Her stomach curled as she surveyed them, but she took in each individual poster, her eyes tracing the fine lines of the women’s expressions, of their features, the sensual mouths, large eyes, and different noses. Always Allie appeared a pixieish, younger version of her mother, but the resemblance was evident, caught by the camera’s eye.
Bile rose in her throat as she walked past the posters, circling the room, eyeing each print.
She felt edgy.
Fidgety.
Anxious.
It was time again, she knew. She couldn’t fight the demons much longer, nor did she want to.
Which one? she wondered, retracing her footsteps as she slowly walked the perimeter of this, her safe place. Which one would be best?
It had to be of Jenna.
For tonight.
She made six circuits. Each time the poster with Jenna portraying Zoey Trammel called to her and seemed to follow her with her eyes. “You,” she said to the image of Jenna in a wide-brimmed hat, her head turned to look over her shoulder, her lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Zoey.”
Intent on not disturbing any of the other wall hangings, she bit her lip as she eased the mounted poster from its spot and carried it to a bench pushed against the wall with the window. After placing it in plain view of her makeup table she sat in the small chair at her vanity mirror and opened the drawer where she kept her cosmetics. Tubes and jars were lined in rows and she quickly picked those that would be perfect for her transformation: coral lipstick, smoky eye shadow, near-black eyeliner with a hint of green, a rusty-hued blush over lighter foundation.
Then she began her work, using the brushes, swabs, and cotton balls kept in jars on the table, leaning close to the mirror when she needed to while keeping the poster in her peripheral vision.
She was still young.
Age hadn’t gotten to her.
Yet.
Growing older was inevitable of course, but at the thought her lips pursed, and she noticed the first signs of ugly, bothersome lines that would eventually require Botox injections.
She couldn’t think about them now. She was losing time.
She could play Zoey. No, she could be Zoey. She had the heart-shaped face, though she would have to don a red wig, as Jenna had done.
Jenna!
Again her stomach roiled and her hatred ran a little faster in her blood.
With a slightly trembling hand she applied her makeup painstakingly, using the different brushes with their varying sizes and firmness, copying the shading beneath Jenna’s cheekbones, the smudge of eyeliner/shadow at the corners of her eyes, the carefully outlined lips.
Jenna Hughes, who, at the top of her game, had walked away from Hollywood. What a coward. She’d thrown it all away. For what? To be a mother? What a joke! What a freaking joke!
Her hand trembled more violently and she closed her eyes and counted to ten.
This is not the time to unravel, for God’s sake.
Slowly letting out her breath, she started in again. With forced precision she applied the colors, lines, and mascara, as careful as a painter with a masterpiece as she looked from the image on the poster to her own reflection and back again. The hues had to be exact. With the right play of shadow and light, she could make herself be Zoey . . . not Jenna so much really but . . . close enough to pass as Zoey Trammel . . . a final stroke of lipstick and . . . her hand wobbled wildly.
Her teeth clenched.
No! No! Don’t lose it!
But it was too late, the shaking of her fingers had destroyed her look. The lipstick trailing from the corner of her mouth made her look like the Joker from a Batman movie.
“Shit!” She grabbed a tissue, tried to clean up. No, no, no! That wasn’t what was supposed to happen!
Heart pounding, her pulse racing, she knew in an instant that if she didn’t pull herself back, rein in her wildly raging emotions, all would be lost. “Get it together!” she screamed into the mirror, then gasped in horror. “Oh, Jesus!” The image staring back at her looked nothing like Zoey Trammel. The woman in the reflection was cartoonish, a caricature of the beautiful Zoey and the gorgeous woman who portrayed her, the colors bizarre.