Page 4 of All of You

“False.”

“How is that false? I’m not going to be on stage!”

This was an age-old discussion. I loved makeup, but the stage-level goop quickly became tiresome. And some part of me wanted to be a little closer to me when I saw Ben tonight. People tended to gush over the public me, but he’d seen me for the first time as pretty close to myself—minimal makeup, no big hair, and normal clothes in the comfort of a relative’s home.

“You and I both know you’re going to end up on stage tonight, so don’t even try with me today, Whit. You pay me for this, and if I don’t do it right, Nikki will kill me. I’ll choose your attitude over death any day, sorry.” She didn’t look at all apologetic as she gently tapped the edge of the lashes to my lid, then blew on the glue to dry.

Amanda had begged me to get lash extensions, and I’d tried them but hated them, so we were stuck with this.

“Fine. But note my protest.” I lifted my chin and parted my lips, knowing she’d need this angle for finishing them, then it’d be back to the eyes.

“So noted. And can I just say, you seem particularly grumpy today.”

I cracked one eye open, just barely, and took in her short platinum hair artfully messy with a magical pomade that kept the locks in place, but still made it look soft. Her lids were mermaid colors today—shimmering blues and greens, and they brought out her teal eyes. Of course they did—this was her thing. But still. Her makeup always amazed me.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. So tell me why.”

I waited as she brushed color over my lips—I’d be going with an au naturel look far from natural considering I had more makeup on now than I wore on any normal day. But the look was one I’d become known for working fairly often at events, and I did like it. My dark hair and fair skin lent itself to this kind of “spare” look on my face—nude lips, dewy skin, dark, smoky eyes for evening, but only in grays.

I waited ’til she’d finished. “The guy who’s coming. He’s sweet. He’s a normal. I don’t want him to be freaked out.”

A shimmer of nerves slithered in my belly, but I ignored it—something I’d become an expert at in the last decade.

“You like him?” Amanda asked, surprise clear in her voice.

She’d been with me through all the mess after Jamie, at which point I’d sworn off men altogether.

“No—nothing like that. He’s just… sweet. I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable, and I feel like this thing is becoming a bigger deal than it should. It’s supposed to be about this little school for the arts, not me.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rolling my shoulders back while staying as still as I could as Amanda worked her magic on my eyes.

Nobody should know my response to Ben Holder was nothing familiar. He made me… stop. It felt odd, and I hadn’t figured out how to describe it to myself yet, but I was eager to see if it would happen when we met again.

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to be surprised by who you are, right? He’s knows you’re… you?” She sprayed my whole face with what amounted to hairspray for my makeup—setting spray, she’d told me and giving me a side-eye like you’ve never seen—then leaned back to look me over. “My goodness, I’m good.”

“It’s the raw material, I’m pretty sure.” My words came with a grin.

I loved how she loved her job. Despite giving her a hard time, I was incredibly thankful for my team. It seemed odd to have an entire team that traveled with me, was employed by me, essentially, and who’d become a kind of family to me. They were, and I cared for them; that made some of the road-weariness, the incessant ambition, and the long days far easier.

“Raw material ain’t bad. But I’m a genius.” She spun me around to look in the mirror.

I did look good in what I called my Country singer hair thanks to Damon, my hair stylist. It was just shy of a big bouffant like the old Country ladies used to wear on top with lift at the crown, sides pulled and artfully pinned half-up at the back into some kind of design I hadn’t taken time to appreciate, and the rest long all the way to my ribs. It fell straight, and the combination of the hair, the nude lips, and heavy eyes gave me a seventies feel we’d been using a lot lately.

“All right, go get dressed. You’ve got ten minutes ’til Ru comes to get you.” Amanda shooed me from the seat and began tidying up the makeup.

I did appearances here in Nashville often enough that we had the whole set up for her in my bathroom, complete with bright lights and a chair I could lean back in.

I wandered to my closet and scooched a few things around to find what Damon had suggested. The dusty pink chiffon dress had drapey pearlescent fabric on top that shaped into a halter, though it was full and fairly modest thanks to the more classic Country era look. The bottom fell straight from my waist down in pleats giving it a seventies flair, and only a light pink painted toe nail would peek out as I walked in my platform sandals.

I always wore high heels to events because I was naturally quite short—five-foot-two— finding it tiresome to always be craning my neck up to all the people wanting to talk with me.

That sounded so arrogant, but no point demurring—I was one big reason why they were coming, why the parents and guests were paying a thousand dollars a head. I’d join the kindergarten class for a short song, and that was it. There were two or three other Country stars coming, and someone from the Nashville football team—we were all the willing ponies for the show.

I didn’t mind this kind of dog and pony, though, because it was helping a school I liked a lot. If I live in Nashville when I have kids, should such an event occur a long time from now, I would consider sending them to this school.

“Ready, Whit?” Ru asked from the entryway.

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