Make Up Break Up

by Lily Menon

  She couldn’t exactly wail to June about how unnerved she was feeling. June wasn’t just her best friend, she was her employee—she needed to see Annika take charge and be in control. She needed to see Annika say, “Okay, we’re headed into a storm, and this is how we need to steer this ship.”

  Today, she was hoping her dad would be the sounding board she needed, so that she could figure out what her next steps would be. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to save the office space, but there could be an alternative to shuttering the doors that she hadn’t thought of yet. Her dad had successfully run his own private practice for almost twenty years. He had to have some advice.

  “Ani,” he said when he answered the door, looking freshly showered in a pale purple polo shirt and linen pants, his salt-and-pepper hair still damp. His eyes anxiously searched hers behind his wire-frame glasses, taking in the sight of her, her rumpled cotton dress, the bags under her eyes, her hair pulled back in a frizzy ponytail. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Daddy.” She stepped forward and put her arms around his waist, inhaling the comforting scent of the Armani Autumn Smoke cologne he’d worn for as long as she could remember. They didn’t even make it anymore, but her dad ordered it from some warehouse in Milan that specialized in out-of-stock luxury items. That was how unwilling he was to try anything new.

  Pulling back, she smiled up at him. “Can I get some of your mango juice, though?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, stepping out of the doorway so she could walk in. “Let’s sit down in the great room.”

  * * *

  Annika took a deep gulp of the fresh-squeezed mango juice her dad always had in the fridge. “Mm.” She closed her eyes. “So good. Thanks, Dad.”

  “Of course.” He patted her knee and sat back in his leather armchair, watching her from behind his glasses. Annika could tell it was taking every fiber of his willpower to not demand she tell him everything.

  Setting the juice on the coffee table, Annika folded her legs on the couch and settled back against its comfortable taupe cushions. She pulled a cashmere throw over her legs. Playing with its fringe, she said quietly, “I got some bad news about the business. From the bank.”

  She didn’t dare look up at her father; she wanted to give him the chance to rearrange his face into an expression other than fear or concern or worry. There was silence for a moment or two.

  “What kind of bad news?” her dad asked stiffly.

  “They’re going to begin eviction proceedings,” Annika said, her voice barely above a whisper. “In July. We were supposed to have our prototype ready for this big pitch contest coming up, but it’s not ready, which means we probably won’t win. And if we don’t win, we won’t have money to pay the bank.” When she finally did look up at her dad, she found him gazing steadily at her.

  He nodded once. “Okay. I’ll make some calls.”

  Annika’s heart leapt. Of course! Her dad had connections everywhere. She’d thought they were all medicine related, but he had a lot of money—it stood to reason that some of his connections would be in the financial sector. “Really? You’d do that for me?” It just went to show, your dad would always be on your side. It didn’t matter if you butted heads.

  “Yes. The dean of medicine over at UCLA is an old friend. I’m sure he could slip the dates a bit for you. If you hurry, you can take the MCATs and fill out an application. He can get you in in the fall semester.”

  Annika stared at him. Her heart plunged into the pit of ice water that was her stomach. “You … you’re talking about medical school.”

  “Well, yes.” He knitted his eyebrows together, as if this should’ve been obvious. “What else is left to do?”

  Much as she was trying to restrain herself, Annika could feel her emotions beginning to bubble over, like they usually did around her dad. It was like this house was a time-traveling capsule; she got whooshed back to her teen years the moment she stepped through the door.

  Annika threw her hands up in the air. “I could try to save my business? I could maybe not give up so easily?”

  Her father watched her like she was an alien descending from a giant glowing spaceship. “Why are you getting so upset?”

  Annika spluttered. “Are you serious? Dad, we’ve been having this same exact conversation for almost a year. You just refuse to listen. I. Don’t. Want. To. Go. To. Medical. School. I’m a business owner. My business is called Make Up.”

  Her dad cleared his throat, as if he were buying time, trying to think about how to say what he wanted to say. “But … will you have a business by the end of the summer? It doesn’t sound like it.”

  Annika grabbed her head with both hands. “Dad! Don’t you see how unsupportive that is? Don’t you understand that your complete lack of enthusiasm for my career, for my passion, is a constant cloud hanging over my head?” She took a breath and looked her father in his bewildered face. “Do you know you’re half the reason I even came up with the idea in the first place?

  “I wanted to do something that would be an homage to your love for Mom. I couldn’t give you guys a second chance, but maybe I could give other people that chance. I wanted Make Up to be a place where lost, lonely people could come to believe in the power of love again. Sure, I’m stumbling right now. But I refuse to believe it’s over.” As she spoke, Annika realized it was true. She couldn’t give up. Not now, not ever. This was Make Up, her baby. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Annika flung the throw to the side and stood. Her voice shook as she said, “I’m just sorry you don’t see that. I’m sorry you don’t believe in me or my dreams. Because I really could’ve used your support.” Brushing away her tears with a fist, she walked to the door.

  “Ani,” her dad began. “Wait.”

  “No, Dad. I’m done talking about this.” She yanked open the heavy front door and strode into the fading light of dusk, got into her car, and drove down the street before pulling over and texting June.

  We’re not gonna give up without a fight.

  June’s response came back immediately. No we are NOT

  Annika sat back and smiled. They would do this. She was going to save Make Up with every last scrap of ferocity she had in her.

  Her phone dinged again. Does this mean you’re in the mood to go to that housewarming party with me tomorrow night? Didn’t want to remind you before …

  Oh, right. She’d completely forgotten. Yeah sure. Sounds like it’ll be a good networking event. Let’s do it.

  THAT’S MY BAD BITCH RIGHT THERE

  Annika laughed, feeling a spike of energy and confidence, and began to drive again.

  * * *

  On Wednesday night, Annika and June made their way up to the penthouse suite of a high-rise in a special, gold-dusted elevator.

  “This elevator has a touch screen,” Annika said, staring. “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “It’s really flashy, right?” June looked impressed, even though she herself had grown up in a twenty-bedroom, four-kitchen mansion. “This guy must be doing well for himself.”

  Annika frowned. “You really don’t know whose housewarming party we’re going to? Are you sure this is going to be okay?”

  June waved an ombre-nail-polished hand. “Lucy said it’d be fine. She got to invite whoever she wanted, and she wanted to invite me.” She flashed Annika a big smile. “And I wanted to invite you. Look at it this way, sugar. After your disastrous date with Alesandro and subsequent ambush by Hudson, you deserve this night. Maybe you’ll meet your prince in this palace!” She swept her arm around her in a grand, very June gesture.

  Annika shifted her present from one hand to another. “Okay, but if I get thrown out by a scary bouncer, I’m blaming you. Also, by the way, who throws a housewarming party on a Wednesday night? That’s so random.”

  The doors pinged open onto a marble-floored foyer. A wave of sound swelled and crashed over them; there had to be two dozen people here that Annika could see, clustered
around the canape table and standing near potted palm trees.

  June raised an eyebrow. “I guess all these people don’t mind.”

  Annika adjusted her purse strap with one hand, shifted the present she was carrying for their unnamed host in the other, and followed June out, suddenly wobbly in her stilettos. She checked herself out in an enormous mirror opposite them. She looked pretty good, she thought, in a green wrap dress and a simple emerald pendant her dad had given her when she graduated college. She had a bit of cleavage on display, but not enough to be gauche. June, of course, looked stunning in a bright yellow dress and shiny hot pink Prada pumps.

  “This must be the present table.” June set her prettily wrapped box next to hordes of others on a gleaming wooden table off to their left. Annika followed suit, looking around at the other guests at the same time.

  Oh my god. “June.” Annika grabbed her elbow.

  “What?” June looked completely unbothered, her blue eyes roving the crowd. She grabbed a champagne glass off a silver tray a waiter brought by.

  “I think I just saw Briana Grant,” Annika hissed. “Right there.” She tried to gesture discreetly with her chin.

  June waved a casual hand, causing her Tiffany bracelets to clink together. “Oh, don’t worry about all her Grammys. Briana’s really easygoing. You want me to introduce you?”

  “You know her?” Annika knew June had connections thanks to her parents, but she’d always told her she hated the celebrity scene and tried to keep a low profile.

  “Well, not know her, exactly—we’re more like acquaintan—”

  She was interrupted by high-pitched squealing. “June Stewart?”

  They both turned in the direction of the French-accented female voice. A thin, tall red-haired woman dressed in a sparkly tulle dress was making her way toward them. Annika recognized her immediately; she’d been in practically all the Vogues all over the world.

  June stepped forward with her own shriek of recognition. “Lucy! Sugar! Thanks for inviting us!”

  The two air-kissed and hugged, and then June turned to Annika, her eyes bright. “This is my friend and boss, Annika Dev. She’s the owner of Make Up! Remember I told you about her?”

  “Oh, oui, of course!” Lucy grinned. “The creative genius!”

  Oh my god, Annika thought. Lucy Bilodeau just called me a creative genius. She took Lucy’s hand and felt one of her giant diamond rings press into her flesh. Shaking her hand was worth the pain. “It’s so good to meet you. And thank you so much for the invitation. Although—June didn’t seem to know—whose house are we in?”

  Lucy shrugged, her statement bell necklace tinkling a little. “I was invited by my friend Katie. I’m sure whoever it is will make an appearance at some point.” She turned to June suddenly. “Oh my god. Speaking of Katie … have you heard the news about Aidan?”

  “No, what happened?”

  “Oh, it’s the saddest thing! Remember that snake venom diet he saw in Vogue Italia and wanted to try out? Come with me, I’m sure Gabrielle will want to tell you more…” Lucy began to lead June away.

  June turned. “Wait, just a minute. Annika—”

  Annika waved her away. “No, go. I’ll be fine. I’ll just mill around and hopefully find the host so I can say hi.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep!” Annika forced an easy smile, as if milling around a bunch of beautiful, famous people was her usual Wednesday evening activity.

  Her smile faded as June was swallowed into a group of people and more shrieking arose, likely at June’s appearance. Annika was three steps into the fabulous condo, and she was already lost and alone. She glanced at herself in the mirror again. “Stop it. You are Annika Dev. You don’t need June or anyone else to hold your hand. This is for Make Up.” She took a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, tossed her hair back, straightened her shoulders, and stepped into the elegant melee.

  chapter eleven

  Oh, god. Celebrities were exhausting.

  Just when you thought one of them looked friendly and approachable enough to not obliterate your ego, they would be approached by other celebrities who were much, much cooler than you. Annika stood awkwardly on the balcony among small clusters of people. Only she was cluster-less, like a free-floating dandelion fluff. All the other fluffs clung to their seedpods or whatever, happily belonging. Annika was sure there was a neon sign above her head in her blind spot that said, LOSER. DO NOT ENGAGE.

  She took another sip of champagne and wandered around until she came to a small group of people standing under one of the hanging lanterns. There was a middle-aged man in a red Hawaiian shirt, a woman in a flowy purple tunic, and a younger man in trendy glasses.

  “I heard this year’s EPIC is going to be completely dominated by Break Up,” the younger man said to the other two. “I’m not even sure who else is competing.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t.” The woman laughed, tapping away at her phone. “Break Up’s obviously going to take the prize. Come on, I’m dying for a drink.” They wandered away.

  What? Annika walked over and smiled at the man in the Hawaiian shirt, who hadn’t said anything and was left behind. “Hi.” She reached into her purse with her free hand for her card. “I heard you guys talking about EPIC. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s this new app, Make Up, that’s a serious contender. I’m Annika Dev, and I’m the CEO and founder.” She held out her card, but the man looked at it blankly, as if he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps he was from another culture, where cards weren’t passed out regularly. “This is my business card,” Annika explained. “I own a business, Make Up—”

  The younger man with the trendy glasses noticed their interaction and rushed back to the middle-aged man’s side. “Sorry, Phil’s on a vow of silence right now. He can’t talk.” The younger man gazed deeply into Phil’s eyes before turning back to Annika. “But Phil would like you to know that you have very nice chakras.”

  Phil nodded seriously and bowed.

  Annika blinked. “Oh. Um, yeah … okay then.” She pulled her business card back. “Good luck with the … the vow. Of silence.” Not completely sure she wasn’t being trolled, she walked off and stepped back into the house.

  “Oh my god,” someone said, but Annika kept walking; surely they weren’t talking to her. But then she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a young woman with a sandy-colored, geometric bob staring at her like she’d invented pumpkin spice lattes. “Oh my god,” the young woman said again, her palms pressed up against her cheeks. “I am such a huge fan.”

  Annika frowned. “Of…?”

  “You! You were hilarious in Bollywood Mix-Up! I read your books, all of them, and they changed my li—”

  “Um.” Annika looked around, as if someone would materialize to help extract her from this hideous situation. “I’m not…” She leaned in close. “I’m not Rosie Singh.” The woman just stared at her. “The Indian actress? I’m not her.”

  The woman laughed uproariously, the ends of her bob bouncing. “Oh my god, that’s so funny. Are you, like, incognito right now? I promise I won’t tell anyone else. But if you could sign my napkin, that would be so amazing.” She brandished a cocktail napkin.

  Annika stared at it, and then at the woman. Another swell of laughter rose behind her; clearly people were merrily unaware of the train wreck of a conversation taking place right in front of them. “No … seriously. I’m not Rosie. Like, at all.”

  The woman mimed zipping her lips. “I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone. Please? It would mean so much to me—you have no idea.” She pulled a pen out of her purse and pressed it into Annika’s hand.

  Annika had the distinct impression she wasn’t going to get out of this one. Pausing to look at the woman one more time, she took the napkin from her. “I’m … going to sign this, then.”

  The woman nodded, her palms pressed against her cheeks. She looked like she might cry.

  Awesome. Annika looked around
for a spot to put the napkin and the woman said, “Here, let me.” She turned around, offering her back. “Can you make it out to Stacy?” she asked over her shoulder. “Just a ‘y,’ no ‘e.’”

  Annika pressed the napkin against Stacy’s back, careful not to let the pen puncture through the napkin and into Stacy’s back—it would be such a shame if that happened—and scrawled a signature that could’ve really said anything—Annika, Rosie … it could’ve been a sketch of a groundhog carcass. “Okay. All done!”

  Stacy turned and took the napkin, beaming like she’d swallowed a light bulb. “Oh my god, thank you, thank you! You’re so amazing. Keep being you.” She scurried off, and Annika heard her say, “Oh my god, Ava, you’re never going to believe what just happened!”

  Sighing, Annika walked through the living room, which was full of a cacophonous mixture of pulsing music and chattering, squealing, and laughing. She pushed past clusters of people who looked either über-techie, sadly underfed, alarmingly over-tanned, or completely wasted—sometimes all at the same time. No one gave her a second look. She’d lost sight of June a long time ago, and whoever the host was, they were not easy to find. Deciding she’d take a quick break in a quieter part of the house—if she could find one—Annika picked her way down a long hallway.

  * * *

  There were fewer people in this hallway, but still enough chatting together in tight clusters that Annika had to shove some of them out of the way before they’d step aside. She continued her path through the haze of perfume and cologne. Closed doors greeted her on either side, and the hallway dead-ended in a large pedestal, on which was poised a gorgeous, sinuous sculpture made of iridescent white stone.

  At first Annika thought it was a teardrop, but then she noticed arms folded against a shapely torso, a neck bent with a head on the end like a dandelion at the end of its stalk, and realized she was looking at a sculpture of a woman. Gently, she ran her fingers over the cool stone, marveling at the craftsmanship.