Tallman Pg 5

Isabel’s shift was eight hours long. After the first two hours her feet were unbearably sore from walking around in her new high heels on the marble floor. The waistband of her pantyhose was digging into the skin of her stomach, and the crotch was creeping up uncomfortably high. About thirty minutes before the end of her shift Louisa asked her if she could do a last-minute makeup appointment. Louisa was already busy helping a woman who had been at the counter for the last hour picking out eye shadow colors. It was obviously going to be a big sale and she didn’t want to walk away from it. Isabel had no idea how to go about doing someone else’s makeup, but she agreed. She knew she was going to have to learn sooner or later.

In the makeup chair was a teenage girl in a lavender formal dress, accompanied by her mother. As soon as Isabel walked up to her the girl held out a ripped-out magazine page with a photo of Britney Spears on it.

“This is how I want my makeup.”

Isabel took the page and looked from it to the girl. She was a slightly overweight redhead with braces, and a fair sprinkling of pimples on her freckled cheeks. She was not necessarily ugly, but no amount of makeup could make her look anything like the photo. Isabel cleared her throat.

“Well, this is a good start, but with your coloring we might want to do something a little different--”

“But I want it just like Britney’s. Mom, tell her.” She looked at her mother.

“My daughter really likes Britney Spears,” she said, and shrugged.

“Okay, well, I’ll do my best.” She took the photo and set it next to the mirror and began taking out the makeup brushes as she’d seen Vivian do. She could hear the girl and her mother arguing behind her.

“I don’t like this toenail polish, Mom. It doesn’t match my dress.”

“Well, honey, you liked it at the salon.”

“But now that it’s dried it doesn’t match my dress. I hate it.”

“Maybe we can paint over it when we get home.”

“There won’t be any TIME when we get home! The limo’s coming to pick us up at five, remember? I want you to fix it NOW!”

“Okay, okay, keep your voice down, sweetie. I’ll be right back.”

Isabel turned around in time to see the mother walking towards the nail polish display. As she was awkwardly blending concealor over the girl’s freckles, her mother came back with a bottle of nail polish and showed it to her daughter.

“I guess that color’s all right. It’s still not what I wanted.” She crossed her arms.

“Honey, it will be fine.”

“Whatever. Hurry up and paint ‘em.”

The girl kicked off her strappy shoes and stuck out her bare feet. Her mother got down on the marble floor on her knees and began panting her daughter’s toenails, as the girl continued to complain about her mother’s poor pedicure skills. Isabel realized she would have to lean over the mother on the floor in order to finish the spoiled girl’s makeup. She didn’t know if she could do it without losing her temper. Louisa was watching her as she rang up the woman with the eye shadows. Isabel took a couple of deep breaths to calm down, dipped the makeup brush back into the concealor and leaned over the squatting mother.

“So, you like Britney Spears?” she asked the redheaded girl, forcing her lips into a smile.

When she finally got home from her first day of work at the Chéri counter her uncomfortable pantyhose were the first thing to come off. Her face felt as if she were wearing a mask. Her eyebrows were drawn on and highly arched, and her eyelids were covered in a shimmering green. Louisa had outlined and filled Isabel’s lips in with a deep red, and splotches of pink rouge stood out on her cheekbones. She didn’t need to look in the mirror to know she didn’t look like herself. She could feel the makeup sitting on her face, settling into her pores. She felt like a drag queen. The answering machine was blinking a red “2”, but she didn’t want to hear the messages. It could only be Louisa or her mother, neither of whom she felt like listening to.

Andrew showed up before she could wash her face. As soon as she opened the door he laughed.

“What happened to you?”

“Chéri Cosmetics. Come on in.”

He was carrying a bottle of red wine and his dreadlocks looked damp, as if he had just showered. He stared at Isabel’s face.

“You look so different. You look like a mannequin.”

“A mannequin? That sounds awful.”

“Okay, maybe a really big doll.”

“That’s still creepy. I was actually just about to wash off this face. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Actually, I was going to bring a surprise up for you from downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

He left and she went into the bathroom to wash her face. It took a lot of scrubbing and a lot of Chéri makeup remover to get it all off. After ten minutes her eyes were stinging and she still had bits of mascara around the edges, but she gave up. She walked back into the living room to find Andrew dragging a used-looking futon through the door.

“What is this?”

“This is your new bed.” He waved an arm over it like a magician.

“You got me a new bed?”

“Well, it’s not actually new. A buddy of mine who owed me some money for weed had it sitting in his garage.” He patted the futon mattress lightly and a little cloud of dust rose up into the air. Isabel smiled.

“I can’t believe you found a bed for me. Why do you keep doing nice things for me?”

“I don’t know.” Louisa thought she knew. He had brought her a bed. She wondered if he expected her to let him make use of it. She was surprised that this thought didn’t seem to bother her. His back was to her, and he was shoving the futon into position under the wide front window. Once unfolded, the futon took up most of the room. He took one of Isabel’s blankets out of the closet and spread it out neatly over the worn mattress. She sat down on it and then looked up to the counter where he’d left the bottle of wine.

“I thought you didn’t drink, Andrew.”

“I brought it for you. It’s better than vodka. Hey, look—this room is so small I can sit on your bed and open the fridge at the same time. Can I cook you dinner now? I could probably do it without ever leaving the bed.” He opened her refrigerator, and she noticed the only thing in it was a bottle of ketchup that had been in it when she moved in. He looked at it and shut the refrigerator quickly.

“You can cook, but I really don’t have a lot of food around here. It’s funny, actually: I have no food and no money, yet I have $120 eye cream.”

“What?”

“It was free, from my job.”

“Oh.”

She lay back on the soft blanket and listened to him rummage in her cupboards. He banged some pots around, and in a few minutes she could smell food cooking. She sat up.

“What are you making?”

“My specialty: Top Ramen noodles with canned vegetables. Dessert will be ‘peach halves in heavy syrup’. Is that okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Isabel began rubbing her sore feet. The high heels had left them red and swollen. Andrew left the pot simmering and sat on the worn carpet in front of her. He took her foot, casually, and began rubbing it.

“You know, you look a lot better without makeup.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t know what else to say so she reached over to the windowsill and began lighting the candles, her foot still in his hands.

“So, what’s your story? How did you become such a recluse?”

“I’m not a recluse. I went to work today, right?”

“Okay, sorry.”

She closed her eyes, enjoying the touch of his hands. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her. She opened her eyes and watched him, rubbing her feet and looking back at her. She felt his hand moving rhythmically up her calves, over her thighs. She stiffened when his hand reached the edge of her cotton shorts, and he stopped. In the candlelight his dreadlocks were a glowing golden color, framing his face like a tangled lion’s mane.

“So, why did you move in here with no money for electricity?” he asked. He sat up and stirred the pot on the stove, without getting off of the bed. . Isabel wished Andrew would just stop talking.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sighed.

“All right, that’s cool. No worries.”

He leaned in to kiss her, his lips dry and his mouth tasting slightly of smoke. Isabel felt as if she should stop him, but at the same time she didn’t want to. She had been alone for almost a year, and now she wasn’t. Even if it was just Andrew, even if he disappeared in the morning, he was warm and alive he wanted her. She lay back on the dusty futon and relaxed, letting him move his hands on her again. Steam was rising off of the simmering pot on the stove and filling the apartment with the smell of cooked food for the first time since Isabel had moved in.

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