“I’m Alex.” Taking Monica’s lead, I dive into my temporary workstation. I meet Emma’s eyes in the mirror. She mouths Good luck! I reply with a silent scream, but then smile to make sure she knows how grateful I am for this incredible opportunity. Thank you.
“Okay, bye,” Emma says aloud. She winks at me and then is gone.
“Andy, can you clear my trailer?” Hillary demands in a very casual tone. I try not to flinch at Emma’s quick exit.
“I’ll have paperwork for you to fill out later, Alex. Thanks again for stepping in. You’ll be done in plenty of time to get to that photo shoot you mentioned later. Glamour magazine, did you say?” And then, without waiting for an answer, Andy’s gone. Leaving me alone with Monica and Hillary P.
I go for a laugh, hoping Hillary won’t quiz me on any of the ridiculous lies he told about my résumé, but it sounds fake, so I just shut up.
“Did Wolfgang Puck cook for you himself?” Monica asks Hillary, drawing her into conversation. I send her a grateful glance, aware that she’s rescued me, at least for now, with her distraction. Luckily, it’s a story Hillary’s been dying to tell, and she regales us with the tale of her delicious meal at Spago. Hillary’s description of her sixteen-course experience with the head chef himself cooking sounds out of this world. Between cleaning up the scattered products and Googling images of Hillary P. to get an idea of how she likes her makeup done, it’s easy to forget that Hillary never once asked anyone about Bridget’s health.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“It’s only noon on Wednesday and I need a cocktail. Is that bad?” I’m watching Hillary on the monitor backstage as Emma stands next to me putting finishing touches on a plate. This is my third day on the job, and somehow it already feels like a lifetime.
“No, it’s a normal reaction around here. There’s a cool bar near the studio where we all decompress after bad days,” she says quickly. “You survived. That’s what’s important.”
“You offered me up thinking I couldn’t do it?”
“Of course not, I knew you could. But for a second there I was worried you would crack under the pressure.”
I shoot her my best attempt at Hillary P.’s patented death stare. “I’m surprised she hasn’t killed people with that stare.”
“Well, you’re here again today, aren’t you? You chose to come back. Even after experiencing your first smackdown.”
“I know. Don’t remind me.” Hillary laid into me the second we got back to her trailer last night. I never saw it coming, was so stunned, in fact, that I couldn’t even remember all the details to do a proper play-by-play for Emma afterward.
“The director had to make me change my lipstick? What the fuck do you think your job is?” Luckily she didn’t wait for me to answer that question; she just kept yelling. “You are supposed to check the monitors. You’re the professional, you should know better than to put orange lipstick on someone with my skin tone. I mean, this is network television, for God’s sake.”
And then I sort of realized she’d stopped talking to just glare at me. Clearly expecting me to explain myself. “I’m so sorry, Hillary. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t.” She scoffed before taking off her high heels and tossing them aside. Next, her earrings skidded across the white countertop. Losing four inches did not detract from her intimidating aura at all. “Can you even explain what happened? I’m not interested in worthless apologies if you can’t even figure out what went wrong.”
“I thought my monitor was just a bit off. I checked it in the natural light before you went onstage. In real life it’s just a bit coral is all, so I—”
“Well, real life doesn’t matter, does it? When all of America could’ve seen me in orange fucking lipstick.” And just when I was thinking about putting down my set kit and walking out—I didn’t sign up to be her punching bag—she suddenly took in this huge breath and then came over to me. “Yelling isn’t going to get us anywhere, is it? I just, well… I guess I have really big trust issues. And I thought I could count on you, that’s all.” Somehow she’d totally transformed from vengeful witch into hurt victim in front of my eyes.
“It won’t happen again,” I found myself repeating. “Now that I understand how the lighting affects things on set, I get it.”
“Okay, okay.” Hillary sighed again and then gave me a hug. Which was super awkward. “Everyone has a learning curve. And luckily Tom, the director, had your back today. But you can’t always rely on that, right?” She turned her back to me, cleaning her face, looking at me through the mirror.
“Right, of course.”
“And I just need to know you’ll be there for me. Okay?” Hillary dropped the towel she’d been using and turned to me again, waiting for an answer. Her face, clean of makeup, reminded me how human she is. That of course there’s stuff going on with her, just like anyone else. And the pressure is probably really intense. And for her to be honest with me about her trust issues, well, that really said something.
“Yes, Hillary. I won’t let you down.”
As the memory of how we ended things yesterday echoes in my mind, it sounds oddly like a promise. One I mean to live up to. I’m discovering that being a makeup artist is kind of like being someone’s shrink. Like maybe bartenders and manicurists, those jobs where people really open up to you. I probably saw a side of Hillary P. yesterday that most people never get to see. And it makes me feel oddly protective of her.
Back to the present, with Emma still going on about my temporary position on the show… “I only mean… Hillary doesn’t like just anybody. It’s pretty amazing that she let you stay to do the whole week. You should take that as a huge compliment.”
“I do. Totally. Working this week on Everyday Life with Hillary got me into the union. I will always be grateful to her for that.”
“That’s a big thing?”
“Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass, and everyone at makeup school talked about how that’s the big hurdle. But thanks to you and Hillary, I’m in.” I can’t believe how it’s all worked out. After this, it will be so much easier to get booked on jobs. So many opportunities require active status in the union, but no one will get you in. “I’m buying first round tonight.”
“Sounds good to me,” Emma says, but she’s clearly distracted by her work. Jean Paul, the head chef in Hillary’s kitchen, steps up to Emma and she is immediately 100 percent focused on her work.
As I head out to set during the commercial break, I evaluate my chance to get in close for a touch-up. I’m a fast learner; all it took for me to get the idea was Hillary biting my head off the first time I tried to touch her up while she was talking to someone. A simple “Not now” would have done the trick.
But Hillary P. keeps her cool in front of her live studio audience. I figured out quickly that she has no trouble putting on a cheerful, engaging smile for her fans while simultaneously compiling a mental list of mistakes to bitch you out about later in the trailer. Or having someone else handle the public humiliation for her. Apparently everyone on set has had their turn at this; I heard a bunch of stories afterward. But of course my turn happened at the end of the week of LA shows, in front of the more-handsome-in-person-than-is-fair Billy Fox.
FRIDAY MORNING I wake up ready to take on the world. My parents have made all their friends watch Hillary’s show this week to support me. It’s the first time they’ve really been able to pinpoint a career success of mine. It’s already eighty degrees as I head to the location, and those dreary days of filing in the stuffy Pool Paradise offices seem like ancient history.
I go through the routine, snapping my hand out of Monica’s way as she tugs on Hillary’s hair while I’m trying to apply mascara. It’s nice to feel a sense of confidence and pride about what I do.
I watch from my spot at the side of the stage, as Hillary does the first portion of her interview with Billy Fox. It’s impossible not to be charmed by him. And not just because he’s a movie star, eith
er. Billy actually seems like a genuinely nice guy. I haven’t seen a lot of his movies, but of course I know who he is. I’ve watched his fight sequence in the Tarantino movie in slow motion at least a hundred times for the special effects makeup on his wounds. It was so incredibly realistic. And that was before CGI. The makeup department on the HBO series he was on won an Emmy last year—there was one episode that had incredible age makeup on him in a flash-forward. He didn’t bring an entourage with him, so I know his sexily mussed sandy blond hair is not the result of hours of blow-drying. And those sky blue eyes just naturally draw you in. No beauty school tricks there. His lashes really are that thick.
Hillary and Billy seem to be casually chatting during the commercial break, so it would have been easy to forget everything and just ogle the celebrity guest, as several of my coworkers were doing. I, on the other hand, pull myself together and casually walk up with my set bag to fix Hillary’s lipstick. She lets me apply some fresh powder to her forehead, saying nothing, so I figure everything is good. I turn and offer to fix the shine on Billy’s forehead (it gets really hot under the set lights), knowing he doesn’t have someone watching him on set. Digging through my bag for a fresh powder puff gives me a second to recover from the charm of his smile. I’ve barely finished the touch-up when Andy is at my shoulder. I look at him questioningly.
“You need to get offstage now, Alex.” I look around, perplexed. There is other crew still working; we obviously have another minute before countdown.
“Andy…” Hillary sounds hesitant. But somehow it means something else to Andy. Since I’m close enough to him, I see him flinch.
“Damn it, newbie. Get off my stage. We’ve got to go.” Andy shoos me off the stage, yelling, “Someday people will understand what ‘clear the set’ means!”
Once he’s hustled me backstage, I whisper, “Andy, I’m so sorry, I had no idea I was slowing down production. I didn’t hear you call—” But he doesn’t let me finish explaining.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” He pats my shoulder. “I’ll explain later.” And he’s gone off to cue the next food station to be brought to its mark on set. The show is back from commercial, live to the East Coast. As soon as everything is settled on the stage and things appear to be running smoothly, most of the crew breaks away from the backstage wings area, where you can watch the show, to rush back to their stations and get to work finishing the next thing. Emma and the rest of the kitchen staff are putting the final touches on some dishes that will magically appear from Hillary P.’s ovens, having been snuck in during the next commercial break, the flawless demonstration of “how to pull off a perfect baked ham, just in time for Easter.”
Hillary summons me from the wings while the kitchen sneaks a perfectly finished Southern cherry pie into place during the last commercial break. It was an eleventh-hour addition because apparently it’s a childhood favorite of her second guest. I rush forward but hesitate to touch her, since she’s listening to the producer talk her through the celebrity’s latest projects. “I need more lip gloss, Alex,” she says before running through the questions she’ll ask the starlet.
“Now?” I ask quietly. She looks at me like I’m nuts.
“Yes, of course now.” So while she finishes up her powwow with the producers, I lightly powder her forehead and apply a fresh coat of lip gloss. When it’s Billy Fox, lead guest, she doesn’t want me to interrupt her, but when it’s a rising pop singer, she insists on it. Got it. Andy’s hurried explanation about Hillary’s notorious mood swings is starting to make more sense. If her audience knew what she was really like, somehow I don’t think they’d be as quick to buy her frying pans.
“But there’s not a lot of union work right now.” He wagged his wedding band at me. “I need the hours. Again, I’m really sorry about what happened earlier, Alex. But I think she kinda likes you, so if you can keep a low profile, it probably won’t happen a lot.” What the hell kind of advice was that?
“I saw the air show yesterday.” It takes me a second to come back to the present and realize that Hillary’s talking to me. I don’t read her well enough yet to figure out if it’s a good thing that she’s paying attention to me right now.
“I thought you looked fierce. Were you happy?” I ask, picking up the thread of conversation. It’s a risk, asking her straight out like that, but hell, it’s my last day. I’m feeling reckless.
“I got a bunch of tweets about it, everyone loved it.” It’s not a straight-out compliment, but I’ll take it. Then Hillary drops the bomb. “You’re coming back with us. I told Andy today to work it out with you.”
“Wait.” I chase after her as she starts to walk off with one of the executives. “Are you asking me to come to New York and work on the show?”
“Well, I mean, you’d be an idiot to say no.” She laughs as if she’s joking, which I know she’s not. When she realizes I’m not swooning over the offer, Hillary drops her smile and pushes away from the producer hovering at her shoulder. We’re suddenly in a two-woman huddle. “I’m serious, Alex. You’ll love New York. I know it’s taken you a beat to get used to working for me, but like I said the other day, I need your fresh eye. Truthfully, I’ve been taking a lot of shit lately about my look being outdated, and you’ve made me look years younger. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Yeah, okay.” I’m dazed by the passion and sincerity in her eyes. And she did kind of open up to me the other night in her trailer; maybe a lot of her attitude is from loneliness, as my mom would’ve said. Obviously, I can’t discuss this with my parents. I know they would panic at the first hint of my on-the-job struggles. I look to the producer, who clearly wants me to get lost so he can focus Hillary’s attention on the up-and-coming pop star segment he’s spent the week working on. I give Hillary a smile and retreat backstage to clear my head.
“She told you?” Andy is standing with his script in hand as I step offstage.
“Yeah.”
“She wanted to tell you herself. You’re lucky. She must really like you.” Andy steps aside and quickly whispers to the audio guy adjusting the mic packs. I stare blankly, trying to figure out what to do. Do I want to move to New York? Is this a real offer? What is the offer, exactly?
“What about Bridget?” I ask Andy when he comes back over.
“She’ll be taken care of, don’t worry. But that’s the business, right? If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else. Bridget’s out.” He must see the flinch I try to hide. “You gotta jump at the chances you get. You might not get another one.” He leans away from me, talking into his headset. “Bring her up now. We’re back from commercial in thirty seconds.” He looks back at me.
“Don’t question it. Just do it. It’s a great opportunity. Come to New York. Figure out the rest later.” Andy rushes off as our guest is brought up into the wings to go onstage.
He’s right, of course. This is one of those opportunities my dad always talks about. When it knocks, you gotta answer the door, he’s said at least a thousand times. I’ll go to New York, I decide right then. For once, I’m taking charge of my fate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“First round’s on me.” I raise my glass of syrah to toast with Emma’s Appletini.
“Okay, but I’m buying next. We are definitely celebrating your new job! We’ll use that car app—what’d you call it? To get home.”
“Uber. Yup. It’s an Uber night.” We both drink deeply. And smile at each other.
“So, you’ll stay with me, right? In the city, until you can find a place.” Emma has it all worked out. She doesn’t know that inside I’m cringing at how I’m even going to tell my family. She carries on as if it’s all gonna be so easy. “I’ll take you to the farmers market near my apartment. They have all sorts of stuff you can buy to make it feel like home for you.”
“One minute I thought Hillary hated me and I wasn’t sure if I was going to quit or get fired first. I never imagined she was going to offer me the job.” I’m still reeling over it.
“She loves the big gestures.” Emma smiles, but she’s kinda distracted, too. I look behind me. “Don’t look!”
“What?! What am I not looking at?” I turn back to Emma, but she’s blushing furiously and staring at me. Determinedly not looking away. “OMG. What? I’m going to look for myself if you don’t tell me right now.”
“It’s that guy. The guest from today’s show!”
“You mean Billy Fox? He’s here?!”
“Every girl here is staring at him,” she says in a reverent voice.
“For the love of God, Emma. Please tell me you are not freaking out over a movie star.”
“Are you kidding me? I binge-watched the entire Wrong Doctor series. Twice.” She groans and laughs at the same time, snorting into her cocktail.
I sip my drink, not interested in being one of the ogling crowd. “I’m sure he’s used to being stared at and fawned over.”
Much later, Sean shows up, and the three of us hang out. By silent agreement, Emma and I do not bring up me moving to New York or Hillary P. offering me the job in front of Sean. It’s a night for fun, and before long, Sean has pulled us both out onto the dance floor. We laugh and dance, like old times, until the band slows down for a couples’ song, which of course is Sean’s cue to claim exhaustion. He’s never really been the slow-dancing type. He and I walk outside for some fresh air.
I lean in for a kiss when I see we’re alone on the shadowed porch looking out over the crashing waves. He responds gently. But when he starts to pull away, I don’t let him. I keep my hold around his neck and lean into him, increasing the pressure, hoping to spark some spontaneous passion from him.
“Hey, babe. What are you doing?” he whispers, hugging me tight, kissing my neck, but in a soothing way, not an on-fire-can’t-wait-to-tear-your-clothes-off kind of way.
Opportunity Knocks Page 4