After settling her into a chair, I pulled up a stool. Her check-in profile gave me the basics, but I was always curious for more. When had her chemo ended? I asked, and when she was fine talking about that, I asked how sick she had been, how she felt now, and how the morning’s spa treatments had gone. She relaxed as we talked, telling me her plans for lunch here at the Inn, an afternoon of shopping, and dinner at the steak place in town—all of which meant she needed makeup that would last more than an hour. Since she generally only used blusher and lipstick, I sensed she would feel gauche in anything heavy.
Not that heavy is my style. I prefer a natural look. Like the deceptive simplicity of a teapot, it was actually more challenging. Anyone can pile on makeup for a dramatic effect, but applying it with finesse, particularly when there are blemishes to cover, takes skill.
I learned that the hard way.
I had never worn much makeup. Artists didn’t, and Edward had always loved that about me. But a naked face didn’t work at a black-tie event. So for those, I had gone to the woman who did makeup for my friends. I didn’t use her after the accident, couldn’t bear the thought of her telling the others I’d been in, which would have invited talk. Besides, Edward and I had stopped going out.
But I needed coverage. I couldn’t bear looking at the naked me, and felt that the world was staring at me wherever I went. So I found a woman at Bloomingdale’s. Her counter was in a far corner of the cosmetics department, an afterthought to the Lancômes, Elizabeth Ardens, and Chanels. She was younger than I, but she had flair. I watched closely, and not only to learn how to apply makeup. Her face, her eyes, her way of assessing and refining fascinated me. She was an artist. I connected with what she did.
The timing was right. I hadn’t been able to touch clay since the accident—too many memories, too many dreams suddenly lacking meaning, too many speculative looks from proprietors of galleries where my work was displayed. But I needed to touch something. Being tactile was in my DNA. So I immersed myself in makeup artistry. I enrolled in cosmetology school, took an accelerated course schedule, and finished in a record nine months. Once I completed the required number of training hours, I became licensed, and after that, did dual internships with representatives of two of the most prestigious makeup houses.
Edward had called me obsessed, and I suppose I was. As a mother, I had been constantly busy; suddenly I was not. Add in all the other bad stuff, and I needed a distraction. Being a makeup artist was perfect. Not only was creativity involved in analyzing skin and applying makeup, but I could focus on other people, not myself.
And now this client. I asked which features of hers she liked best and least, and showed her pictures of looks I thought she would like. To the tune of soothing spa sounds, we found a comfortable back-and-forth, and all the while, with my LEDs low, I studied her skin.
Dryness was her major problem, possibly as much from winter as chemo, so everything I used had to be moist. I started with a gentle cleanser. Its purpose was as much to cool and soothe as to clean, and, though I would have normally used a scented one to blend with the smell of the Spa, I knew from other cancer patients that sensitive stomachs couldn’t deal with anything strong. I applied a light emollient, and when her skin absorbed that well, followed with a richer one. Had it been my own skin, I’d have used my fingers. Not only did fingers warm lotions and emulsify balms, but they neatly reached creases at the edge of the nostril and corners of the eye. New clients often had hygiene concerns, though, and while I washed my hands often during applications, sponges were safer.
Using a small wedge, I dabbed color corrector into the shadows under her eyes and pressed the tiniest bit of powder there to set it. The moisturizer alone had done wonders for the redness on her cheeks, so I chose a stick foundation to even the color, then layered it with a liquid foundation and blended the whole with another sponge. Since her skin was