The Changing Room

by Christine Sykes

‘The first group of three is simple, no?’ said Matteo. ‘We must start with a clean face. The face is a canvas and we must prepare it properly. We are artistes.’

  He showed them which product to use to clean their faces.

  ‘So, the first step is to clean. Even if you aren’t wearing any makeup, all the grime from the city. Yuk. All gone. Now we must tone. To refresh those pores and tighten them.’

  Anna smelt citrus and her skin tingled as he gently patted her face to demonstrate.

  ‘The second step is essential for everyone. The moisturiser. This one is for under the eyes and this is for the rest of the face.’

  One of the assistants helped Anna choose which of the moisturisers would suit her skin.

  ‘Now for the third step, the concealer. Just a little here,’ Matteo used Claire as a model to show them how to apply the concealer. ‘Not that this lovely lady needs much.’

  ‘A dab under the eyes, here, Anna,’ said the young assistant. ‘Now blend it in. You have beautiful skin for a more mature woman.’

  ‘Bravo! We have finished the first three steps of the preparation; now we move to the next group of three,’ said Matteo. ‘This is the foundation for your makeup. First, we do the base. Dot it on and blend. Blend, blend, blend is the key. This will give you an even skin colour and will make you look younger.’

  After the blending, Anna’s face looked smoother, reminding her of the unblemished crêpes her mother made. Anna could still taste the lemon and sugar she sprinkled on them.

  ‘Once we have the base, we do the blush,’ said Matteo. ‘Does anyone know where to put the blush?’

  ‘On your cheeks,’ said Valda.

  ‘You are right, and you are also wrong,’ said Matteo. ‘Most people will tell you the blush must be on the apple of the cheeks. Here, you find it by smiling.’

  Matteo walked over to Molly.

  ‘Show me your smile. There it is. Beautiful. For younger women, the apple of the cheek is correct.’

  Matteo then turned to Anna.

  ‘For the more mature woman, we recommend the cheekbone, which is here,’ he brushed Anna’s face. ‘And what magnificent cheekbones you have, dear. They are slightly higher on the face and will draw the look upwards.’

  Anna blushed. No one had ever said anything flattering about her cheekbones before.

  ‘And the last step in this group is the eye base. Just a light covering. Now you are ready for the most exciting steps.’

  Matteo returned to the front of the group.

  ‘Are you all keeping up? We have completed the first two sets of three steps each. Sounds good, no? Sets of steps. Now we have the final group.’ Matteo paused. He reminded Anna of the Latin dancing instructor her mother had taken her to. Anna hated the lessons.

  ‘Are you ready to add definition? Yes?’ Matteo took out another case. ‘We do this by using the eyeliner and eye shadow. There are three shadows: light for the whole eye from under the eyebrow to the lid, medium for the lid itself. For extra definition, place a darker shade in the crease.’

  Anna put the light and medium on her eyes.

  ‘Now, to make your eyes pop, we have eyeliner. Put it on from the outside, the whole of the eye. In light brushstrokes, like you are painting a feather. If you do it too thick or uneven, smudge it. It will look smoky and sexy.’

  Anna smudged hers. She didn’t think she looked sexy though.

  ‘And now the mascara. Dark is best. Wiggle it as you apply to the top of the lash first. Wait for three seconds, then apply from the base of the lash.’

  Anna tried to wiggle her mascara but brushed some on her upper eyelid. The assistant helped her remove it and reapply the mascara.

  ‘And the last step, step nine, is the lips. We all want luscious lips, don’t we?’ said Matteo. ‘The lips finish off the face, whether you are going to the shops, to work or to a party. Choose the colour for the occasion, and what you are wearing.’

  Anna shuddered, recalling the time her mother had smudged her lipstick on an expensive designer dress, which she was trying on to see how the skirt draped. She’d tried to smuggle it out of the store so she could clean it. The store manager was called and Anna’s mother was forced to pay for the dress or face the police. She chose to buy it and the family went without treats for quite some time to help pay for the mistake.

  ‘The absolute rule is you put it on your lips, not larger than your lips,’ continued Matteo as he demonstrated on Claire. ‘If you need more definition, you can apply a lip-liner. This will also stop the lipstick from bleeding.’

  ‘This is all very well,’ mumbled Molly, who looked beautiful with her features highlighted, ‘but I don’t have the time or money for all this stuff.’

  ‘Ah, thank you for being so honest,’ said Matteo. ‘I have shown you all the steps and we have tried different products. But essentially, you only need to remember three main steps. I call it CBA, the mirror image of ABC – well almost. So first we have C for clean, cream and conceal. Clever, huh? Then B for base, blend and blush. And finally, A for accentuate. It is very simple and you can save money by gradually investing in products that last a long time.’

  Matteo snapped his fingers and the young women went to a cupboard on wheels.

  ‘And to reward you for your volunteer efforts and put you on the right path, we have a starter kit for each of you.’ The young women gave each of the volunteers an empty makeup case. ‘The girls will help you choose the exact products for you, based on what you have learned today.’

  ‘On behalf of Suitability, I thank you,’ said Claire.

  ‘That is our pleasure. We also have a special arrangement for your clients,’ said Matteo. ‘But it is a secret and my lips have been sealed until the arrangement is formally announced.’

  ‘How generous of you,’ said Claire. ‘Let’s give Matteo and his team a warm round of applause.’

  After clapping, Anna took the scarf from her bag to give to Claire.

  ‘What a splendid colour for you. Here, let me,’ said Matteo as he placed the scarf around Anna’s neck. ‘Look everybody. Look what the right colour can do for you. See how it matches the lipstick which was chosen to go with her complexion.’

  ‘Anna, that colour looks wonderful on you,’ said Claire. ‘You should wear it more often.’

  Anna felt herself blushing. She wanted to say something about the scarf not being hers and she was trying to return it, but Claire had turned to Molly to offer her a lift.

  *

  When Anna arrived home, her townhouse was a mess. The floor was scattered with glass and flowers. The insides of cushions littered the armchair and sofa. The television set was lying face down on the carpet. In the kitchen, the bowl of fruit was on the floor and the tablecloth hung from overturned chairs.

  Rufus was curled up, sound asleep, in his doggy bed.

  ‘You little terror. Did you do this?’

  Rufus stirred, stretched his legs out and yawned. He looked at her with his deep brown eyes, the eyes which reminded her of the original Rufus, whose eyes she could never resist until the horrible day when she was banished from his life forever.

  Anna climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The bedcovers were on the floor and feathers were sprinkled all over the furniture. The jewellery box was upside down and the sea pearls Rufus had brought her from Japan were scattered all over the floor.

  ‘You’re a wrecker, just like your namesake. Wrecker, wrecker, wrecker.’

  Anna was surprised at her anger. Her life was spread over the floor, broken and shattered. Why had she hung onto these mementos? Was she trying to keep hold of her former life? A work wife indeed. What would Claire think of her? A victim of her own making. She could see her folly illuminated in the sea pearls. It was pathological. She swept up the pearls and put them in a plastic bag and threw the broken award in the bin.

  ‘And I’ve had enough of you,’ she said to Rufus. ‘I’m calling the pound.’

  Rufus nudged her leg with his cold nose a
nd whimpered, as if to say, ‘It wasn’t my fault; I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Anna put the phone down.

  ‘All right. But what am I going to do with you?’

  Anna cleaned the townhouse. She replaced the things that weren’t broken, threw out the pillows that couldn’t be mended and put the bed linen in bleach to soak.

  ‘No point dwelling on what’s already happened,’ Anna said. ‘Let’s see what we can do about you, you terror of a dog.’

  She searched the internet. Many people had the same problem with their dogs. There were several suggestions and ideas about causes. Most said obedience school would not solve the problem. Some said it was the owner’s fault, others that the dog was suffering some anxiety disorder. One article suggested the dog was bored and needed more exercise. Another that she should get a second dog for company and yet another that she should set aside a dog-proof room. Anna, in her usual methodical way, sifted through the advice and drew up a plan. She crossed off the suggestion to get another dog.

  ‘One of you is enough for me,’ she told Rufus, who whined in response. ‘I suppose I should take you for a walk.’

  As soon as she put on her walking shoes, Rufus was at her heels. When she grabbed a hat, he was at the front door. She had to hold him back to put the leash on him.

  Once outside, he pulled her along the street. She made him wait for the green light despite his obvious impatience and the lack of traffic. He dragged her along the path under the old railway line, which was now the track for the extended light rail. Rufus dragged her past Blackmore Oval to the trail that went along the canal. He stopped at a eucalypt tree and cocked his leg. Anna took a breath and briefly enjoyed the coolness of the afternoon, before Rufus took off again to the side of the canal. The leash cut into her hand.

  ‘If you fall in, I’ll never get you out,’ Anna puffed. ‘And that’d serve you right.’

  When they reached the fenced leash-free part of Hawthorne Canal Reserve, Anna let Rufus go, hoping he would return to her when she called. Rufus raced this way and that, wagging his tail and barking at anything that passed – other dogs, the noisy miners swooping down from the gum trees, a man riding a bicycle along the path. Anna sat with relief on a park bench.

  After a few minutes Ted, the man who had rescued Rufus, approached, and she let him sit beside her. ‘I see you have managed to keep your dog from running away again.’

  ‘Except this time, he’s wrecked my house.’

  ‘What a pity. Anna, you look different today.’

  Anna put her hand to her neck, realising she’d forgotten to take off the scarf.

  ‘Could we have coffee, or a meal together some time?’

  ‘Sorry, Ted,’ said Anna, rising from the bench, ‘I really must finish cleaning up the mess Rufus made.’ After some chasing, she managed to get Rufus back on the leash and walk him home.

  When she looked in the mirror Anna was startled to see her reflection. Her eyes looked twice their usual size and a deeper brown. She examined herself one more time before removing the makeup.

  12

  CLAIRE

  ‘At last you’re home,’ Anthony said when Claire entered the foyer after the styling session. ‘Hurry up and get ready. I’ve packed the car and we’ve been waiting for hours. I want to get there before dark.’

  Anthony and Claire had bought their house down the south coast when the children were young. Claire had wanted to buy a farmhouse in southern France, but the house at Lake Conjola was more practical as a family getaway. Now the children were grown, Claire was considering selling it and had arranged for a local real estate agent to assess its value. Claire had talked the family into going away for the Easter weekend as it could be their last chance to holiday in the house together.

  ‘You should’ve cancelled the class,’ Anthony said. ‘I gave notice at the hospital that I wouldn’t be available on the weekend and the children have refused several party invitations.’

  ‘But it was the only time we could do it and it was important to have Molly there.’ Claire grabbed the bag she’d packed the night before, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything essential, and climbed into their sportutility vehicle, the SUV, as it was commonly called, where the rest of the family were waiting. They hit weekend traffic as soon as they entered the motorway.

  ‘This is what I wanted to avoid,’ grumbled Anthony. Usually calm and patient, Anthony turned into a monster when he was behind the wheel of the SUV.

  ‘Do you want me to drive?’ Claire asked.

  Anthony ignored her. Lauren and Nathan were each wearing earbuds and listening to podcasts, and the rest of the three-hour trip went in silence. Claire was uncomfortable in the clothes she had worn for the styling session and wished she’d had time to change.

  ‘Go to the beach, all of you,’ said Claire when they arrived. ‘I’ll unpack the car and organise things.’

  She opened the door of the house and saw the usual film of dust on every surface. As she dusted, she imagined walking along the beach, dipping her feet into the ocean and feeling the waves wash onto the shore and retreat.

  She turned on the fridge, put the drinks on ice and prepared a platter of food. All was in order when the rest of her family returned.

  ‘I’ll just go and look at the sea,’ she said, leaving them to have their showers.

  Claire breathed the sea into her lungs. The salt itched her nose. She took off her shoes and wriggled her toes in the sand. She felt the cool relief of the damp sand spread from her feet to her knees. The cold of the water swished around her ankles and splashed her thighs. She raised her skirt, letting the water rush around her, and wished she’d worn her swimming costume.

  The only other person on the beach was a fisherman at the southern end. Claire took off her skirt and paddled into the swirling water, which seemed to call her in. She checked the beach again. The surf looked safe and she was a strong swimmer. She took off the rest of her clothes, paused and removed her underwear and threw them onto the shore.

  The icy water hit her lower back. She let her body adjust to the chill, then dunked her head under the water. The salt water rinsed through her mouth. She caught a wave into the shore and paddled out again. She caught another wave and felt the tension leave her shoulders. When she reached the shore, she turned and strode back into the surf. As the water swirled around her hips, she shook her head to unblock her ears and salt water dripped into her eyes. A large wave crashed over her. She lost her footing and tumbled in the thrashing mix of surf and sand. For a moment, she couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. Then she felt a piercing pain in her lower back.

  Claire dragged herself out of the surf on all fours. Wet sand clung to her body. The fisherman was too far away to hear her call. She raised herself, feeling her body parts as she did so. Nothing broken. But when she stood up a searing pain shot from her back down her legs.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she said to the circling seagulls. She dragged her underwear on, pulled her skirt up her legs and put her shirt on but couldn’t manage to do up the buttons. Water seeped through her clothes as she limped back to the house.

  ‘What on earth have you done to yourself?’ said Anthony. ‘Let’s get these wet things off you.’ Anthony washed the salt and sand from Claire in the outside shower, wrapped a towel around her and helped her to the bed.

  Claire spent the rest of the long weekend lying down and putting hot and cold ice packs on her back. The others occasionally popped in to check on her and give her a cup of tea or some food. From the bed, she could see palm trees through the small window. She tried to read one of the crime novels they kept at the house for holidays, but every time she moved her arm to turn the page a spasm of pain shot down her leg. How would she complete all the tasks she had to do?

  *

  Claire’s phone rang and she manoeuvred her body to reach the side table. The drive home had been painful and Claire had taken anti-inflammatory tablets and gone to bed early.

  The call was from Mr Toma
ti, the landlord and owner of the Suitability premises. Since the beginning of their lease he had constantly complained about small things: an empty box left on the landing; lights left on overnight; late night sorting sessions.

  With each complaint, Claire listened intently, told him how grateful they were for his assistance and reminded him of the weeks they’d spent cleaning and painting the premises. Last time it was a complaint from the other residents about the number of people coming and going, and Claire’s patience was running thin.

  ‘I’m thinking of selling the property,’ he said. ‘It’s worth more sold than I’m making out of it.’

  This wasn’t a new threat and Claire had to stop herself from telling him to shove his property. Claire used all her determination to calm herself and flatter him.

  ‘I want to bring an estate agent through the premises tomorrow morning.’

  ‘But that’s our busiest day, and we need more notice to reorganise appointments,’ said Claire. ‘Is there any chance of doing it another day?’

  ‘No. Tomorrow is when I have arranged it. And tomorrow it will be.’

  Claire knew this wasn’t legal but they paid such a small amount in rent and she didn’t want to argue and upset Mr Tomati. She called clients and volunteers to reschedule appointments. She contacted the board members to get as many as possible to come to the showroom the next day.

  Having achieved as much as she could, she fell exhausted into bed. She took another anti-inflammatory tablet, set the alarm for an early wake-up so she could prepare for the day ahead, and tried to sleep.

  The alarm interrupted a nightmare about wearing a dress with no back, so she had to stand against walls at a cocktail function. She had thrown off her doona and sheets and her nightgown was up. Her back was cold and when she moved pain jabbed at her nerves.

  She inched herself to the edge of the bed, took another anti-inflammatory and shuffled to the shower, bent over double. The heat of the water eased the pain and she managed to stand up straight and dress herself for the day. She wriggled into a pair of stretch pants, slid a tunic top over her head and placed her feet into comfortable flat shoes.