"Like this,” he said, taking a nasty squeeze of my thigh.
Didn't I knowanyone who was normal?
"Charles is going to guide us through facials and then give us some help with makeup. He's good at what he does, so trust him. This is also—hopefully—where you might need the checkbooks you were instructed to bring.
His car is loaded with loot, so if he shows you something you like, buy it! He's just getting started on his own and needs all the help he can get."
"Kate!” he yelled with indignation.
"Trust me, Charles. For what you're about to get yourself into, you deserve compensation."
As he retrieved his box, I nonchalantly went into the dining room and pulled the drapes on the sliding glass doors. Keeping them all on one task was difficult enough; chaos would ensue if there was even a hint of what was to come next.
Charles took his place at the center of the island. He was a very handsome man in his mid-twenties, with rich black hair combed to the side and the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. He wore a pale yellow polo shirt and crisply pressed khaki pants. With total concentration, he removed what he needed from the box and set it all on the island.
"The first thing we need to do is strip—” he managed to say only to be abruptly stopped by confusion as many jaws dropped and all eyes riveted to him. He looked to Claudia for explanation and reassurance.
"'Strip’ is not a good word at the moment, Charles,” she explained. “They're a little slow. Try again."
"Well, first thing we need to do is strip—Take off? Remove?” he tried, still perplexed and unsure of himself. He quickly grabbed a bottle from the island and held it up. “We need to use this. We need toremove all traces of makeup you have on.” When it seemed that everyone got the benign gist of what he was saying, he perked up again. “Facials are only good on perfectly clean skin. I have some remover for the face and some for the eyes. I also have these little shower caps to protect your hair."
Claudia grabbed a stack of towels from the kitchen counter and gave one to each. From his box, Charles removed small hand mirrors to help everyone accomplish the task. He spied Maggie reading the ingredients list on the makeup remover bottle. “Ah,” he acknowledged. “You must be our vegan."
Maggie nodded, and he told her to feel free to read them all, that all ingredients were natural and nothing had been tested on animals. With some weird brand name like “Make No Bones About It,” I figured it would be a quick read.
Soon everyone was barefaced, and I found myself thankful that we had already seen each other at our worst, as we all looked rather drab.
Charles held up a box with a tribal mask on it. “This is Aztec clay,” he informed. “It does a wonderful job of pulling impurities from the pores and tightening the skin. I'll mix it some with apple cider vinegar, and then you'll just paint it on, about an eighth of an inch thick. Leave it on for five minutes if you have sensitive skin, and about ten minutes if you have normal skin."
"And forty-five minutes if you are Kate,” Laura said.
I spat back, “And three days if you are Laura. Then maybe you'll look like the shithead you are!"
"Will you two quit it!” Claudia yelled. “You're both so juvenile."
"Yeah, we wouldn't want to be juvenile,” I defended. “That would be so like grade school or something."
She shook her head and released a “grrr” of frustration. I knew I trod thin ice and that she could easily become a harpoon when needed, but I also knew that she wanted this day to be fun for everyone. That desirehad to take into account that we were all juvenile when together—even her, if she'd step out of her manager role for a moment.
Ten minutes later we were all gray-faced and milling about the room, hoping beyond hope that every other face looked stranger than our own. Alison at one point hit the pantry and stuck elbow macaroni into the clay on her face to emulate eyebrows, saying, “Look, everyone. I'm a macaroni picture!” See, it wasn't just Laura and me. It was all nonsense, and yet it was all so very important.
By the time we were all washed up, Charles was ready with moisturizer. We all applied some as he filled the island with lipsticks, mascaras, foundations, powders, blushes, and eyeshadows—a glamour girl's dream. Like scavengers at the site of roadkill, the group's own glamour girls picked through it all. Claudia, Holly, and Susan went wild. Charles was very skilled at matching tones with the correct colors. He made suggestions and helped a few with some application techniques.
"Come here, Kate,” Claudia called. “I want to do your face."
I approached her and saw just how stunning her features were, made-up but far from imaginary. “Will I look as beautiful as you when you're done?” I asked.
"Probably not,” she quickly replied, grinning.
"Well, that was a Laura-like thing to say! Double-standards or what?"
"No. I was about to add that you'd bemore beautiful."
"Sure, you were, but I can take your teasing. In fact, I like it,” I said and planted a kiss on her forehead. “So go for it, but just remember I'm picky. I don't like feeling like I've gotstuff on my face. And I detest lipstick. I'll have it all over my shirt sleeve within two minutes."
I let her do as she saw fit, grateful for the tips Charles tossed at her, helping her keep it “light and natural."
My fidgeting finally brought my eyes to Maggie, who sat far removed from the group. She purposefully distracted herself with busy tasks: she fixed her hair, pulled her socks up, tied her shoelaces into perfectly taut bows. But all the while, she oozed extreme discomfort.
"Hey, humdinger!” I yelled, “Get over here and be someone's guinea pig."
"No,” she said. “I'm not really into the makeup stuff."
"That's because you don't need to beyet," Holly remarked. “I mean really! Look at her skin. It's beautiful.
Perfectly flawless."
"I agree. Flawless,” Charles said from the stool next to Holly's. “Stay out of the sun, girl! You've been blessed by a different light."
Okay, they had successfully let her off the hook, but something wasn't right. She had an attitude that did not match simple disinterest. “Come on, humdinger. Nobody's trying to convert you. It's just an opportunity to try something new. I bet Charles will let you use the makeup remover after you get all gussied up,” I said and received vigorous nodding from Charles. Then I added, “Look at me. I'm at Claudia's mercy. She could be making me look like Bozo's whore."
"Yeah, come on, Maggie. Give it a try. It's really fun,” Alison said, and a few others joined in with encouragement.
I looked at Susan, who I now realized was as removed from Maggie as Maggie was from the group. Then I instinctively looked to Kris, hoping for her to jump into her St. Mike's sheet and offer a little clinical perspective. At the moment, however, she was more concerned with which shade of peach eyeshadow went better with her lipstick.
"Humdinger!” I tired once more.
An angry look swept across her face, and very curtly she said, “It's dishonest."
"Dishonest?” I asked. I had an idea of what she meant, and I think I asked more to stall as my mind raced to wrap itself around the situation. Push-up bras, three-inch heels, and even sunglasses: there were a million things that were dishonest—and a necessity to the sisterhood. “What do you mean, dishonest?"
"It's a lie. It's making yourself into someone you're not."
The room fell completely silent and motionless.
The same angry look swept over Susan's face, and she asked, “Are you calling us a bunch of liars?"
"You, Susan, want me to wear makeup for one reason only,” Maggie accused. “And that's because if I wear makeup, people won't be so quick to assume I'm lesbian. You can hide me better then."
Uh oh!
In my mind, I imagined shoving worms back into a can.
"I don't hide you! And I have never once said anything about you wearing makeup!” Susan defended, and I tried to stay on that sacred middle ground, shoving worms instead of stepping on them.
"Well, I think you do. I've never worn makeup, and I never will. Like I said, I think it's dishonest."
Here was another one of those moments that perpetually confounded me: I had gotten what I asked for, but now I didn't want it. At the same time, though, there was a part of me that couldn't leave well enough alone. I opened my lips to speak, and immediately Claudia mouthed, “Don't!” and forcefully pushed her makeup brush over my lips.
Alison jumped in and inadvertently saved me. “I think there are degrees of honesty, Maggie,” she said. “To me it's the inside honesty that's more important than how somebody looks."
Ginny added, after apparently running honesty lectures through her head, “I don't think any of us could survive in this world being totally honest one hundred percent of the time. Sometimes not even with ourselves. As for me, I started going gray before I hit forty. Now I'm in my fifties without a gray hair on my head. Is that dishonesty or a harmless illusion?"
"Actually, it's a darn nice color on you!” Charles offered.
Most of us chuckled. I knew he'd get along with everyone; I did not know he'd be ‘one of the girls’ in so short a time.
"Maggie,” Holly dared, “if you wore makeup would it change who you are or just how other people see you?"
"Both."
Holly then asked me to get a pad of paper, which I did. She got a pencil out of a big case in her purse. She turned to the side, looked at Maggie with a smile, and started drawing. Everyone hovered behind and beside her, totally amazed as she brought Maggie from the far side of the room onto the paper. In a span of time that seemed shorter than it would have taken me to sign my name legibly, she finished and turned the paper toward Maggie. “Is that you?” she asked.
"It looks like me, yes,” she answered, cautiously intrigued.
"Then come sit by Charles and me,” she instructed as she pulled a stool closer to her.
Maggie reluctantly did so. She seemed relieved to discover that all eyes were on Holly and not her.
Holly took some the various eyeshadow shades and gave the drawing eye and hair color. “Okay, Charles,” she finally said. “You're the pro here, so help me out."
"Hmm, I think I'd go with a light lip color against her pure skin. This one,” he said, grabbing the stick of his choice.
Rather than applying it directly to the paper, she matched its shade to an eyeshadow, ran her finger over the compressed powder, and gently worked it into the lip area. She used her pencil to make sure that the shading remained in tact. They went through the same process repeatedly, deciding: light on the mascara, a face powder that matched her skin tone “just to make the picture look realistic,” two tones of peach on her eyes lids, and a little darker shade on her “amazing cheekbones."
Holly penciled in a few finishing touches. She held it up for Maggie to see, and then she asked again, “Is that you?"
"No,” Maggie answered.
I wanted to hit myself up side the head. I don't think I did. Maybe I did. After all of that, a no? I expected an epiphany.
Apparently, Holly hadn't expected the same, as she very nicely asked, “What did I get wrong? What should I fix?"
Maggie shrugged.
"Did I erase part of your nose and make it wider?"
Maggie shook her head.
"Did I pencil in a second chin while you weren't looking?"
Maggie shook her head again.
"Did I make your eyes smaller? Did I move them closer together? Erase your ears? Must be the lips then,” she said, turning the paper in every direction and pretending to examine it. “No, the lips are still there."
Maggie smiled.
"So you're telling me one minute this looks like you, and because I merely add a little bit of color to what was already there, it just doesn't look like you anymore. Is that right?"
Maggie didn't answer.
"What color is your car, Maggie?"
"Blue,” she said.
"Would it still be a car if it wasn't?” she asked but did not wait for a reply. “How about your shirt? What color is your shirt?"
She had to look down to answer that one. I found that funny, but I knew I would have had to do the same.
“White,” she said.
"Would it still cover you if it were purple?"
"I hope so,” she said, and everyone giggled.
"But what? There's something so totally different—orwrong —with you that we add a little color, andpoof, you're just not Maggie anymore?"
"The Department of Defense might be interested in that. Put a little blush on a terrorist and they become Mother Teresa,” Charles whispered.
"Colors can't change something into something it's not, Maggie,” Holly said. “Colors only change how light is reflected by something ... but it's still the same something, whether it's blue or purple."
Holly put down the picture, which Claudia quickly confiscated, gawked at, averted from my grasp, and then passed to the next person until it made the complete rounds ... ending with Susan.Wasn't that just divine intervention, Claudia!
Susan stared at it, her eyes growing wider with each second. “Oh my God,” she finally said. “I honestly didn't think you could be any more beautiful than you already are."
Maggie's face turned red, proving Holly's point: She was still Maggie, even with a drastic color change. She looked down.
"That's it!” Alison was apparently the recipient of the missing epiphany. “You made her pretty, Holly! That's why she doesn't think it's her. She doesn't think she's pretty."
Maggie raised her head, looked at everyone, and asked, “Is this some just some elaborate scheme to get me to put on makeup?"
"No!” Holly assured. “You never have to do anything at these things that you don't want to do. Claudia and Kate are a lot of things, but I don't think they're the kind who would hold you down and force makeup on you."
"Oh gee, thanks for that vote of confidence, Holly,” I said and added, “Maggie, nobody's trying to set you up.
We'll just be in therapy for years, knowing that you're pretty enough without makeup while the rest of us have flaws to hide. It's okay though. Think nothing of it, humdinger."