to grow. In the back, Aunt April is now talking to a tall model with a small tiara perched on top of her smooth lavender hair. The model’s arms are crossed tightly over her small chest, and with her high heels she stands even taller than the guard on his Segway.

  I’m curious why Aunt April is talking to her, but right now this crowd of makeup lovers needs a real education.

  I say, “Rick Baker was in high school when the original Planet of the Apes was released in 1968. He felt inspired to create his own ape costume, and he used to go out and do this thing where . . .” My grin gets huge. “He’d bring his ape costume to the drive-in and put it on and sneak up to cars and scare people out of their minds. How fun is that?”

  I’m surprised the whole room doesn’t erupt in applause and laughter at this since it is one of my all-time favorite makeup artist stories.

  But nobody seems interested in hearing about Rick Baker. Even Aunt April ignores me as she continues to focus on the towering lavender-haired model in the back.

  “Speaking of the drive-in,” I say loudly, “that reminds me: starting at eight fifteen tonight, we’re having a grand reopening over at the Starlight Drive-in movie theater on Route Eight. It would be amazing if all of you could be there!”

  A girl wearing bubble gum-pink lip gloss and about eight million rainbow hair clips calls, “But Lana, you’re scheduled to be on the main stage in Los Angeles tonight. I thought you were supposed to sing?”

  I cringe. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

  “Some sisters are not ready for the main stage,” a loud voice rings out from the back of the room.

  It’s the lavender-haired model, and without any provocation she strides aggressively up the aisle toward me in her high heels.

  “What’s happening now?” I say, but nobody can hear me because a fresh wave of excited screams runs through the crowd and up the high walls to the glass ceiling. Every phone is immediately snapped back into filming position as the audience turns to watch the towering beauty’s grand entrance.

  A glance behind me shows that even the TV screen has switched to her image as she catwalks closer and closer.

  I hear someone say, “Ooooh, this is gonna be good,” and want to ask them what’s going on, because something dramatic is clearly happening right now. And I’d love to know what it is.

  Especially since I’m somehow smack-dab in the center of it.

  chapter 21

  With a flip of her lavender hair, Miss Gorgeous Girl arrives at the f
ront of the room and stands close beside my table as if she’s waiting for me to do something. Confidently, she reaches up and straightens her tiny tiara. She’s even more beautiful and perfect-looking up close.

  I stand and sheepishly offer my empty seat to her. “Sorry. I wasn’t told there would be someone else.”

  I slide into the adjacent chair amidst a loud audience harmony of, “Ooooooooh.”

  “You weren’t told there would be someone else?” The model uses dramatic finger quotes around someone and else. “Try royalty!” She flips her hair again and announces, “I am Her Highness! Show some respect!”

  Why does that name sound familiar? The crowd goes wild and she gives a graceful curtsey before sitting down in the chair I’ve just left.

  “Warmed it up for you.” She gives me a look of disgust and I try again. “Hi, I’m Lana.”

  I reach over to shake her hand and she pulls her manicured fingers out of my reach. “Oh, I know who you are.” Her voice gets louder as she announces, “You’re the girl who thinks she can take my crown.”

  The audience gives another round of “Ooooohs,” and I glance at the small tiara perched on Her Highness’s head. Now I remember where I know that name. Lana and Erik kept mentioning Her Highness as some sort of beauty guru archrival. I had no idea I’d actually have to face her. Aunt April is nervously biting her lip as she watches.

  “Is this a prank?” I ask nobody.

  “I don’t know.” Her H leans forward. “Is that dress a prank?”

  There’s a long pause. I don’t know how to react, and finally Her Highness waves a hand in front of her face as if she’s erasing something.

  “Totally kidding,” she says. “That dress slays.” She leans in closer, examining me up and down. “And I don’t know how you did it, girl, but that glitter is wearing me out. It is everywhere.”

  “Um, sorry?” I honestly do not know what’s happening right now.

  She laughs, and her teeth are borderline too perfect.

  I relax a bit, and Her Highness closes her mouth and stops laughing all at once. Which is terrifying.

  Pursing her lips and drawing in her cheeks, she considers me with a side eye and an “Um hum” while she rubs her long fingers together.

  I look down at my hands, feeling like I’ve been using Lana’s long pink nails all wrong. They’re clearly meant to give dramatic emphasis to my words. I practice making tiny air quotes under the table.

  “You should be grateful I’m a queen who grants mercy,” Her Highness says into the microphone.

  It takes me a moment to realize everyone is waiting for me to respond. “Um, thanks?” I clasp my hands together underneath the table.

  “Don’t get too excited, this is not a full royal pardon.” She dismisses me with a wave and addresses the audience. “Is everyone here aware of the drama?”

  Everyone nods and a few more “Oooohs” ring out.

  I’m the only one shaking my head no but Her Highness says, “In case any of you just crawled out from under a beauty blender, I’m here to drop the tea with the vile video Lana posted a few short weeks ago.”

  With a flourish, she gestures to the screen, which flashes with the opening sequence to Lookie Lana! featuring her distinct double L logo.

  “Ugh,” Her Highness says and picks up her phone as if she’s already too bored to watch. I, on the other hand, turn around in my seat to give it my full attention.

  The screen wipes to the image of Lana sitting in her well-lit space that I recognize from her bedroom this morning.

  “Hi, everyone, welcome to Lookie Lana!” She gives a huge grin and waves. “Today I’m going to be doing another Versus Video.” In a fancy font, the words VERSUS and VIDEO flash dramatically.

  Onscreen, she holds up an extra-long black plastic compact and says, “As usual, we’re going to be trying a drugstore brand on one side . . .” She points to her face with the compact and then shows a long silver compact in her other hand. “And on the other, a luxury version that costs ten times as much.” She smiles into the camera and says, “Today we’re comparing eye shadows.” Her tone leads me to think Lana just might make an excellent kindergarten teacher.

  She weaves her fingers together, poses them under her chin, and bats her eyelashes at the camera. The crowd chuckles at her cuteness and Her Highness and I both roll our eyes. This is silly. Onscreen, Lana goes on to explain that she’ll be testing the well-known drugstore brand Norealique against one of the shadow palettes from the “Her Highness Signature Collection.”

  She leans in and says in a conspiratorial tone, “You may have seen the video Her Highness posted of her sponsor’s product blowing other brands away. Well, I’ll be verifying her claim, just to keep H honest.” Lana gives the tiniest adorable wink.

  Expertly holding out the plastic compact, she opens it toward camera, revealing a row of six shadow shades. She tilts it back and forth and begins talking about undertones and texture and something called matteness as she dips a finger into each color and holds up her fingertips for us to see.

  When she gets to the luxury brand the screen flashes with the HH logo and a shot of Her Highness, apparently just after eating a lemon, based on the way her cheeks are sucked in.

  Beside me, H looks up from her phone and says, “Finally, something worth looking at.”

  The crowd laughs, and I notice that random mall shoppers have started gathering around the edges of the roped-off area we’re sitting in.

  Lana reanimates onscreen and opens the large silver compact. “I will say this,” Lana says, “the HH packaging is really gorgeous.” She opens and closes the compact as if inspecting the hinge. “Just listen to this click.” She holds up the compact and quickly snaps it shut. “It sounds like the door closing on a luxury car.”

  Her Highness says, “Oh yes, she’s spilling the tea now.”

  Onscreen, Lana begins to apply something called an eyelid primer, and although she fast-forwards her application onscreen, Her Highness gives an exaggerated sigh into the microphone. “Sisters, can we please just skip through all this self-indulgent nonsense?”

  Obediently, the video speeds up even more, showing Lana applying her makeup at warp speed. Her mouth is moving and her long eye shadow brush is stirring quickly around each of her eyes. Lana even pulls out the spiky rake that made me cringe in the car and runs it through her eyelashes so quickly it looks like a miracle she doesn’t gouge out both her eyes. The video finally slows back down as Lana looks at her now-heavy makeup in the mirror, turning her head back and forth, examining her handiwork.

  “Here it comes . . .” Her Highness says dramatically, holding up one finger.

  Lana purses her lips as if considering. “I have to say . . .” She closes one eye and then the other. “I am not loving the Her Highness Signature Collection formula right now.”

  Her Highness pretends to faint in her chair.

  I watch as she comes to and fixes her tiara, then dramatically falls back all over again. Onscreen, Lana is talking about things like the eye shadow’s pigment, which she accuses of being “unmanageable.” I don’t need to know about shadow to know Lana is not giving the HH brand a positive review.

  The video goes on to show Lana testing the shadow’s wear, going out on a dinner date with Erik and displaying outtakes of her laughing while they play darts.

  A few Awwwws wend their way through the crowd and Her Highness gives a dismissive wave.

  “Clearly fake,” she says. “Erik could be my boyfriend in, like, a snap if I wanted him.” She snaps her long fingers. “This entire post is packed with Lana lies.” She smiles and adds air quotes as she repeats, “Lana. Lies.”

  “Here we are at the moment of truth,” Lana contradicts onscreen. She’s sitting back down at her well-lit makeup station, posing in the mirror and winking one eye and then the other.

  “To be honest . . .” She pauses and looks at each eye a few more times. “I’m not in love with the way this HH shadow wears either
.”

  Lana leans in close onscreen and points to her eyelid. It looks perfect to me, but she says, “Crease. Crease. Crease.” She points to the other eye. “Meanwhile, at a fraction of the price, the Norealique eye is sitting tight.”

  “Freeze that!” Her Highness calls out. The screen freezes on the close-up of Lana with both of her eyes closed and her mouth twisted unattractively. “You cannot tell me there is any difference between these eyeshadows.”

  She stands up and traces her long pinky nail along the image onscreen. “In fact, I dare say the Her Highness Signature Collection eye looks brighter and cleaner.”

  “I bet it can even see better,” I joke.

  Scandalous whispers blow through the crowd while Her Highness leans over me, melting me with her gaze.

  Finally, I nod. “Yeah, maybe there isn’t much difference between your shadow and the drugstore brand.” I literally see zero difference. “It’s still way cheaper though. Are we good now?”

  I stand up to go and Her Highness puts a slender-fingered hand on my shoulder and forces me to sit back down. “No, we’re not good now,” she says using air quotes. “But we’re about to make this right. Boys?”

  She gives two small, commanding claps, and the next thing I know a pair of handsome security guards are moving quickly toward us. They’re each carrying shopping bags and their tight sleeves are rolled up to reveal biceps bulging under the strain. They look nothing like the guys riding around on the Segways. As they draw closer I realize they’re both wearing tight shorts and also that they’re clearly male models just dressed as pseudo mall security.

  Everything feels surreal right now. I look for an exit, but the crowd has gathered all around us on both sides.

  The next thing I know, the large shopping bags have been placed in front of us and Her Highness is hugging one of the security guards. The other stops to smell her lavender hair, and she poses between them in a way that makes me blush and look away.

  The crowd woots and whistles so loud it convinces even more people to wander over from the far reaches of the Fashion Fair Mall to see what’s going on. I’m feeling more trapped by the moment and the vise in my chest begins to tighten again. It feels as if the oxygen in this mall is too thick to breathe, and I start to sweat out of nowhere.