by Logan Chance
“My name is Ginger.”
“Yeah?” Meredith scoffs. “Well, congratulations. You still fucked up, no matter what I call you.”
I hoist my beauty box onto my desk. “You know what I didn’t fuck up, Meredith? My new line that is perfect for your brand. You know, the one you can’t come up with yourself. Would you like to talk about that, or maybe we should talk about Trinity Sykes and how her collection is a million times better than yours, and I think you know exactly why.”
She laughs me off. And it doesn’t escape me that Everest is still as a statue, silent as the dead, as this goes down. But, it’s like I’m a volcano erupting and there isn’t any stopping the lava from overflowing out of my stupid mouth as I spill it at her designer-studded feet.
“How dare you imply such things. You know the penalty for smearing my name like that? You will never, ever, work in this city, or anywhere in the country, as long as I’m alive.”
I smirk a little. “Yet, you’re not denying it.”
“It’s because she can’t.” Everest finally speaks and when he does it’s to defend Hell-on-Heels?
I see blood red.
“You have to be joking, Snow.”
“Ginger,” he says softly, but sternly, “you need to leave. Now.”
“That’s right. I’ve found your replacement. This is Everest Snow. He’s one of the most talented new artists I have come across in a very long time.” She clings to his arm like it’s made of gold, and I want to puke. But, I won’t let them see me wounded. I grab my things and blow past them, not stopping until I reach the empty stairwell where there is only the sound of my
tears as I call Bianca.
“Hey, what’s up, G? Did you blow her away with your collection? Are you now the CEO because Meredith is deceased after swatching your palette?” And I know she means well, but it only hurts worse that she was expecting me to kill it and I failed.
“No, Bianca,” I sniffle, “but now I know why some Christmas stories have been told as miracles and others as nightmares.”
So, here we are again. I’m back on my couch with my bestie, sipping wine and “spilling the tea” as she calls it. Except, my tea is as cold and bland as the snow falling outside, because I should have seen this coming from a mile away. We have a fire going and Bianca even made Christmas cookies shaped like trees and elves. I take one look at the green and red sprinkles on the elf’s little pale face and I feel an unatural amount of rage as I bite his sweet little head clean off, thinking about Everest’s stupid advice to me about not being an elf, but trying to become Santa.
“Is there a problem with my cookies?” Bianca asks, trying not to laugh, because I’m sobbing like a crazy person.
Mouth still full of cookie I shake my head. “He’s fiiiine.”
“This isn’t about my cookies. Are you ready to talk about it yet, G?”
“No.” I sniffle again and toss the headless elf to the coffee table where his poor little body smashes into a million bits. “I’m going to just cry my eyes out in my room for awhile.”
“Whatever helps,” she smiles. “I’ll bake some more snacks. Something tells me we’re going to need a lot later.”
“Thanks, Bianca.”
Inside my room, I take a shower that washes away most of my tears. After I toss on a tank and sweatpants, I roll down the top of the pants and walk over to my little makeshift studio and scoff as I stare at myself in the mirror all red and puffy from crying. And normally, I’d be horrified and mad at myself for letting it go this far. But not today. Today, I use my anger for the greater good.
I flip the lights on and turn on the camera. I sit there for a moment until I find the words. In the monitor, I look terrible. The tip of my nose is bright red, and I’m blotchy as hell all over my face.
I take a deep breath.
This is normally when I would upload something about how great Guru Girl’s new holiday collection is and how everyone should run right out and buy it. And while the product is just fine, the ringmaster behind the circus is not.
“I don’t really have an intro for this,” I say to the camera. “But you know, not everyone gets what they want for Christmas. The thing about all of this is everything we celebrate in the beauty world, well, it’s all kinds of bullshit. This face you see right here is the truth. This is what I look like today. So,” I laugh a little and reach for Guru Girl’s Frostbitten collection, “let’s see if seventy-five dollars can make you believe less than an hour ago I didn’t have my heart ripped from my chest, shall we?”
I start going through my normal routine, blotting on foundation and concealer.
“Well, that looks a bit better, doesn’t it?” I show the camera my face and it looks like a filtered pic you’d find on Instagram, so smooth and luminous.
“Maybe, Meredith Taylor, you should have called this the Betrayal Palette. Look how it smooths out a scandal. Flawless, right guys?” I show them my face again. And then I toss the fucking palette. “Let’s get real here. It’s the holidays. The merriest time of year. I want to talk to you, yes you, the people out there who actually help to support a girl like me, a small little dreamer who just wants to create something full of passion and integrity. I want you to know that beauty is not found on a shelf in a store. And I know that sounds super cliche, but it’s true. Beauty is how you feel, no matter whose name is on your face or the tag of your clothes. If you’re a beautiful person, it’ll shine through. Stick with the people that make you feel glamorous year-round and never falter. Those people are the real gifts in your life. I love you guys. Stay pretty.” I blow them my signature kiss and cut the tape.
It posts without editing because it’s not meant to be anything special. I just upload it as is. My soul feels a little lighter.
Ten
Everest Winters
Yes. You read that correctly. My real name is Everest Winters, not Everest Snow. It was a quick choice to throw off the people trying to take me down. You see, I’m a snake in the grass. No one sees me coming until I strike. My bite can kill a brand instantly. But if I like you, if I believe in you, then I can also be an angel of mercy and bring you to life in the click of a button. And if you fuck with someone I love, you were dead the moment you decided to give it a go.
Eleven
Ginger
Christmas Day
A week away from the drama of working for Meredith has done me good. A week away from Everest, though, has me still feeling like I’ve lost a part of myself. It’s unnerving how quickly he got under my skin and bones. I feel a bit shattered. Just at a loss. I think closure is part of it. I need to know why he did what he did. Why would he trick me like that? Why use me to get closer to her? Why would anyone be so cruel? Over money? A job? A status? Nothing in life could ever make me betray a person or use someone like that. Ever.
But there’s more than that. I looked in his eyes. I felt him. I don’t feel like he was just trying to fool me into believing a lie. He was too raw for that. I could feel his truth.
I busy myself by doing the only thing that could possibly torment me worse than thinking about my ex-lover, I go Christmas shopping the night before Christmas. In New York. Yeah. I’m that girl.
As I sniff around a candle store, I run into a face I least expect. Trinity freaking Sykes.
She’s glammed out from head to toe, looking like a walking talking magazine editorial. Hot pink big designer sunglasses. Black Gucci tracksuit that rich people wear to feel average, even though the look costs two months of my rent—and you know how big city living costs are. She has a group around her that is like incognito security slash assistants. It’s all very posh and upscale and over the top. Because it’s the beauty industry in a nutshell, folks. Ri-freaking-dick-u-lusssssss. But still, it’s amazing to see her in person. Like witnessing a unicorn or mermaid in the wild.
“Holy Frostbite, Batman.”
She laughs, tilting down her frames. “Do I know you?”
“Not even close.” I s
himmy my shopping bags down my arm to free up my hand and offer her a shake. “But I’m a huge fan.”
“Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Ginger. I really look up to you. I’ve always wanted to have a makeup line.”
She looks me over. “Sweet. Who are you wearing, girl?”
I feel flushed. I rushed my routine this morning and didn’t do a full beat. Just brushed on some colors I blended from her palette and a smear of shimmery pink gloss. I don’t even think I brushed my hair. And I’m still in the same raggy sweatshirt and hot pink Guru Girl logo sweatpants from three days ago. It’s been rough and these are comfy, ok? Judge me not.
“It’s mostly yours, actually. Your winter collection.”
“Oh, well it looks pretty amazing. I never thought to put the colors together like that. Not many people can pull off more than a couple shades.”
Normally, I’d feel super insecure and wonder if that was a drag, but she looks honest about it.
“Thanks. It’s a great palette. A lot better than um...you know.”
She giggles. “Oh darling, don’t believe all the hype. People love to cause drama. I love Meredith.”
“You do?”
“Sure. World’s big enough for everyone to have a dream.” She tosses her long jet-black hair over a dainty shoulder. “We should take a picture.”
With me?
“We should?” I ask.
“Of course. Any woman that can blend to filth my palette has some serious talent. And darling, you’re more blended than a Ninja.”
“I have no idea what half of that means, but thank you. It really means a lot if you think I’m even semi put together in a decent fashion.”
“You’re funny.” She laughs, holding up her phone for a selfie. “Ok, guru tip number one, just smile and make a duck face with me. We’ll add filters. Don’t even sweat what the real thing looks like.”
We kiss at her iPhone and she takes a pic and then uploads it to Instagram.
“So you really don’t care that someone stole your idea?”
Trinity raises her oversized hot-pink sunglasses to the top of her head and comes closer to me. Her face turns serious and she speaks in a hushed whisper, “Ever hear the expression ‘ideas are cheap, execution is everything’?”
I nod. “Yes, I have heard that before.”
She smirks. “I’m not bothered by some woman trying to steal my hustle. This is a billion-dollar industry. You have to be a warrior with hot-pink war-paint smeared under your eyes to survive it. The customers know at the end of the day who has it and who doesn’t. Trust your execution. Perfect that, and you won’t spend a day bothered by an imposter, baby.” Trinity goes back to her phone. “You have an Insta or blog or something? People are asking who I’m with...they like your look, too.” She shows me the post. Already over a hundred-thousand hearts. Holy shit. Is that for real?
“Um, yes. Yes. I have a tutorials channel.”
“Well, baby, you better put that address in there. Give them the map that leads to all things...damn, what’s your name again?”
I quickly tap out my info on her phone and hand it back. “Ginger. I’m Ginger Darling.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, my phone vibrates and beeps out of control. I snag it out of my purse, dropping most of my shopping bags as I do so, looking like a complete idiot.
She laughs a little.
“I’m so sorry.” I look at my screen. I have over a thousand new subscribers. “Is this real?”
Trinity grins and slides her phone back into her designer purse. With her two perfectly manicured hands she holds out what looks like a frame using her long fingers around my face.
“I told you, baby...execution is everything.”
I sit with Bianca for the next two hours on my couch going through every single comment, like, and new subscriber, thanking them and crying tears of joy at what has happened. It’s amazing. A Christmas freaking miracle. We’re both shoveling sugar cookies into our face-holes, enjoying our little moment in the sun, when suddenly everything turns gray.
New notification. Everest Winters has subscribed to your channel. I’m shocked, but not because I think it’s...him. But because Everest Winters is an amazing fashion and beauty icon. One of the most respected editorial reviewers in the industry. And he’s also been dead for the last five years.
Bianca and I stare at each other. My phone alerts and we both jump.
“Holy Ghost of Christmas Past,” she presses her hand over her chest, “I am not drunk enough for this.”
“Me either.” I tap on my phone and it’s Everest.
I chuck the damn thing clear across the room, shrieking in horror. This escalated quickly. A ghost is freaking calling me from the grave? What in the world?
It sounds again. A little beep from inside a pile of Christmas presents under the tree, buried between boxes.
“I’m not getting it,” I say.
“Maybe we could just move.”
“The landlord would surely understand.”
It sounds again.
“He really wants to talk to you,” she says. “Maybe we should answer it.”
“Whose side are you on? Me or the ghost?”
“It’s obviously the real Everest. Just a coincidence.”
“Ok, then you go answer it. I’ll stay here. Safe next to the cookies.”
“It’s your phone. I mean that would be rude to answer it.”
I sigh. “If I don’t come back alive, you can have all of my beauty room.”
“Sounds fair.”
I snort and lift myself from our super comfy couch. With a deep breath I take a step, and then another, until I’m by the tree. I rummage around to find my cell, locating it finally under a box of five pounds worth of gummy bears I bought for Bianca. Long story.
There are four new messages all from Everest. And now that I actually look at it closely, yes, of course it’s him, not some ghost. I feel so silly.
“Well?” Bianca asks from the couch.
“Here...” I walk over to her and toss the phone on the couch. “I can’t talk to him.”
I hide in the kitchen, rummaging through our tins of cookies and cheese popcorn. Our apartment has become a sea of holiday foods and I’m taking full advantage. I’m also seriously avoiding what needs to be done. I know I’ll have to talk to Everest sooner or later. There’s no way I can just leave things like this. I’m walking around with a pit in my stomach and it needs to be purged. I just need to know why. And how.
I will never be able to understand how a person can take advantage of another. Using me to climb the ranks, all the while sweetening me up with nothing but lies. I hope it burns when he thinks about it. I hope he loses sleep. I hope Meredith gives him an STD.
Ok, that’s too far. And the rumors of her with her previous boyfriend were never proven true. But you get it. I want him to feel hurt like I do. I want him to just...feel anything. I don’t want to be some tier he used as a footing until he got where he was going. I want to be the girl that didn’t ever need that fucking job in the first place.
Fuck him. Fuck Meredith. I storm back into the living room and pluck my phone from Bianca’s hand.
“Ginger I think you should—”
“Nope. Don’t stop me. I’m going to do this. I’m not being a doormat any longer in my life.”
“But—”
“I’m good. I can handle this.”
I tap out a quick message, ignoring his, and tell Everest freaking Snow exactly what I want. Trinity is right. Ideas are cheap. Just like people. And execution is everything.
Twelve
Everest
Sweet little baby Jesus in the manger. She actually text me back. It’s only three words, but still she responded to me. This is something.
My house. Tonight.
I hurry from my desk, leaving my glass of half-sipped scotch behind, and find my suit jacket. I had spent the entire day putting together one of the best motherfuc
king campaigns of all time. I’m spent, but also extremely lit up at the idea of seeing Ginger. Even more happy about her wanting me to come to her house. I can’t think of a more fitting place to lay it all out for her.
From my office, I grab all the materials and things I need to make good on this moment. She’s going to feel as if she’d never even worked a day for Meredith Taylor after I’m done with her. She’s never been a part of something this grand or amazing. There’s only one company in the world that can pull it off, and I won’t rest until I make sure she knows...that company’s mine.
Ten minutes before the nine o’clock hour strikes, I knock on the door of Ginger’s small apartment. It’s a nice place with decent furnishings, but nothing like the lavish style of a home I’m accustomed to. I grew up surrounded by wealth and plentiful things. But, I was also taught the value of people. My father, Everest James Winters, Sr., came from humble beginnings, but poured himself into his business until he was the guy at the top. I never failed to see him treat taxi drivers or waitstaff like gold. He cared about people. He really cared about hard working people. After he died of cancer a few years ago, I fell off my game for a while. It ate at me. I didn’t want to be the man who had to fill such big shoes. But it was also a wake up call. Cancer destroyed what was once such a strong and decent man. I could not let him die in vain. I had to carry on his legacy in an honorable fashion.
And then, Meredith “Hell on Heels” Taylor came into the picture. And nearly destroyed everything.
The sound of the door unlocking pulls me from my thoughts and I straighten up, tugging at my tie a little to loosen it around my neck. And then there she is. Ginger Darling.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m glad—”
“Shut it. Just come in.”
I bite my lip so I won’t laugh. She seems fired up enough without adding fuel to the fire. Rightfully so. There is so much to iron out.