“Absolutely,” I say, trying not to sound too excited. “Good idea.”
Hair and makeup! This is so cool!
“There’s been a slight change of plan which I need to fill you in on,” says Zelda. “Nothing to worry about. . Any word from Bella yet?” she adds to the receptionist.
The receptionist shakes her head, and Zelda mutters something which sounds like “Stupid cow.”
“OK, let’s go,” she says, heading off toward a pair of swing doors. “I’m afraid it’s even more crazy than usual today. One of our regulars has let us down, so we’re searching for a replacement, and there’s been an accident in the kitchen. .” She pushes through the swing doors and now we’re striding along a green-carpeted corridor buzzing with people. “Plus, we’ve got Heaven Sent 7 in today,” she adds over her shoulder. “Which means the switchboard gets jammed with fans calling in, and we have to find dressing room space for seven enormous egos.”
“Right,” I say nonchalantly. But underneath I’m jumping with excitement. Heaven Sent 7? But I mean. . they’re really famous! And I’m appearing on the same show as them! I mean — I’ll get to meet them and everything, won’t I? Maybe we’ll all go out for a drink afterward and become really good friends. They’re all a bit younger than me, but that won’t matter. I’ll be like their older sister.
Or maybe I’ll go out with one of them! God, yes. That nice one with the dark hair. Nathan. (Or is it Ethan? Whatever he’s called.) He’ll catch my eye after the show and quietly ask me out to dinner without the others. We’ll go to some tiny little restaurant, and at first it’ll be all quiet and discreet, but then the press will find out and we’ll become one of those really famous couples who go to premieres all the time. And I’ll wear. .
“OK, here we are,” says Zelda, and I look up dazedly.
We’re standing in the doorway of a room lined with mirrors and spotlights. Three people are sitting in chairs in front of the mirrors, wearing capes and having makeup applied by trendy-looking girls in jeans; another is having her hair blow-dried. Music is playing in the background, there’s a friendly level of chatter, and in the air are the mingled scents of hair spray, face powder, and coffee.
It’s basically my idea of heaven.
“So,” says Zelda, leading me toward a girl with red hair. “Chloe will do your makeup, and then we’ll pop you along to wardrobe. OK?”
“Fine,” I say, my eyes widening as I take in Chloe’s collection of makeup. There’s about a zillion brushes, pots, and tubes littered over the counter in front of us, all really good brands like Chanel and MAC.
“Now, about your slot,” continues Zelda as I sit down on a swivel chair. “As I say, we’ve gone for a rather different format from the one we talked about previously. .”
“Zelda!” comes a man’s voice from outside. “Bella’s on the line for you!”
“Oh shit,” says Zelda. “Look, Rebecca, I’ve got to go and take this call, but I’ll come back as soon as I can. OK?”
“Fine!” I say happily, as Chloe drapes a cape round me and pulls my hair back into a wide towel band. In the background, the radio’s playing my favorite song by Lenny Kravitz.
“I’ll just cleanse and tone, and then give you a base,” says Chloe. “If you could shut your eyes. .”
I close my eyes and, after a few seconds, feel a cool, creamy liquid being massaged into my face. It’s the most delicious sensation in the world. I could sit here all day.
“So,” says Chloe after a while. “What are you on the show for?”
“Errm. . finance,” I say vaguely. “A piece on finance.”
To be honest, I’m feeling so relaxed, I can hardly remember what I’m doing here.
“Oh, yeah,” says Chloe, efficiently smoothing foundation over my face. “They were talking earlier about some financial thing.” She reaches for a palette of eyeshadows, blends a couple of colors together, then picks up a brush. “So, are you a financial expert, then?”
“Well,” I say, a little awkwardly. “You know.”
“Wow,” says Chloe, starting to apply eyeshadow to my eyelids. “I don’t understand the first thing about money.”
“Me neither!” chimes in a dark-haired girl from across the room. “My accountant’s given up trying to explain it all to me. As soon he says the word ‘tax-year,’ my mind glazes over.”
I’m about to reply sympathetically “Me too!” and launch into a nice girly chat — but then I stop myself. The memory of Janice and Martin is a bit too raw for me to be flippant.
“You probably know quite a lot more about your finances than you realize,” I say instead. “If you really don’t know. . then you should take advice from someone who does.”
“You mean a financial expert like you?” says the girl.
I smile back, trying to look confident — but all this talk of my being a “financial expert” is unnerving me. I feel as though any minute now, someone’s going to walk in, ask me an impossible question about South African bond yields, and then denounce me as a fraud. Thank goodness I know exactly what I’m going to say on air.
“Sorry, Rebecca,” says Chloe, “I’m going to have to interrupt. Now, I was thinking a raspberry red for the lips. Is that OK by you?”
What with all this chatting, I haven’t really been paying attention to what she’s been doing to my face. But as I look at my reflection properly, I can’t quite believe it. My eyes are huge; I’ve suddenly got amazing cheekbones. . honestly, I look like a different person. Why on earth don’t I wear makeup like this every day?