“Stop!” Ms. Reising squealed with a laugh, “you really mustn’t sport with me so. I know you wouldn’t say such a thing in the interview, so please don’t kid around like that.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Just trying to break the ice. The truth is, Brandon is very thoughtful, Ms. Reising. I will tell them about the mocha cake he ordered the night we got married and how he didn’t even want any of it. This is just a world away from my old life, so it’s more comfortable to make a joke of it than to admit that it’s actually important. I know what I say carries weight in this interview. It was my idea, in fact, and I’m taking a great deal of expert advice, yours included, to make a success of it. Because the bottom line is that what’s important to my husband is important to me.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Reising said and took her leave. Marj had liked having fun with her and being shocking, but she did respect the specialist’s skill…even if it was all posing and spouting platitudes. It wasn’t about being original, it was about being accepted and approved, she reminded herself. The interview was about saving Brandon and his company, which is what she set out to do half-drunk in Las Vegas and she meant to see it through.
At home that night, when she got the predictable text message from her husband not to wait up because he had work to do after spending all afternoon being groomed, she decided to go to bed early. She’d need her wits about her the next day and every minute of beauty sleep to save those PhotoShoppers some effort. That being said, she did drag herself up at the last moment before sleep to slather on three different face and undereye creams that she’d promised faithfully to use. And she set out the toner for in the morning. There was way more to natural beauty than she’d ever been aware of before. She thought natural beauty was like her friend, the flawless Britt, who was just extraordinarily gorgeous but lacked confidence. Fact was, for the kind of people like Marj, who were attractive but not knockout hot, there was a hell of a lot of working out and spray tanning and expensive skin care required to take it up to the next level.
Chapter 7
She slept pretty well, considering the fact that she was initially distracted by the competing aromas of her face creams. The undereye one had orange essence, and the serum seemed to be lavender and eucalyptus, and the deep moisturizing one frankly smelled like pickles. So she figured once she got used to breathing out of her mouth to block out the mingling stink. She knew her skin would be both dewy and savory from all those herbs and spices. When she woke up, she could taste mint even though she hadn’t eaten anything remotely minty.
Clearly, it was something from her new skin regime. She couldn’t blast her face with the hot shower like she usually did because the facialist had told her scary things about broken capillaries and how crappy she’d look in photos if she did. She had been ordered to massage cleanser into her face, blot it off with a soft towel and then use toner to firm and depuff. No creams, nothing greasy and absolutely no hot water. She just hoped the toner didn’t smell. But it did. Like grapes. Apparently, there was something rejuvenating about grapes or their skin or oil or something, and that meant that her face needed to smell like underage wine that needed a few more months in the barrel.
She applied her makeup—all those new, department store counter cosmetics—with the assortment of natural bristle brushes and sea sponges. Everything came in layers. Primer, foundation, concealer, contour and bronzer and highlighter.
By the time she was putting on eyeliner, she felt like she’d been putting on makeup for days. Her real face started miles beneath the flawless mask she was building. She probably wouldn’t recognize herself in the magazine pictures since she could barely make out her own identity in the magnifying mirror even now. She had asked if she shouldn’t have a professional makeup artist and hair stylist but the publicity team felt it was important for her to appear down to earth in a do it yourself manner. So the finishing touches of powder and gloss would be done under the official photographer’s lighting, but the bulk of the blowout touch-ups and smoky eye (subtle, not dark) fell to Marj herself. She Snapchatted Britt shamelessly as she went along, first the bare face, then with each successive addition. It kept them both laughing and made the process a little less bizarre of a transformation for Marj.
She was dressed and lint brushed and camera ready when Brandon arrived five minutes ahead of schedule. He looked astonishing in his new suit, his artfully mussed hair ever so subtly highlighted to blend with hers. She wanted to bite her lip but, of course, she might rupture a capillary and ruin the photos.