Between the Land and the Sea - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,45
flattering my shape and enhancing my coloring. It was the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn and I was determined to do it justice. Studying my face in the mirror I thought of Lorelei and smiled. I scrambled to get out my makeup kit.
Aunt Evie was compulsive about buying makeup and hair products; thanks to her I was the owner of a huge tackle-box crammed with every color and variety of cosmetics known to mankind. Evie couldn’t pass a makeup display without succumbing to the siren song of salesgirls, luring her with gleaming pots, jars and tubes of the latest lotions and potions. She was known by name at all the perfume and cosmetic counters in San Francisco’s high end department stores, and she relished the attention, never encountering a new beautifying elixir she didn’t absolutely have to possess.
Consequently, I was treated to all the makeovers and makeup a girl could possibly want. It pleased Evie to see the salesladies dote on me and boy did they know it. Watching them, I got to be a pretty good makeup artist, and Evie even let me do her face sometimes. I decided to create a high fashion look for Cruz’s show and I giggled at the thought of his reaction.
I quickly teased my hair up a little bit and scattered loads of tiny rhinestone hair-pins into it.
It wasn’t the coppery blonde of Lorelei’s, but it did look sparkly, like it was wet, and my time in the sun and saltwater had added streaks of rust to my regular dark brown. The smell of the hairspray brought on a little twinge of nostalgia, reminding me of all the times I’d sat and watched Evie’s stylist torture her hair into submission.
Rummaging through all the tubes and compacts I found a dark teal pencil and lined my eyes, smudging the edges and loading mascara on the top lashes. I applied a sheer glittering lotion to my arms and décolletage, and brushed a pale frosty gloss on my lips and cheeks, standing back to admire the effect. I looked cool, like a painting.
There was a rapid-fire series of knocks on the door and Megan’s voice called out, “Marina, do you need any help?”
“Come in,” I replied.
“Holy cow! You look like you just sprang from the sea!” Megan enthused.
“That was the plan,” I said, pleased.
We went through my shoes and picked out a pair of heels that worked with the dress. I saw Megan eying my giant makeup box and was suddenly inspired.
“Sit down!” I ordered. Megan complied, and I quickly went to work. Doing my best cosmetic counter girl impression I started a professional makeover.
“You are an autumn,” I announced with authority. I lightly patted foundation around her eyes and dusted her with powder. I penciled her lids with a dark brown, explaining how to focus on the outer edges and “blend, blend, blend” as one particularly chirpy salesgirl used to say.
Enhancing her brows and contouring her cheeks really brought out her pretty eyes. I pulled her hair back into a chic chignon and stood back. She looked awesome, and I congratulated myself.
Megan inspected her reflection, turning her face from side to side. She looked up at me with a surprised smile.
“Wow, Marina! You’re an artist.”
“Now go!” I hustled her out, “Announce Cruz’s creation.” I waited in the doorway to make my grand entrance, excitedly anticipating his reaction.
“Oh my God!” I heard Cruz screech, “Who are you and what have you done with Megan?” I smiled to myself, pleased. She really did look awesome. I stepped out into the hallway and paused.
“Presenting...” Megan announced bombastically, “the latest creation from the famed couturier, Cruz Vanderpool!”
I strutted down the hall, doing my very best impersonation of a high fashion model, thinking how much Evie would have loved it. Cruz’s eyes flew open wide, and he clasped his hands together at his chest with a rapturous expression. I tried not to grin, keeping the haughty, pained look on my face that I’d seen sported by the models walking in the runway shows Evie had taken me to. Suddenly the discomfort was all too real.
It struck me sharply, blooming right behind my eyes. The blinding pain was accompanied by a vision of Cruz, an older Cruz, basking in the admiration of a crowd of people. He was surrounded by a flock of photographers and reporters. I pressed my palm to my forehead and squeezed my eyes shut. It was as real as if I was standing there.