Warpaint

by J J Maya

  “What’s up Jake? Haven’t seen you in a long time.” The two men high fived and hugged like a pair of long-lost brothers. Then Gino turned his attention to me, “Who is this then, your girlfriend?” I blushed as Jake blundered, “This is my good friend, Willow. She’s from Glasgow.”

  Gino looked at me and then at Jake and cracked a wicked grin but chose to say nothing.

  “Glasgow, eh? You’ll know my uncle Roberto then?”

  “I hardly think so,” I said. “It’s a big city.”

  “He runs an Italian food store just off Buchanan Street…you’ll know when you see it.” He trailed off, “Look, I’ll leave you two love birds alone…anything you need, you call me Jake.”

  I didn’t know who was more embarrassed, Jake or me.

  So, this is how we look? I thought. Like lovebirds? Shit!

  Jake took a pew in the seat opposite me and offered a quiet apology. “Sorry about that,” he said, “he gets a bit carried away with himself sometimes.”

  Jake appeared like he regretted his decision to bring me into the café and I didn’t for the life of me know how to turn the situation around. We ate our brunch in silence, staying perhaps a little more over 20 minutes.

  As we stepped out into the street, Jake pulled up his collar and hugged me lightly, “I’d best be off, Willow. I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

  My heart surged with disappointment. “Ok then,” I hesitated, looking at him, “See you tomorrow then.” We both went our separate ways.

  Willow Campbell, what the fuck is going on with you?

  25

  Being Fabulous

  IT WAS A bitterly cold morning in early February. Mrs. G had been indicted for harbouring illegals in her store and had been sentenced to six months behind bars at the York Correctional Institution in Connecticut. We had all been taking it in turns to call her as she continued to organise the New York Makeup Artistry Competition from the stark surroundings of her cell. Overall, her spirits were high considering she was about to lose everything she had taken decades to build up.

  “Did you follow up with Carlotta? What time is she due to arrive at the airport?” she asked during one of her terse phone calls.

  “Yes, she’s arriving at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Will she have an entourage with her? Is she arriving alone or will some of her team be with her?”

  “As far as I know, she’ll be arriving alone. Rose has arranged for a car to go pick her up, but you know Carlotta…she’ll be wanting to stop off uptown to meet up with some of her celeb friends.”

  Mrs. G replied, “Yes, I heard The Muse is in town this week.”

  My heart missed a beat.

  “The Muse? Is that who I think it is? No! It can’t be!” I yelled happily.

  Is she coming along too?” I bellowed, attracting the attention of the other workers in the staff room.

  “Who knows? They’re best friends, aren’t they?” she replied nonchalantly as if talking about Carlotta and the supermodel known as The Muse was an everyday conversation for her.

  I tried to envision doing a makeover on the world’s top supermodel, watched over by the world’s best Makeup Artist. Mrs. G interrupted my daydream.

  “I think it’s time for you to go now,” she said.

  I looked over my shoulder to see Isabella staring back at me. She was right, my call was up, and I didn’t want to spend any longer on the phone and get Mrs. G reprimanded or myself, for that matter.

  Mrs. G sighed, letting her stoic guard down for a few revealing seconds.

  “Now you have all the instructions in your head, haven’t you? Carlotta likes Valdo so make sure the office wine refrigerator is full and you can use the crystal glasses that I keep in a box in my office.”

  “I’ve got it all under control. Don’t worry,” I replied, figuring the more confidently I dealt with proceedings the more content Mrs. G would feel.

  . “I’ll call you next week when it’s all over and done with,” I responded

  “After all this hard work, you better win that trophy – you hear me?”

  “I’ll do my best Mrs. Gerson.”

  ***

  It felt good to hear Mrs. G in high spirits considering the circumstances, and it felt even better to be regarded as her go-to-girl for all things concerning the makeup competition. I knew Mrs. G was rooting for me and I didn’t want to let her or myself down.

  I opened my makeup bag and repainted my lipstick

  No matter which set of circumstances you find yourself in there’s no excuse for not being fabulous.

  At the end of my shift, I walked a few steps to the subway and caught the underground train to my new apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. A multitude of thoughts rushed through my head as I deduced that New York certainly seemed to be rubbing off on me.

  In the short time since I had moved into my new accommodation, I had painted the interior white and added a bold hue of colour with velvet accessories bought with my staff discount at D’Arcy’s. I had chosen a regal royal blue to accent the tiny living room area and had descended into frou-frou girly pink in the bathroom. I imagined changing out the bland white subway tiles for art deco pink outlined by a gold-hued grout but I knew that was never going to happen so I added pops of colour any way I could. The result was a calming ambiance and a welcome escape from the busy city streets of West Manhattan.

  Each morning, I awoke and had to pinch myself that one of my ambitions in life had come true – a Manhattan address. I kept the yellow book close by my bed. It was a stark reminder of how we really are the masters of our own destiny…with a few helpers along the way.

  The only downside was the distance between Jake and I. After we had been referred to as “lovebirds” by his friend, we both backed off from each other. I hadn’t wanted to become involved with another man and I’m guessing Jake had his own reasons for keeping his distance. It was a shame. We had both been getting along so well.

  26

  Cat Flick

  CARLOTTA STRODE UP and down the aisles of D’Arcy’s beauty hall, her flame of red hair falling in voluptuous waves as she navigated her way around the contestants. We were all held in an almost hypnotic trance, watching her as she graced the walkways. No one could believe that Mrs. G held such sway over one of the world’s leading makeup artists and had gotten her to fly all the way over to New York from England to judge our competition. It seemed incredible to us but, knowing Mrs. G as I did now, I reckoned these two must have met up more than once in the past because nothing seemed to be too much trouble for Carlotta Rossellini.

  It was obvious to me that Mrs. G had been giving orders from her cell room, as every detail of the competition had been thought out in advance and nothing had been left to chance. I sat in front of my makeup table patiently waiting for my model who was going to be sitting in the director’s chair. It was a rule of the competition that no one would see their model until the day of the competition, which only served to heighten the anxiety levels even further.

  The press had already arrived and had positioned themselves near the podium where the prizes would be presented. I spotted the photographer and reporter who had initially leaked the story to the press, but I pretended not to recognise them. It was one more situation than I could deal with right now and I had to focus on the task ahead of me.

  Over to the side of me were three other makeup artists all of whom represented their New York stores: there was Glenda, a tall brunette beauty from Macy’s who had a 15-year reputation in town, Jane from Nordstrom, and Lora, the youngest one from Saks Fifth Avenue. Word on the shop floor was that these three women represented the crème de la crème of New York makeup artistry talent.

  Lost in thought, I flicked specks of pink peony powder from my workstation and sorted my brushes for the tenth time that hour.

  “Excuse me, but are you Willow?”

  I looked up to see Carlotta Rossellini staring back at me. Her e
yes sparkled and her smile contained a hint of mirth as if she knew something I didn’t.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I replied. Oh My God! It’s her!

  What have I done to deserve this privilege?

  “Very pleased to meet you,” Carlotta held out her hand for me to shake it, “Gigi has told me a lot about you.”

  "All good, I hope?” I asked.

  I braced myself for her answer, but Carlotta was the consummate professional, careful not to entangle herself in any situations that could be misconstrued as favouritism.

  “That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” she replied cheekily. Carlotta laughed and then winked, “I’ll be bringing your model out shortly, just as soon as everyone has settled down a little.”

  “Fantastic! I’m excited to finally meet her.”

  “You’ll not be disappointed – that’s for sure!”

  “Willow…”

  I turned around to see Carlotta holding hands with the world’s most recognisable supermodel.

  “Nadia got held up in traffic, so this young lady has agreed to stand in as your model today. I hope you don’t mind?”

  I looked at Carlotta who was smiling back at me, enjoying every second, as I experienced the biggest shock of my life.

  You hope I don’t mind? You hope that I don’t mind?!?

  I gulped, speechless. I couldn’t get a freakin’ sound out of my mouth. It took all my might just to smile. Inside I was trembling, I was going to be doing a makeover on one of the most photographed women in the world. Me? How could this be?

  I thought about Mrs. G sitting in her cell.

  Had she engineered this?

  The Muse smiled and asked if she could sit down. Her feet were aching, and she was jetlagged. She told me she was looking forward to sitting down and doing nothing for 45 minutes, getting proper rest. She asked if she could have a glass of coke—she said she might even give me some suggestions on her eyeliner if that was OK.

  Carlotta had already left at this point to attend to some other pre-competition problem that needed solving, leaving me to navigate my way around a situation I would never have dreamed of finding myself in – applying makeup to a supermodel.

  I needn’t have worried. I was as immediately at ease with her London accent as she was with my Glaswegian one. She told me about the Scottish friends she hung around with and how she regularly came up to stay in the Scottish Highlands, just to get away from it all. In turn, I regaled her with stories of how I came to befriend a Londoner in New York.

  I did make a mental note not to discuss my situation with Rick, as I knew that she’d had problems with her men in the past and I was sure this was not the right time to broach that subject.

  Carlotta took to the podium to make her opening speech about how honoured she was to be invited to open the first National Retail Makeup Artistry Competition. She alluded to how Gigi Gerson supported and nurtured the careers of makeup artists in New York, while still managing to expertly gloss over the fact that Mrs. G was doing jail time. I’m sure the press would figure that one out for themselves.

  Then we were off. The clock was ticking and there was no time to spare. As I cleansed and toned my model’s skin, I thought about the amount of time she must have spent in the makeup chair having her makeup applied by the world’s best artists, and now it was my turn. I just hoped I was up to the task.

  My hands were trembling slightly as I applied the cat flick synonymous with the supermodel.

  I had never performed a makeover on such an exquisite face before. I was fascinated by the bone structure under her smooth porcelain skin and with each second, I became entranced at how her face seemed to transform before my eyes.

  I lit the tops of her cheekbones, making sure that the highlighter didn’t distract too much from her natural beauty, and applied a little concealer to the inner corners of her cat-like eyes. My model was completely at ease in the chair and I could tell that she really was exhausted from all the travelling she had done over the last few weeks. For her, jumping on a jet to get to work was the equivalent of me jumping on the nearest subway and travelling into the city.

  Carlotta had made it very clear to the photographers that they weren’t allowed to come near the models while they were in the chair. It suddenly struck me that for someone like her, who was relentlessly hounded by cameras, either by camera-toting members of the public or the paparazzi, my little makeover chair, for a short time, represented peace, quiet, and safety away from prying eyes. The only person who could come near us during the makeover was Carlotta, herself.

  Twenty minutes into the makeover, The Muse began to emerge from her slumbering state. Over the years, she had mastered the skill of snoozing while sitting upright, but I sensed she was beginning to get antsy.

  “Oops, do you mind if I go for a pee break?” she asked as I finished preparing a blend of eye shadow colours.

  “Yes, of course. The toilets are just over there to the right,” I stated, almost relieved that she would be leaving me for a few moments.

  “Perfect! Thanks.”

  With my model away at the bathroom and Carlotta scrutinising the other contestants, I had five minutes to finally exhale.

  OMG! OMG! Oh, my God!

  This moment had just become the highlight of my career and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I looked over at the other contestants and noticed that they were all in deep concentration working on their own models.

  But they don’t have a freakin’ supermodel sitting in their chair!

  Gathering myself together, I attempted to regain my composure and use the time to prep my tools and table, making sure that everything was pristine and perfect for my model’s return. This was one of those occasions that was too much to take in all at once, but I knew that later when I looked back on this, I would smile to myself and tell anyone who was prepared to listen that I once did makeup for the hottest supermodel in the world.

  Yikes! She’s coming back! Get it together Willow! Stay calm. I told myself.

  The Muse had changed into a pair of pink Repetto ballet pumps and was flashing her famous crooked smile as she walked towards me.

  “Thank goodness for flat shoes! I always carry a spare pair in my bag just in case.”

  I smiled and indicated for her to look at my feet – we were both wearing the same shoes!

  She smiled at me, “They’re the best, aren’t they?” Then she exhaled loudly before throwing herself up into the director’s chair.

  I finally got a grip and convinced myself she was just a woman from London who had worked hard and made it big in the fickle world of fashion.

  “How do you do it?” I asked, as I purposefully smudged the eyeliner at the corner of her eye.

  “Do what?”

  “Keep it all together. How do you keep going when there’s someone waiting to photograph you every second of the day?”

  “Easy! Shades on, head down, and go, go, go!” she quipped while checking messages on her phone.

  She flashed me a wicked smile, revealing the sharp incisors that she refused to tamper with. I had to admire her, in a world of Botoxed beauties with perfect teeth, she was a true stand out girl, supremely comfortable in her own skin. My admiration for her grew even more.

  Twenty-five minutes later, an anticipatory hush swept over the crowd as Carlotta took to the podium to announce that there were only 5 minutes left of the competition. I surveyed the carefully defined features of my model’s exquisite face; her eyes were closed but the almond-shaped outline of her upper eyelid had been carefully outlined in black liner. Her cupid lips were lined with red pencil and coloured in Dolce Vita by Dior; the stunning red that Isabella had used to showcase her artwork on Rick’s bathroom mirror all those months ago. Even models like her had their imperfections, though. Her laughter lines were evidence of a life well-lived, and I quietly hoped that she would stay away from fillers and Botox; no amount of Botox should
ever be allowed to blur those lines out.

  Finally, Carlotta took the microphone in her hand and announced that the competition was over and that we had to put our brushes down. Adam Lambert was belting out “Superstar” on the store loudspeakers while Carlotta walked around each of the contestants, examining the makeovers and making notes in her pink leather agenda.

  The atmosphere was strangely hushed, but the air seemed electrified by the collective anticipation. The other women had been itching to come over to my workstation to meet my model, but strangely for them they had stayed put at their stations, leaving The Muse and I to continue our chat. She was staring deep into the hand-held mirror, scrutinising every inch of her sculpted face. Personally, I thought I had done an amazing job but wasn’t quite sure how she would react.

  The Muse noticed that one side of the eyeliner looked a little wonky. Without thinking, she began to touch up the mistake.

  Worried that Carlotta would notice, I knew that we were breaking the rules of the competition, but I couldn’t quite find the strength to pluck up the courage to say anything to the world’s top supermodel. I gritted my teeth in silence, hoping and praying that no-one would notice.

  In a flash, my attention was caught by Lora from Saks who, unbeknownst to me, had been staring over at us this whole time.

  Shit! If she says anything. — I’m out.

  I looked back at Lora, silently begging her not to say anything as The Muse handed the pencil back to me.

  That was when she realised in an instant the gravity of her actions.

  “Oh no! I shouldn’t have done that; you could be disqualified. Shit, I’m just so used to applying my own makeup…so sorry!”

  I found myself in the very strange position of having to console my model while Carlotta stood only a few feet away talking to Lora and her model. I couldn’t hear what they were saying instead, I studied their body language. Then all three turned to stare at The Muse and me.

  “Sorry! I shouldn’t have done that!” she said, her face filled with angst.