She shakes her head. “Oh no, honey. You’ll probably be paid like the rest of us, in cash at the end of your shift.”
“That’s… convenient. I didn’t bring my kit because Crystal said everyone has all your own makeup, plus the last artist left hers when she moved?” The last bit comes out as a question as well, because that was super shocking when she told me. That’s an incredibly expensive thing just to leave behind. She must’ve made some serious cash if she didn’t bother coming to get her kit.
“Yep, that hooker just up and moved without even turning in a two-week notice, not giving us time to fill her spot before she left,” the one in the chair says, shaking her head.
I shrug. “Well, Astrid to the rescue then, I guess.” And I groan in embarrassment at their judgy looks. “That was incredibly dorky. Sorry, girls. This is my first job in like… forever,” I say vaguely, not wanting them to grill me about why I haven’t worked—like with real people outside of the internet—since I was in high school. “Anyway, I’m nervous as hell, so if I say lame shit like that, just ignore it and pretend it didn’t happen, and I swear I’ll make you look friggin’ amazing.”
The one standing smiles and finally introduces herself, “I’m Heather, and this is Tracy. The rest of the girls usually get here between six and six fifteen. Doors open at eight, but it’s not like, a line out the door that early, so you’ll have plenty of time to fit us in before we all have to be out there.”
“Oh, ummm… okay, so it’s not that I have two hours to get everyone finished,” I say, wording in a way that doesn’t sound like I’m disappointed I won’t actually be off at 8:00 every night like I told Neil. “I mean, I’m pretty fast. And since you all have your own makeup I’ll be using, I won’t have to waste time matching skin tones and such.” I shrug. “Anyway, I guess… let’s get started.” I finally move farther into the room, and Heather hangs her dress on the rack then takes a seat in the salon chair closest to Tracy’s.
“Is this your kit?” I ask, pointing to the black makeup case against the mirror, and when she nods, I open it and look through everything she has, forming a plan. “You’re wearing the red cocktail dress?”
“Yes,” she says as if she wasn’t decided until this very moment.
“Tracy was right. It will look great with your complexion and hair,” I say, glancing in the other woman’s direction and giving her a little smile, hoping that my agreeing with her will soften her toward me, because up until now, she’s put off a serious “You can’t sit with us” vibe.
“Told ya, bitch,” Tracy singsongs to Heather, and I grin as I pull out everything I’ll need in order to do a sultry smokey eye.
Fifteen minutes later, Heather has a full face of stage makeup, complete with a dramatic smokey eye and a matte nude lip, and when I spin her around to face the mirror, she gasps when she sees her transformation.
“Oh. My. God.” She lets out a squeal. “Giiirl, I’m gonna need you to come to my house every morning to do my makeup for the day.”
I giggle and then hear Tracy snort behind me. “What would be the point in that? Your ho ass sleeps all day.”
Heather sticks her tongue out at her in the mirror. “Well on my days off then, bitch.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, blondie. It’s my turn,” Tracy says, spinning her salon chair around for me. And I smile to myself, because if she’s urging me to do her makeup, then that must mean she’s impressed by what I did with Heather’s.
“What are you wearing tonight, Miss Tracy?” I ask, putting a hand on my hip and turning my head to look at the rack.
“Black. Always black. I don’t do color,” she replies, and I look at her, tilting my head to the side.
“Really? That’s a shame. Your eyes would look killer in something purple. Oo, that’s what I’ll do then. You can have your black, and I’ll just go super artsy with your shadow.” I give a little hop and clap twice, and she lifts an overplucked brow at me. I point at her. “We had a deal. Do not even acknowledge the dorky shit that happens when I’m doing makeup.”
“Just make me look as good as you made that ho, and I won’t say shit.” She pulls her hair back in a headband and flaps over her shoulder with her long nails. “That’s my makeup. Don’t know if I have purple or not, but you do you, boo.”
She does have purple. It’s in a pallet at the bottom of her box with an assortment of other bright colors I use to accent the look. I create her some amazing brows to frame her eyes, and I go high-shine gloss on her lips. When I spin her around for her to see, her expression loses all sense of badass attitude, and she turns full-on girly excitement. “Damn, Gina! Heather, can we keep her? Look at this shit!” She turns her head this way and that, batting her long falsies and pursing her lips, and I laugh and give another little hop.