What Pretty Girls Are Made Of (18 page)

“How’s your Wednesday looking?” he asked, skipping the hello.

“It’s yours,” I replied, and hung up. My cheeks hurt from smiling by the time I got home.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Clock-Stopping Ingredients

M
y Monday-morning shower lasted thirty minutes. Not a sexy shower with Bret in mind, just pure dread thinking about going to work. I’d had such a blissful weekend, and the thought of being back in the studio, sans Jennifer, was upsetting. I knew there would be lots of talk and gossip. I also knew that Sally would start bad-mouthing Jennifer to the staff, and my ears were burning just thinking about it.

We were all scheduled to arrive at the studio promptly at 8:45 a.m., as Sally and Simon, the casting director for the hypothetical Sally Steele Cosmetics reality television show, were meeting with a possible production team. Sally wanted everyone ready, awake, and dressed to make a good impression. None of us wanted to arrive at work forty-five minutes early for a possible reality show that we wanted no part of in the first place. But we did it.

By nine, neither Sally nor her guests had arrived at the studio. Everyone on the staff was there and ready. When the phone rang, we expected it to be Sally telling us how late she would be. The call came to my line and I saw her number on the caller ID. “Hi, Sally. Good morning.”

“Alicat. Great, so happy you’re at the studio. Is everything spotless? Like, white-glove-test approved?”

“Yes, Sally. We are all clean and all set, and everyone came in early today.”

“Okay, great. Well, the meeting has been pushed back until 5:45, so tell everyone they’ll have to stay late.”

The girls weren’t going to like that. I told Sally that I would pass on the message and we would see her later. To ease the suffering of the tired and cranky makeup artists who had to stay at work indefinitely that evening, I ordered in breakfast. Sally’s treat. I would take the fall if she freaked out when she saw her credit card statement. Perhaps then I would get fired and could file for unemployment. Wishful thinking.

I’d taken on the jobs of five people, was paid for one, and couldn’t find a new position even though I’d been looking daily. I hadn’t heard back about the “blow job” trial run opportunity since interviewing, either. Dwelling on those thoughts made me want to vomit up the breakfast that Sally had unknowingly bought for me.

Everyone was on their best behavior throughout the day, not only because of the upcoming producer’s meeting but also because no one was certain if we were being videotaped or possibly even audiotaped as well. I figured that if our voices were being recorded, our management team would already have been to the studio to let most of the staff go. I didn’t know if it was legal to audiotape your employees without telling them they were being recorded (isn’t that like wiretapping?), but I had a feeling that wouldn’t stop Sally from doing it.

Simon showed up promptly at five forty-five. He and I sat in the lipstick office waiting for Sally and the others to arrive.

“Have you heard of this new skin-care line called Olive?” Simon asked.

“I’ve tried that line!” I told him enthusiastically.

He couldn’t believe it. “How did you start using it? Is it good? Tell me what you know about it.” He was very passionate about skin products.

“I’m crazy about taking care of my skin, so I’m always trying new products. Especially with free samples. It’s work to find the best ones for hydration and anti-aging that are actually affordable.”

“Tell me more. Details,” he replied.

“About my regimen?” He nodded. “Okay, well, with champagne tastes on a beer budget, you have to do some digging to find what works for you.”

Simon laughed.

“Lately I’m into oil cleanser for my skin. Everyone thinks that oil will clog your pores, but it’s actually the opposite. It sticks to the oil already on your skin and removes it without stripping the moisture.”

“You don’t even have to say anything more,” Simon interrupted. “It’s crazy—you would be so perfect for this job I’m casting.”

I looked at him inquisitively, my eyes urging him to continue, thinking about the fact that recently more hair than normal was building up in my hairbrush. A change was in order.

“I’m in the process of being hired to find the new Olive spokesperson. And hello—the whole line is olive oil, which you seem to just have covered. You would be perfect for it. Beyond perfect.”

I smiled at him. If he only knew how much I craved that opportunity. And how important skin care was to me. Should I tell him?

“When I told Sally how great you were on camera, she mentioned to me that you were an actress, so it all made sense.” I wondered how much Sally had shared with him.

“That was my past life,” I told Simon.
My failed first career.
“But I would love to be a skin-product spokeswoman, or any kind of host, really. When are you auditioning for it?”

“Probably at the end of the month, but I’m still waiting to hear back about my contract first. I should get it in the next few days and hit the ground running from there.”

“Well, please keep me in mind. Seriously,” I said, knowingly taking a risk by showing interest.

I told Simon that while I would love to hang with him for the rest of the evening, I had work to get done. By “work,” I meant sending an email to my agent (or my former agent) to tell her about what Simon was casting, and to see if I could be considered for the position. Worth a shot! Well, if this one was meant to be, something would come of it. My agent replied that she would be in touch with Simon and that we should keep our fingers crossed.

Sally arrived fifteen minutes late to her own reality show meeting, yet none of the other guests had arrived. We received word that one of the producers was stuck in traffic somewhere between Soho and the studio. Great.

The girls were cranky, since they had arrived at work early, and they wanted to leave for the evening. At 6:28, all the players were finally seated in Sally’s office. Just as the latest arrivals removed their coats, scarves, and gloves, Sally bolted up from the meeting (that hadn’t even started) and ran out to the front of the store, where I was standing. I had never seen the woman move so quickly.

“Alison, my sweeeeet!”

“Hi,” I said to Sally, surprised, with my face barely inches from her panting one.

“I almost completely forgot. I need you to pick up Elliott right away from the psychologist. He’s six blocks away and is done at 6:45. I’m in a pinch here with this meeting, so you should put on your coat and get a move on it.”

“Um, sure, Sally,” I replied, not really knowing how to handle the situation. “I’m happy to go pick him up for you today. But, it’s just . . . I’m not a babysitter, so I guess I’ll bring him back to the store and you can take it from there.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” she said with her back to me, already walking back into her meeting. Babysitting wasn’t in my job description. But I had taken another baby step in advocating for myself.

If I’d had any respect for my boss, or had been treated well by her, I wouldn’t have minded this personal errand. I loved children. But not in this situation. The last thing I wanted was for Sally Steele to see me as her new sitter.

When Elliott and I arrived back at the studio, Sally, Giuseppe, and the other makeup artists were sitting around the center makeup island. Giuseppe was applying makeup to Michele, the female producer. Elliott said hello to his mother and ran to the back of the studio to play on the computer.

“This is Alison, everyone,” Sally said, addressing the producers. “You didn’t really get to meet her before. But you’ve heard about her. She’s my personal assistant.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m actually Sally’s executive assistant. Let me know if you need anything.”
Baby steps.

“Oh, right. She’s my
executive
assistant. She hates it when I call her my
personal
assistant,” chortled the Beast.

It was an insult when Sally called me her personal assistant, and she knew it. Though I did feel like a PA, especially after having to rush to pick her son up from the doctor’s office.

“They haven’t even started talking about anything of substance,” Carly whispered to me as I walked back to my desk to take off my coat. “Doesn’t she understand that some of us commute and have family responsibilities and can’t wait around to watch Giuseppe put on eye shadow?”

I completely understood. I, too, had plans that had been indefinitely pushed back. I was in no mood to socialize, so I hid behind my desk getting work done. I figured I might as well be productive. At 7:40, the meeting had moved back to Sally’s office, the girls were all still waiting around, frustrated, and I was fuming at my desk. But I kept silent and canceled my dinner plans with Jill.

At 7:48, Helen did the unthinkable. She marched into Sally’s office with a parade of makeup artists behind her.

“Excuse me for interrupting your meeting,” she boomed, her voice echoing in the hallway.

Sally looked up in surprise, and the producers turned their heads. Helen continued talking.

“The thing is, we’ve been at work since early this morning. We came in early for your morning meeting, and it’s really time for us to go home. Sally, if it’s all right with you, we are going to leave. The store is long closed and it isn’t fair to make the girls wait for your meeting to end.”

Silence.

For about thirty seconds. No one said a word.

Sally finally responded after what felt like another hour of waiting.

“Wow. Just walk in here and join our meeting,” she said with a smile. To outsiders, her comment would seem friendly with a hint of passive-aggressive. To us, it said,
We’ll talk about this later
.

“Okay. Well, I need someone, or a few of you, to stay to lock up. So who has a key?”

It was prime reality show meat. One by one, down the line, they spoke. First Helen. “Oh, well, I don’t have a key, do you?” she said to Jolie.

“No. Sorry. I don’t have a key or the alarm code,” she replied. “Carly, do you have a key?”

“Nope. No key here. Sorry.”

I was praying that they didn’t go to me next. I didn’t have a key or an alarm code and didn’t want the responsibility that came with them, even if it made my workday shorter. I would rather have to wait outside of the studio on a hot or a cold morning than that.

“This is really embarrassing,” Sally commented with a shrug. “So does anyone have a key and an alarm code?”

In unison, the whole line replied. “Jennifer.”

I could see the rage in Sally’s eyes. This wasn’t going to end well.

“I guess you’re all staying until the meeting is over, then, since the fired manager is the only one with a key and an alarm code.”

So Jennifer was fired now? Interesting. She was going to love hearing that.

“If I had my camera running right now, I think we would have won an Emmy,” one of the producers said.

“Well, I’m glad we could contribute to their television success,” I heard Helen say as the girls walked out of the office.

Thankfully, the meeting ended shortly after the key/alarm code debacle. Sally closed the front door after bidding farewell to the producers. She stopped halfway into the studio. By this time, Elliott had pried himself away from the computer and was standing around like the rest of us.

“I am beyond appalled at your behavior tonight. All of you. I am doing everything I can to get you business and clients, and you want to just go home? Disgusted. That’s what I am. Disgusted with you. Who the hell do you think you guys are, ruining my meeting like that with this ‘no key’ business? After all I do for each and every single one of you, to make me look like such an idiot?”

She walked back into her office.

We were all quiet. A little whisper interrupted the heavy silence.

“It’s okay, girls. She had a bad day,” said the nine-year-old boy we didn’t even realize was standing with us. His body was contorted like the Hunchback of Notre Dame’s—his shoulders up to his ears, neck pushed forward, and eyes wide. This little, skinny future CEO, who had just come from therapy less than two hours before, was commanding our attention. And I couldn’t take my eyes off him. “She gets like this sometimes. Usually she yells at me, but now she’s yelling at you. She’ll cool off.” He talked with his hands, thrusting them out, rigid and stiff with every point, his shoulders still hunched. His voice was raspy and low, and still a whisper. “She’s not very nice sometimes, but she had a bad day. She likes to yell, but I promise it will be okay for you.”

I locked eyes with Helen. Where had Elliott heard this? Clearly he was a product of psychoanalysis, but this was eerie. And what did Sally say to him at home? Sadness washed over me. While I could leave all things Sally at the end of every day, Elliott had her all the time. Forever. And he had lots of years at home before leaving for college.

“What do you say at home when she yells at you, Elliott?” Helen asked him politely.

“I tell her that she probably had a bad day and that I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Elliott!” boomed her voice from the office. “We are leaving in two minutes.”

“Okay,” he replied, and obediently ran into the back to grab his backpack.