This morning I didn’t even have a chance to talk to him, because he woke up extra early and was out the door the moment I rubbed at my eyes, stretched across the bed, and pulled myself upright, slowly awakening from my not-so-great-night’s sleep. No usual morning routine together or chitchat. Just a quick, “See ya!” as he ran out the door once I found my grounding and stumbled out of bed.
Only now, into the early afternoon, am I really feeling upset about his behavior. It’s had time to settle and fester.
All right, so I’d put my foot down about the Fourth of July party pretty harshly, and Conner had agreed to forget about it—there’d be no going this year. He was bummed, angry, not very happy with me. So I was being a little bossy. But these are not excuses for him to go on being all huffy and not himself like this for such a length of time. Ugh. Men. Sometimes… I tell you, sometimes…
“I just don’t know what’s up his butt, that’s all,” I say to the girls. “I mean, okay, so it’s me being all bitchy about the wedding and the stress. He says that frustrates him. But what can I do? This wedding is stressful! And that dress disaster—”
“Totally worth a bitch-out,” Emily says in agreement. “Free pass on that one.”
“Exactly. And the lawsuit…”
Emily strongly nods.
“He’ll be fine.” Jackie pulls open the small door of her new Louis Vuitton dog carrier and has a peek at Bella. “Andrew always bounces back when I’m done PMSing.”
“When this wedding’s done, Claire,” Emily says, “the two of you will be back to your old selves. I can promise you that.”
“As if nothing’s ever changed,” Jackie says.
“It’s only a piece of paper, anyhow. What’s important is that you love each other and spend your lives together.”
“Yeah… It’s a big and important piece of paper, though.” Jackie looks at Emily discerningly.
“But a paper nevertheless,” Emily rejoins. “Your relationship—your love—is what matters most.”
Jackie closes the doggie door and sets the carrier on the floor. “It’ll all blow over soon enough, Claire. Don’t stress about that. You’ve got enough on your plate.”
Erika tells me to look up so she can finish applying the eyeliner and mascara, and whatever else she’s using. She’s been using a gaggle of items that I’ve never before seen in my entire life. Maybe only during episodes of America’s Next Top Model, but never in a million years would I have imagined I’d be at the mercy of such tools and creams and sticks and powders—not even for my wedding.
Jackie insists that Erika is the best makeup artist, though. She does all of Jackie’s makeup for the big parties and important events when she needs to look tip-top with Andrew; and Emily urged that I spring for the pro makeup for the bridal portraits. “You don’t want to look pasty in your photos, or, God forbid, shiny,” she told me. “Pro hair and makeup, definitely. You’ll want to use them as a test for your day-of look.”
So, here we are, sitting in some salon that I could never afford and would never dream of dropping the bucks at, but Mom called this morning to tell me that if I promised to send some bridal pics her way today, she would spring for the hair and makeup.
I’ve made it clear—abundantly clear—that I want Erika to go easy on me. Just enough makeup to accentuate my natural features—bring out my blue eyes a bit, complement my blonde hair and skin tone, make me look good for the camera. Essentially, I want her to make me an easy subject to photograph. Emily won’t have tons of time to pore over the photos and Photoshop my face, so this makeup job has to be spot-on.
I fear, however, that Erika is going a little over-kill here. I mean, I said light and subtle and natural and…well, how much clearer do I need to be that minimalism is the desired approach?
I’ve been sitting here for almost forty-five minutes, and I’ve already had to endure a spray gun shower, where liquid base was glazed over my face. It was all tickly and cool and actually felt pretty good, and surprisingly my face doesn’t feel all waxy or Botoxy like I figured it would after receiving a paint job. But all of the powders and sticks afterwards…isn’t it all a tad much?
I’m dying to look in the mirror already, but Erika says she’s alllmost done. (She’s been saying that for twenty minutes now.)
Then, finally, as I approach the hour mark, Erika hands me a hand mirror and says that I can take a look for myself. “You look fantastic!” she beams.
Bringing the mirror up, all I can do is stare at the unfamiliar face looking back, absolutely aghast. I look like I’m ready for Halloween! She made me look like I’m about to go trick-or-treating as a princess, or a pixie, or some other fairytale lady who is glittered and glossed to a high sheen.
“Well?” Erika asks, smiling broadly, clearly proud of her work.
I don’t know what to say. There’s no time to do a re-do, and thank God this isn’t the first and only chance I’ll have a shot at the pro makeup. If I had to go down the aisle looking like this for my wedding, I’d be in utter tears. I don’t look bad, I just look way too made up and fake. I look like a mannequin or something—Barbie-like. This is so not natural or minimal. This is not me!
Erika asks again what I think, and I finally come to, saying, “It’s great for boudoir makeup…” I don’t want to hurt her feelings, and a compliment before criticism is always the better route. I mean, she spent a lot of time on this. She just didn’t have to, that’s all.
I want her to know that while it may suit some girls and might even work well for me for a risqué shoot, this isn’t exactly my desired look for my wedding. Better for the both of us that she know now as opposed to the wedding day. Yikes!
Erika’s face drops and she doesn’t say anything. So I quickly add, “Thank you! I was thinking really minimal, that’s all. Only enhancing the features I have…almost as if I’m not wearing any makeup…”
Slowly Erika’s face loosens up. “I can make it look a little less…severe, I guess…” she trails off, reaching for a new compact and a large brush.
“This is great for trials,” Emily says cheerfully, making light of the situation. “I think this is really great.” She shoots a half-grin my way before saying to Erika, “We’ll definitely want the base color to stay the same, for light reflection and all for the photos. But maybe less…”
“Eye makeup,” I finish.
“Yeah, less severe eye makeup.”
Erika is going to town on my face, dusting powder all over it, saying in the process that this will help tone down the drama.
After the patch-up job, and after I feel terrible for not really liking Erika’s work, the girls and I are finally headed to the botanical gardens for my first location shoot. Thank God I don’t look as Halloween-ready or, as Jackie says, “like you’re about to go on stage for a burlesque performance.”
I still think that I look way too made up, however, even with the toned-down work. This is just not what I had in mind at all! My eyes are very smoky, with a hint of silver glitter. I even have on fake lashes, which I said I wasn’t too sure about. Erika said that all brides did this, and Emily said that they could look nice and enhanced for the photos. Looking at them now, though, I think Emily regrets her compliance. I certainly regret not putting my foot down harder. I really do look like I’m a burlesque theater’s opening act. Hand me some fishnets and a boa and, well, you get the picture.
“It’ll be great!” Jackie says happily, fluffing the back of my gown. This is the first time I’m wearing my gorgeous gown in public, and I feel like a million bucks. This is really the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen; I’m so lucky and happy to be wearing it. Oh, just wait until Conner sees me! You know, it’s such a lovely gown, the heavy stage makeup could be overlooked.
“That’s it,” Emily says, looking through her camera’s viewfinder. “You look awesome.”
Emily starts to snap the camera, and I try to get into the photographing mood. This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment—a girl gets
to feel like a princess, and dress like one, too, and she gets to have her photographs taken. Very professional and fancy and super exciting stuff.
The botanical gardens shoot goes very well, and Emily says she has some awesome shots with exquisite lighting. Halfway through our shoot at the park afterward, she’s convinced that I’ll have more than a fair share of favorites from which to choose for the canvas print.
“You may even want two or three canvases,” Emily says as she moves from squat position, to standing, to leaning, to neck-craning, looking very professional all the while.
Jackie’s a sport, holding up the reflector board and taking short breaks to snap photos with my cell phone to send to my mom. Her tiny arms have got to be killing her, but she’s a champ.
And Bella is, too. She’s sitting so lazily in her carrier. It’s like she’s not even there. I love Schnickerdoodle, but sometimes I think it’d be nice to trade in his hyperactivity for a little of Bella’s easy-breezy temperament.
“God, Claire,” Jackie gushes, holding the reflector board high above her head, per Emily’s instruction. “Conner’s going to orgasm over these photos.”
Emily laughs loudly, snaps two more photos, then tells Jackie she can rest while she switches lenses. “God, Jack,” she says, still giggling.
“I’m serious!” Jackie says. “Look at her. She’s hot.”
“Even with this mess of a makeup job?” I ask in a joshing tone.
“Totally.” Jackie lays down the reflector board and collapses in slight exhaustion on the lush grass. “And don’t worry, Claire.” She lies down on her back and makes a weak and blind attempt at feeling for the opening of her dog carrier. Bella meets her hand, and Jackie gives her a gentle and brief pet. “We’ll make sure your wedding makeup is perfect. Just the way you want it.”
“All right,” Emily says. “Last lens, last few shots, and I say we’re good to go.” She glances down at her watch. Her flight to Boston leaves early this evening; it’s a miracle we’ve been able to do so much today. “Let’s do some showing off those awesome new shoes of yours, and let’s do some without the veil.”
“And the bouquet?” Jackie jumps up eagerly and retrieves my bouquet—all-white hydrangeas. Allison said that bouquets for bridal portraits are as much a necessary accessory as the veil, the shoes… Martha Stewart has reiterated this point several times over, too, and I don’t question the authority of either of them.
“Bring it back in.” Emily gestures for Jackie to hand me the bouquet.
I make some of those really cute and fun poses where brides show off their wedding shoes—twisting my ankle and doing a mini shoe fashion show. It’s so much fun! This has been a blast, even with a makeup job that I’m not ga-ga over. It’s a great day with some of my best friends, a chance to get to do some wedding things that are truly fun and stress-free, and, I won’t lie, it’s kind of nice to get out of the house and away from Conner, seeing how he’s in such a foul mood and all.
“That’s a wrap!” Emily says. She lets her heavy camera slide down along her thick strap and to her side. “Give me about a week, and they’ll be edited and you can choose what you want canvassed.”
“You did awesome, Claire,” Jackie says. She tucks the reflector board under one arm and carries Bella in her bag with the other. “Makes me wish I’d done bridals.”
“Never too late,” Emily says. She tucks all of her belongings into her various bags and containers. “If you ever want me to do them for you, it’d be my pleasure.”
“Hmm,” Jackie hums. “Not a bad Christmas gift for Andrew.”
“Boudoir shots make great Christmas or anniversary gifts, too,” Emily says with a wink.
I laugh as I walk across the grass, carrying up high the lengths of my dress so as not to get anything soiled or trip on any loose, flowing, luscious piece of silk. “Hey,” I say, “I’ve already got the makeup for boudoirs.”
***
Now, I’ve finally reached the point of being okay with my portrait makeup. I’ve accepted what is and can’t be changed, and the lightening job that Erika had done last-minute did help things, at least a little. This day of photographs has turned out to be a lot of fun, even in spite of the makeup gaffe. Emily reassured me that the photos will be brilliant and the makeup won’t look as strong or as dark as I think. Really, it’ll all be fine.
“Hey, honey,” I say cheerfully when I greet Conner after the busy day. “How was your day?” I hang my keys on the key rack.
“Whoa!” Conner says the second he lays eyes on me. “What happened to your face?”
I slowly walk nearer to the couch, my eyebrows arched high and my mouth agape at Conner’s opening remarks.
“You and Jack planning on going clubbing or something?” He chuckles and plops into a chair, the remote control in hand. He flips the TV on. “Did she do that? Your makeup?” He points at my face, making circular motions.
I stand there stoic, keeping silent, both too taken aback and too upset to respond. I know the makeup is a little over-the-top, but this reaction from Conner? It’s totally uncalled for!
In fact, I kind of forgot I even had the makeup on still. Probably should have washed it off before I came home so I could avoid Conner guessing what I was up to. But this? This cold and downright rude reaction? No. I didn’t expect this, and I don’t know how to react.
“I’m sorry,” he says, still laughing. “If you were going for a really glam look then…you look hot, Claire.” Still laughing. “Just…wow. Not you. I’ve never seen you this made up before. Fun plans out tonight?”
Now I can start to feel my ears become hot, then my cheeks and lips.
“Say something,” Conner says uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to offend you or upset you.” He’s not laughing anymore. “I’ve never seen you like this, though. That’s all. Took me by surprise.”
I press my lips together tightly, feeling the anger start to rise, and my blood pressure with it.
To break the tension or the silence or the awkward feeling I am sure Conner senses right now, he starts to chuckle again, almost nervously. “You know I like it when you have only light makeup on, Claire. Your natural self is your prettiest self.”
Kind words, but words that have come too late.
Finally, I break my bout of silence. “Conner.” I almost fall into tears at the utterance of his name, but I think I’m too angry, because tears don’t come pouring forth like I think they will. “I did a wedding makeup trial today. For the wedding.”
He looks stunned, then has the gall to say, “I hope to God that’s not the makeup you’re settling on. It isn’t, right?”
That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’ve had it! Bitchy or not from time to time, this is uncalled for. He should know, after nearly a decade of being in a relationship together, that you can’t say things like that to a woman. You can’t make a disgusted face, hurl insults, and then kid about her looks, especially when, by the looks of it, she’s trying to improve or enhance herself. She’s trying, and all she gets in return from the person who supposedly loves and adores her is mockery. Ridicule. Jesting. Asshole remarks!
“That does it,” I shout, stampeding across the living room floor. Schnickerdoodle briskly darts to the right, leaping out of my path.
“Babe,” he calls from his chair. “Baby. I’m sorry.”
“No! I don’t want to hear it,” I say in an acerbic tone. “You’d think I could expect a little compassion, but nooo.”
“Claire…” He appears around the corner and stands in the middle of the dining room while I fill Schickerdoodle’s water dish.
“No! Obviously this is not how I want my wedding makeup. You think I like the way this looks?” I point at my face, then set the water dish back down. “I’ve never worn makeup like this before, Conner. You honestly think this is what I’d choose? For our wedding? Our fucking wedding?”
He puts up his hands defensively. “Don’t get all bitchy about it. Jeez.”
> “No! Please, Conner. I don’t want to fight about this, too.”
“Me neither.” The tone he’s using is very childlike, as if he’s saying, “Yeah, but you started it.”
I throw the small pile of used napkins that are lazily left on top of the counter into the trashcan and gesture disparagingly. “A little compassion. That’s all. At least no jokes! I mean, what a horrible thing to say. What a jerk reaction!” I push past him and beeline for the bedroom.
“Claire,” he calls after me, following behind.
“Forget it.”
“It’s just not you. That’s all.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and gives me a pleading look. “I’m sorry.”
“All we do is fight, Conner.” My voice suggests the exhaustion—the returning exhaustion—that I felt after our last tiff. “I wish you’d be a little more sensitive, that’s all. I’m busting my ass over this wedding and—”
“Me? More sensitive?” He looks thunderstruck. “What about you, Claire? You’re running around like a crazy person because of this wedding, and whenever I try to help, or whenever I try to tell you to calm down…to take a look around and chill out…you bite my fucking head off.” He exhales loudly.
“For the love of God! You have a great wedding planner, Claire, and you’re still acting like a crazy person.” His voice is raised significantly now. “And when I want to show you something like my comics…” He’s on a tangent. “…Or just talk or have a normal conversation—or take a fucking weekend vacation—you get all bent out of shape! Like it’s the end of the world or something.”
“You want to talk about a normal conversation, huh?” I shout back, ready now to push past my exhaustion and engage in a full-on argument. “Normal, huh? What about these past couple of days, huh? I’m trying to talk to you. All nice, no nagging. Just normal conversation, and you just brush me off. What is that?”
“Maybe I’m tired or in a mood, Claire,” he retorts. “Can’t I be allowed to be in a mood? Or do I need to run that by your schedule?”
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 30