Page 63 of Wicked Dance
I straighten my face.
“Close your eyes.”
I try to relax as she continues to work. Without sight, the other senses take over. The smell of cosmetics and hairspray. The water running on the other side of the room. Hangers moving along a metal rack.
Then tugging on my hair. The rollers slide down my head. Nobody touches my face for a few moments, so I dare to open my eyes.
Gigi rummages around in her cart.
“What’s the humidity today?” Cecilia asks.
“Forty,” someone calls from deeper in the room.
“Forty,” Cecilia breathes, as if this is a puzzle to solve.
Gigi leans in again. “Try not to blink or breathe,” she says.
A mascara wand approaches my eyes. I try to keep them wide as she works. The square-glasses woman comes in again, Cameron, I guess Cecilia called her, this time with a pale blue dress. “Blitz called the color,” she says.
I almost smile, but Gigi stops me with a stern “Don’t move a muscle.”
Finally, she steps away, and Cecilia takes over my hair in earnest. I feel her pinning and back-combing. Curls brush against my shoulders.
“She looks like Jasmine fromAladdin,” Jessie says.
“Agreed,” Cameron says. “It’s what we were going for.”
“She must have some Middle Eastern in her,” Cecilia says. “Or maybe India.”
Gigi studies me. “Yes. Her hair is so black.”
“But she’s pale as a ghost,” Cameron says. “She would have more color.”
I try not to squirm as they all assess me.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cecilia says. “Only that she looks more classically beautiful than the others. Those were our instructions.”
Really? The world is a blur for a second as Cecilia whirls me around to the mirror. I feel like I did the night of the finale, needing to step down and get closer to this girl I see. The makeup is dramatic, and the sweep of my hair is broad, pinned almost like something from the forties, only to fall in a riot of curls down my shoulders and back.
It’s me, just not a me I’m used to.
A girl I’ve never seen pops her head through the door. “Transport to the shoot location in ten minutes,” she says.
“Get her dressed!” Cecilia says.
Cameron leads me deeper into the room, past the costume racks, to an area that closes off with a heavy curtain.
“Here are your underthings,” Cameron says, setting a pair of pale blue ruffled boy shorts and a strapless bra on a cushioned bench. She hangs the dress on a hook.
I wait to see if she is going to leave, but she doesn’t, so I take a deep breath and kick off my jazz shoes.
She taps her foot impatiently. “I need to make sure it fits properly before I go,” she says. “And I worry about the ruffles under the skirt.”
I nod and take a deep breath, shucking off the dance top and workout capris, then the athletic bra. Finally, my panties.
Gah. Naked in front of a stranger.
Cameron is all business as she hands me the ruffled shorts.
