Opportunity Knocks

by Alison Sweeney

  “Yes, of course I have.” I lie awake all night figuring out the right words. And now my pretty speech seems trite and unimportant. “Sean, so much has changed since I left.”

  “It’s only been a couple months, Alex. Come on, now.” See, that’s more like the Sean I know.

  “I’m not going back to LA.” Saying it out loud for the first time, all of a sudden it seems more right than ever. “I like me here in New York. Even when it’s cold. Even when I’m scared out of my mind that I’m going to crash and burn. I know I’m in charge of my own life. And I’ve never felt so alive.”

  “What are you talking about, Alex? You sound like a Tony Robbins billboard.” He steps in my path to stop me. “Have you met someone else? Is that it? That guy I saw you talking to after you said you had to go back to work?”

  He saw me with Nick? “No. Not him. Definitely not him. That was work,” I add, shrugging at the irony that it was, in fact, work related.

  “Oh, then someone else? How many? Have you been just playing the field here, is that it? That’s fine. You were mad at me, and rebelling against your parents, I get it.” He has it all figured out.

  “Give it a break, Sean.” Only slightly offended by his characterization of me, I continue. “This isn’t about that. And you know it. The bottom line is, you don’t really want me. You want the whole package. My family, their business… I know that. I’ve always known that. And it used to be good enough. And now it’s not.”

  His silence is confirmation I didn’t really need.

  “My parents love you. They trust you. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t know why you’re saying all that.” Sean seems to have regrouped. “This has nothing to do with them, and I can’t believe you think that.” It takes me a second to realize he’s not just fighting the good fight. He chucks his half-full coffee cup into a nearby trash can and comes back to get right in my face. “I’m not the right guy now, and that’s fine. I can live with that. Maybe I’m not good enough for you.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. “But I never used you, Alex.”

  And without another word he turns around and disappears down the High Line. I watch him go, sort of stunned by how badly that all turned out, but his dark nylon jacket fades quickly into the crowded walkway. I take a seat recently vacated by a college student hurrying off and sip my coffee.

  As I watch colorful tourists, locals, families, and vagrants all pass by, I realize I have a perfect snapshot of Manhattan right here in front of me. The good, the bad, and the crazy. I just know I want to be here in it. And maybe Billy is a part of that decision. Okay, a big part. But it’s also for me. This city has brought out the best in me, and I’m going to fight to hold on to this part of me with all I’ve got.

  “LOOK DOWN, but don’t close all the way.” I gesture with my hand to a point low enough that I can use Bailey’s natural eye shape to apply the smoky eye shadow correctly.

  “So are you and Billy exclusive?” the actress asks while adjusting her smartphone to the exact position that allows her to keep her eyes lowered as I requested but still text at the same time.

  “We haven’t really talked about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look at me.” Using the job to distract her, I judge both eyelids to make sure they are even. “Okay, down again.” I pull out a Q-tip to blend in the left side a bit more.

  “You know every woman in America is going to hate you when they see you with him,” she says with more than a bit of relish.

  “I hadn’t even thought of that,” I say with a laugh. And it’s true. With all the things that stress me out about dating Billy, what other women will think, or even being in the spotlight, isn’t one of them.

  “Okay, then what’s the holdup?” She meets my eyes in the mirror and tucks her phone under her slim torn-denim-clad thigh.

  “There’s no holdup,” I say as I search through my little nylon bag of eye pencils for the exact shade of blue-black to enhance her eyes. When I find it, I look up again to find her still locked in on me. “What? Bailey, we’re interested in each other; at this point, that’s all.” He may have walked away last night, but he won’t tonight. I get shivers all over just thinking about it.

  “Well, I think you should commit to this. To him. Like you did to staying here in New York. Why not?”

  “For one thing, I’m not even sure Billy wants a commitment.”

  “Are you kidding me? If he wasn’t serious about you he wouldn’t have called out everyone but the National Guard to help you deal with Hillary P. And he definitely wouldn’t have waited to sleep with you until you were for sure split up with your ex.”

  The intimacy of doing makeup gets me again… Usually it’s the client divulging their secrets to the makeup artist. But it works both ways. And somewhere between blending in a sheer foundation and applying gorgeous over-the-top eyelash strips to draw focus to her big Disney eyes, Bailey and I connected. Having identified common ground—Billy was the starting point—I confided in her everything that happened last night.

  “Maybe he just didn’t want things to be messy.”

  “I’ve known him a long time. Billy doesn’t spend a lot of time worrying about the backstory of the women he dates. You’re different. He’s different with you.”

  “Well, I’m happy about that. We’ll take it slow. See how it goes.” She gives an unladylike grunt. “Look left.” I gently draw the dark pencil to the inner corner of her eye before repeating the process on the other side.

  “Okay, that sounds fine, if mildly boring. Which is pretty much the last thing I expected to get from Billy Fox’s love life.”

  “He’s not boring.” I rush to defend him.

  “Is it you, then? Something else going on?”

  “Oh, come on, Bailey.” I get a smudge brush to go over the pencil line. “My life is essentially a do-over at this point. I have nowhere to live in a new, very expensive city, and I’m starting from scratch with my career. I’m trying to be smart about this. If the situation was reversed, all my friends would be screaming at me to steer clear of a guy obviously looking for a meal ticket in the Big Apple.”

  “Nobody sees you that way.” Bailey seems truly shocked by my representation of my situation.

  “Well, you should. You should be looking out for your friend,” I only half kiddingly reprimand her.

  “I am,” she says with authority. And for all her youth, there is no question she means what she says. “But if it bothers you so much, then do something about it.”

  “I’m working on it,” I mutter, and decide it’s time to apply Bailey’s delicate rose lip liner, which has the helpful side effect of ending the conversation.

  BY THE TIME dinner arrives, I’m a bundle of nerves. We’ve been seated in a booth in this very chic restaurant on the Lower East Side. The hostess recognized Billy instantly and brought us to a table in the back with a view of the entire restaurant.

  We laughed and talked casually as we looked through the menu, but now that the waiter has come and gone and our drinks are safely in our hands, I know it’s time to get things on the table.

  “So, I’ve come up with a plan,” I begin.

  “Okay…”

  “I’m going to stay in New York.” He just looks at me with an “of course you are” expression. “But I’m not going to be mooching off you, Billy. I want to figure stuff out for myself, be independent.” I keep going when he looks like he’s going to argue. “I want to work hard and earn my place in this city. Do you understand?”

  Billy sighs and grabs one of my hands, which is clutching my cocktail glass, to pull it to his lips for a kiss. “Yes, crazy girl. I understand. And I respect your determination. I would love to help you, any way I can.”

  And later that night, as we’re lying exhausted and naked in his bed, he props himself up on one elbow to look down at me, snuggling next to him, still catching my breath. I pry open one eye to see him smiling, and I almost wan
t to cry from the feelings in his expression. “I believe in you,” he whispers. And when he kisses me softly, I feel a tear sneaking out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Billy’s lovely sentiment and the memory of his dreamy kisses keep me warm the next day as New York shows off her bipolar nature with a very cold breeze whipping down the avenues. I’ve dropped off my résumé at MAC, Stila, and Henri Bendel. I decide to make a personal call to a studio I visited with Hillary last month for a photo shoot.

  “Hey, Joe, I was just in the neighborhood and I wanted to let you know I’m available to do beauty makeup if you ever have photo shoots and need someone.” I pause, imagining hearing the obvious reply in my head. “What happened with Hillary?” I ask myself the hard-hitting questions, practicing an answer for what will inevitably be on everyone’s mind. “Oh, you know… I just want to test myself creatively. I loved working there, but I’m not into a routine.” I try sounding carefree while still seeming like a reliable contact. Luckily not one of the hundreds of people I pass on Madison Avenue seems to notice me talking to myself. Which I’m still doing when my phone rings. The screen reads UNKNOWN.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Cleary?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” I reply, bracing myself for the hazards of answering a blocked number.

  “This is Nicolette from Liz Daniels’s office. I’m calling to see if you’d be available to come by right away to do some touch-ups on Ms. Daniels.”

  “Um…” The managing editor of Identity magazine wants me to do her makeup, and I don’t even have my personal makeup stash with me in my purse today. “What time would you need me there?” After literally pounding the pavement all day, I have two blisters on each foot, and no job to speak of. I need to say yes to this opportunity if at all possible.

  “Can you be here by four p.m.? She has to leave the office by five.” That gives me forty minutes to get all the way uptown to grab my makeup kit from Billy’s and then back to Midtown. I’ll never make it.

  “Does she need her hair done as well?” I stall while hailing a cab.

  “No, she happened to visit her hairdresser during lunch. This is a last-minute event and our usual people are not available.”

  I mute the phone while she’s talking, to direct the cabbie who has no idea he’s just saved my day: “Eighty-third and Central Park West. Please, as quick as you can.” Unmute. “I can be there by four-fifteen and it absolutely won’t take me forty-five minutes to do her makeup.” It occurs to me to double-check. “Just a beauty look, right? Not a special effect of any kind?”

  “Yes, just beauty,” she replies, and the relief in her voice is apparent. After we hang up, I wonder about why it would take an hour to do her makeup. Having met Ms. Daniels, I can’t imagine she has the patience or flexibility to sit around getting her makeup done for sixty minutes.

  I’m too rushed to really even celebrate this opportunity. I am staring at the minute hands on my watch as the cab jets us uptown. The driver is taking my clear impatience as license to weave in and out of traffic in a way I’ve only ever seen in police chases on the Channel 9 news in LA. But far from being scared, I am cheering him on every block.

  “Please wait, I just have to grab my bag. I’ll be right back,” I say as I leap out of the cab in front of Billy’s building. I wave at the doorman as I dash past, grateful he recognizes my blur and lets me in without hesitation. Billy isn’t there when I use the key he gave me. I grab my bag from the hall closet and I’m back to the Mario Andretti of cabdrivers in less than five minutes.

  “To Sixth?” he asks, clarifying the second destination we discussed.

  “Yes. Thank you.” It’s 3:58. Twenty minutes to get back to Midtown is cutting it close at this hour, but doable. I breathe and grab my phone to update Billy.

  Me: I’m doing Liz Daniels’s makeup for some event tonight! I just got the offer.

  Billy: that’s great. go get ’em.

  Me: Super psyched.

  And then I remember I was supposed to meet Emma. New text.

  Me: I’m so sorry I can’t make it to coffee. Just got a job, think this one could lead to more—hope you understand.

  Emma: Of course. Good luck. Really hope we can talk soon.

  Her text is sweet, but it’s easy to tell she’s still feeling awkward after our last conversation.

  Me: I can meet up with you afterward? Drinks?

  Emma: Sounds like a plan.

  The cab slams on the brakes in front of the massive building.

  Me: I’ll text you later.

  I throw money at the cabbie, making sure to tip him well for keeping us both in one piece. My phone says 4:10, which gets me up to her office right on time. Just the impression I need to make.

  “I’M HERE TO see Ms. Daniels.” I gesture to my makeup kit, and both her assistant and I smirk, appreciating the irony.

  “Can I get you coffee or tea?” he asks, way more welcoming than the last time I stood in front of his desk.

  “No thanks, I should probably set up. Where’s a good place?”

  “Oh, go on in. You have to just do what you can while she’s working. She doesn’t have time to leave her desk.” It takes a second to process what he’s said. I’m meant to apply makeup hunched over her office desk? While she’s still making calls and typing on her computer? That seems impossible. No wonder past makeup artists insisted on an hour. It would take at least that long with a moving target.

  I head into her fabulously appointed corner office. The huge picture windows allow plenty of light in; that’s a plus. And pretty much the only one. Liz doesn’t say much. I ask her what her dress looks like and she lifts one hand from her keyboard to point out a gorgeous bold floral-print gown hanging from a sconce on the far wall. There are strong reds and yellows in the print, and I can see the stylist has carried that bold theme into the red Manolos and yellow diamond chandelier earrings.

  For the next fifty minutes it’s like some sort of twisted video game. The foundation is pretty easy; she’s got an earpiece in, and for the most part, she lets me adjust the angle of her face as I need to while she listens and engages in what seems like several different conversations at once. I lose a lot of time getting her eyes done. I have to keep walking around her chair to the other side to get access to her left eye, and while she shifts to allow me room at her computer, it’s all just awkward and time-consuming.

  I’ve just curled her eyelashes and am getting out brand-new mascara from my case when Nicolette, Liz’s other assistant, walks in.

  “The car is here, Ms. Daniels.”

  “Thank you, Nicolette.” She pulls away from the desk and starts to gather her things. “Thank you for coming, Alex. Nicolette will take down your information and let you know where to send the invoice.”

  “But… I’m not done yet,” I say, dumbfounded.

  “Sorry, but she has to get dressed now.” Nicolette comes next to me, ushering me out before I have a chance to think. “You can wait outside and collect your things when Ms. Daniels is gone.”

  Standing outside her office for a minute cools my head. When the door opens and Liz steps out looking like the fashion icon she is, I have a plan.

  “Ms. Daniels, I’m going to come with you in the car so I can finish your makeup.” I don’t wait for a reply. If I’ve learned one thing working for powerful women, it’s that I have to be strong, too. I grab a few essentials from the corner of her desk where I laid out my supplies while Liz is still switching a few things from her Hermes bag to a gorgeous small red satin clutch.

  “That isn’t appropriate,” Nicolette stammers…

  “Nonsense, Nicolette.” Liz waves her off. “You won’t have much time, though, Alex. The event is at the Natural History Museum.”

  “That’s fine.” I look at all my stuff strewn around her office. It looks like a tornado hit. “Can I come back here to pack up after you get dropped off?”

  “Of course.” She sails out of the office with me chasing af
ter her, only thinking to stuff my cell phone in my back pocket, just in case.

  IF I GET another chance to do Liz Daniels’s makeup, I think I’ll just wait in the car. She’s trapped in one position, and even with her smartphone keeping her busy, I am quickly able to apply mascara and add false individual lashes to the outer edges of each eye. She doesn’t seem like the type who will keep reapplying lip gloss throughout the evening, so I choose a deep pencil and matte lip stain. It goes on smoothly, since I’ve now figured out a strategy. I wait for when she’s listening intently to the person she’s talking to and apply as quickly and efficiently as I can.

  I slip the pencil into her clutch and gesture clearly to her that her purse is sitting next to her on the car seat. She nods distractedly. Finally finished, and satisfied with my work, I shift to the interior of the limo to pack up. I figure it will be better if the cameras don’t see someone else sitting inside the limo when she gets out.

  Since Liz is still deep in conversation, I just finish packing up and start checking my phone as we pull up.

  “Thanks again, Alex.” Liz draws my attention as she slips her phone into her purse as the door opens.

  “No problem. I hope you’re happy.”

  Finally realizing she hasn’t even looked at my work, she flips down the mirror from the limo roof. She moves her head a bit to see both eyes and the shade of lip I chose. Since she offered no input along the way, I went with my gut. I hold my breath, waiting for her verdict. “I love it. Gorgeous, Alex. Really.” And then the door is opened and our conversation is over. A gentleman in tails helps Liz out and her fabulous gown is engulfed by the waiting crowd of publicists and event organizers.

  The limo has only just pulled away from the red carpet when I notice Liz’s evening bag still lying on the backseat. I don’t know Liz Daniels well, but I have no doubt she will flip out when she realizes she doesn’t have her phone or anything with her.