Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,6
can’t squelch the feeling that I’m overstepping. And if he knew what I was thinking, he’d crack my jaw.
I shift my head to look back at her. “I’m sure what you’ve done so far is plenty. It’s my first time to compete. I’m not expecting to place or anything.”
The brush thumps the back of my head again. “Listen here. This entire room has seen me working on you. You have no choice but to let me make you as perfect as everyone expects my work to be.”
I think about the sea of people greeting her. She’s a regular, obviously. “You’re that good?”
She rounds my front and those stormy gray eyes meet mine. My knees waver. I’m so sunk.
But her voice could cut steel. “Whatever you’re thinking of, I’m twice that.”
I grunt out an obliging laugh. “So I should shut up and let you do your work?”
“Exactly.”
While our eyes stay locked, everything around us fades away. The people, the noise, the pushing and shoving and angst and anxiety.
Something flows between us, an energy that threatens to knock me off my feet. I tune into every detail about her, the long lashes, the upsweep of her hair, one spiraling tendril lying close to her ear. I could stand here a million years, taking in her face.
Someone greets us, and Camryn seems to shake herself, nodding hello, then dropping her gaze to a funny belt that holds a dozen brushes. The moment is over.
I want to say something smart and bold, but I can only point to an empty loop. “You’re missing one.” It’s probably a boneheaded, obvious thing, but my mind feels erased. What else could I say? I think I love you? Where have you been all my life? You must be an angel because I’m in heaven?
Nothing runs through my head but bad pick-up lines.
Camryn pats a small zipper pouch on her hip. “I keep the used ones in here until I can clean them. I have a good system.”
“Conscientious. I like that.”
Her phone buzzes. “That’s my next client, no doubt wondering where I am.”
“Like I said, I’m sure you’ve done a great job.”
She pulls out a brush, her eyes on the end as if she’s considering bonking me with it like before. “We haven’t even looked at your legs,” she says. “You’re heavyweight, right? So you have an hour until you go on stage?”
“That’s right.”
“Come with me. My next client is always well prepared. I’m more or less there to give her confidence. I should be able to do a quick bit on her, and then I can finish you before your warm-up.”
She twirls the brush in a small canister. “And we can work as we walk. Go. Toward the hall to the left.”
I do as she says. Somewhere in the back of my head, I think about how I should be running through my poses, warming up slowly, and getting my head straight for this first appearance on stage.
But if Camryn’s right, my tan will hurt my chances. And besides, I couldn’t leave her if I wanted to. My gaze is superglued to her, even as she glides a brush along my biceps while we walk.
It’s wild watching Camryn work the crowd as she passes through. She greets everyone, slow and easy, as if she has all the time in the world. But she never stops, never gets drawn into a lengthy conversation. And her attention stays on my skin, her brush, the never-ending application of shadows and fill.
We duck into a small side room where a darkly bronzed woman in a gold lamé bikini squeals upon seeing Camryn.
“I’m so glad to see my lucky charm,” she croons.
The two women air kiss. “Dahlia, you look divine,” Camryn murmurs, and it’s the warmest voice I’ve heard from her so far. “I’m going to emphasize these glorious triceps a touch more. This is where your points are. You’re gonna kill them with these.”
Dahlia closes her eyes, her long fake eyelashes resting on her cheeks. She visibly relaxes as through Camryn’s words are a drug to her anxiety.
She’s good. Really good.
“Let me get those cheekbones,” Camryn says, stroking something a shade darker along the woman’s face, and then something shimmery on the line above. Dahlia looked good before, but now her face is absolutely chiseled, like a Grecian statue.
“Run through your routine for me,” Camryn says. “Show me everything you do, and I’ll make sure there isn’t a flaw on you.”
Dahlia shifts and turns, rolling fluidly through the poses I’m familiar