Fleur De Lies(89)
“This afternoon. While you were touring Rouen. I stayed on the boat and market-tested a few of the products I had with me on a sample group of senior citizens. You wanna see the results?”
“By all means.”
She catapulted herself out of her chair and ran around the dining room for thirty seconds, returning with Margi and Nana.
“Here they are.” She positioned them close to Victor’s chair as if they were decoys in a police lineup. “Our first model, Margi, is all ready for her open casket at the local Catholic church.”
“Catholics don’t do open caskets in church,” Woody spoke up. “You’re thinking of Protestants. She might have to consider converting.”
“She wouldn’t have to if she were cremated,” said Cal.
Visibly alarmed, Margi angled her head around to look up at Jackie. “Are they telling me the only way I can buy your translucent cream blush is by renouncing my faith?”
“Don’t listen to them. Our policy is to accept all major credit cards regardless of religious affiliation.” Jackie placed her hand on Nana’s shoulder. “And this is our second model, Mrs. S., who’s prepared to paint the town pink in her ivory-toned foundation and neutral eye shadow.”
Uff-da! That’s what had been different about the gang. The ladies had all undergone makeovers! But the change had been so subtle, I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. I studied Nana with a critical eye. Wow. She looked like a million bucks. Two of her chins had either been nipped, tucked, or cleverly camouflaged. Her skin tone was less splotchy. Her face looked as if it had been lifted, peeled, and botoxed, resulting in a healthy glow that made her look twenty years younger. In fact, even though she wasn’t funeral parlor–ready, she looked every bit as good as Margi.
“You don’t paint a town pink,” drawled Dawna. “You paint it red.”
“Octogenarians paint it pink,” countered Jackie. “Pastels are much more complementary to them than primary colors. And may I draw your attention to the highlighter under her brow?” She trailed a finger along the arch of Nana’s eyebrow. “No sign of creping whatsoever.”
“What the hell’s creping?” asked Woody.
“Crepin’s what happens to a girl’s skin when it gets so old, it’s got more crinkles than a roll of them party streamers,” said Nana.
Victor shifted his gaze from Margi to Nana to Margi again. “Your results are extraordinary. And you didn’t even use a reformulated product. I can’t begin to tell you how impressed I am, Jackie. Your methodology, your application … all outstanding.”
While Jackie preened, Woody pounced. “Say, if she can have folks looking that good when they’re dead, I wouldn’t mind getting a piece of the action. I hired the best makeup artist money can buy, but she can’t hold a candle to what Jackie’s done with these two gals. Shoot, they don’t look dead at all.”
Maybe because … they weren’t?
“What do you think, Victor? Are you willing to talk turkey? If I agree to buy your cosmetics, would you agree to let Jackie train an army of gals who’d make our customers look as attractive as these gals? But I’d insist that she do the training. Second best won’t cut it at Jolly’s.”
Victor’s heavy breathing eased as dollar signs appeared in his eyes. “Why stop at Jolly’s? If you have a regional platform, we could work on expanding our reach until we achieved national recognition. If sales increase exponentially, we could take the company public and offer stock options.”
“Whose company?” asked Woody. “Yours or mine?”