Page 10 of Welcome to Gothic
“I would hope not!” A hundred crunches a day were good for something besides strengthening your core.
When Wendy stepped in front of the mirror, she agreed—she did look good. “This is amazing. How did you alter it so quickly?”
“I’m an old stagehand. Gotta be fast!” Beatrice consulted the watch that hung around her neck, a watch that looked remarkably like Minnie’s. “Listen to the cheers. The play is over. The actors are taking their bows. Sit down at the dressing table. We’ll style your hair back, slick from the face. It’s not the most popular style, but with your cheekbones you can carry it off, and we’ll add a chiffon scarf wrap. I guessed your shoe size.” Beatrice indicated the pair of two-tone stiletto platform heels.
Wendy looked at Beatrice. “Where did you get shoes?”
“It’s the theater. Never know when someone’s going to break a heel dancing, and you’ve got to have a replacement. Now try `em on!”
In other words, they were like bowling shoes. Everybody got a shot at wearing them. Wendy slipped into them, got her balance and said, “Women dance in these?”
“I’m not saying the chorus line wouldn’t rather be barefoot and in leopard print loincloths,” Beatrice allowed. “Now I’ll apply your face paint and mascara. Haven’t got time to pluck your eyebrows.”
Remembering the other women’s pencil-thin brows, Wendy muttered, “Good thing.”
“Then I’ll be ready for Miss Lindholm when she comes in, bursting with excitement and ready to party.”
“I can do the makeup.”
Beatrice pushed her down in the low stool in front of the dressing table. “I can do it faster.”
When Wendy saw the pots and paints and brushes, she realized it was true. Nothing looked like it did in the twenty-first century. “This is so last year,” she murmured, and sat still while Beatrice covered her in a swathe of linen and applied makeup with a delicate hand.
“Wow.” Wendy looked both dramatic and understated. “That’s not what I expected at all.”
Beatrice wiped her brushes on a stained towel. “I know the difference between stage paint and evening makeup.”
“You’re like a modern makeup mirror.”
“You’re a very odd girl. You might want to keep those comments to yourself.”
“You’re probably right.” Wendy didn’t want to be burned as a witch in her own delusion.
The door opened and Maeve Lindholm sailed in carrying an armful of flowers and wearing a big grin. “That was a triumph!” She caught sight of Wendy. “So’s that.” She turned to Beatrice. “You were absolutely right about the dress. It never looked that good on me! Wendy, right? That’s your name?”
“Yes, I’m Wendy.”
Maeve Lindholm bore a striking resemblance to Angelica Lindholm, her great-great-great-granddaughter, or maybe she should say Angelica bore a striking resemblance to Maeve.
“The wrap party’s up at my home, The Tower. Make sure you enjoy yourself, and make sure you spend time with Hugh. I saw the way he looked at you, and that’s the first time since the tragedy that he’s shown a spark of interest in a woman.”
“The tragedy?”
“You know, the wife and child.”
“Right.” Wendy wanted to delve deeper, but she didn’t feel right gossiping behind Hugh’s back, plus she really,reallywanted to know if Maeve meant what she said about the way Hugh looked at her. “You think he’s interested in me?”
“Hugh’s a great actor—but no one’s that good. You swung off that platform and into his arms, and when he looked into your face and saw you for the first time, every woman in the audience swooned.” Maeve took a deep breath. “Hell, I swooned and I’ve got a good guy.”
“A few of the men swooned, too, I’ll bet.” Beatrice took a matching chiffon scarf and tossed it loosely around Wendy’s head, fastening it into the preset buttons on the bodice. She stepped back and nodded. “I do good work.”
“You do,” Wendy assured her. “Thank you. I’ve never felt so glamorous.”
Beatrice handed her long cream silk gloves, then moved to answer a knock on the door. “Miss Lindholm, look who’s here. It’s your precious girl come to say good night.”
Maeve dropped the flowers on the dressing table and rushed to take her daughter from Betty. “Are you ready for bed, little one?”
Hazel shook her head stubbornly and rubbed her eyes. “No, Mommy. Stay with you, Mommy.”
