Page 91 of Between Never and Forever
“I know.”
I hop out of the golf cart and Ziggy is at my feet immediately. I give her head a scratch and wait for Red to step up next to me.
“I’ll be back when you’re done to take you to wardrobe,” Dakota says, and then she drives off.
I take a deep breath, give Red one last glance as he posts up like some secret service guard next to the door, then step up the three metal stairs and pull open the trailer door. My menace of a dog rushes in before I can, and I hear awhoa thereshouted from inside.
“Shit, sorry,” I say as I step into the trailer then turn my attention to my dog. “Ziggy, no. You go back outside with Red.”
“Oh, she’s fine, hun,” a man says, crouching down and addressing Ziggs while giving her tons of scratches. “What’s your name, precious?”
“Her name is Ziggy,” I answer awkwardly, bouncing my eyes between the man petting my dog and the woman sitting at one of the vanities behind him. “But she also answers to Ziggs, Zigaroo, Zigalicious, ZeeZee, and Mutt.”
The man and woman both laugh, then he pushes back to standing and hits me with a grin.
“Ziggy, as in Marley?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Stardust,” I tell him, and he nods.
“My next guess.” He puts out his hand and I shake it. It’s soft and warm. “I’m Pax and this is Tatum. We’ll be working you over every day. Chanel will be here in about an hour, but we’ve got to get started earlier since we’ve got to install your wig and tattoos.”
“Sure,” I say on an exhale, then glance around the space.
There are three large vanity stations with big lighted mirrors and salon chairs, and there’s a skylight in the ceiling through which the first lights of the sunrise are peeking through. A water cooler, mini fridge, and coffee pot stand in the corner, and then on the back wall are built-in cabinets and shelves full ofstuff.
“Where do you want me?” I ask, and Tatum stands and waves to the salon chair she was just sitting in.
I walk to it and plop down while Ziggy shoves herself under the table and curls up at my feet. She’s so sleepy, poor thing. I kick off my shoe and use my toes to give her a few more pets.
“Have you seen this beauty yet?” Tatum asks, and I watch in the mirror as she opens one of the cabinets and reveals some mannequin head things and random hair pieces. Then carefully, she lifts a brunette piece off one of the heads and turns to face me. “It turned out great.”
“I haven’t.” My eyes scan over my wig in awe. “Wow. It looks so real.”
“It’s real hair, babe,” Tatum quips. “Wait ‘til we get it on you. You won’t even believe it.”
The wig really is beautiful. Long, dark, silky strands that fall in soft waves. It’s got a natural, healthy shine that my own hair no longer has without tons of conditioning products since I bleach it to high heaven to keep it silver.
After I accepted the role in this film, I attended a fitting appointment to have my head measured and molded so the production company could create a custom wig for me. It was a really weird process that involved wrapping my head in cellophane and tape, then tracing my hairline with a black marker. Very strange, but since I refused to dye my hair back to my natural brown, it was the next best option, and they assured me it would look better than something you pull off a rack at a Halloween store.
“Ready to get started?” Pax asks, and I nod.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The whole process takes about four hours, with most of that time dedicated to applying my half sleeve of fake tattoos. Chanel shows up after about an hour and gets to work on my face, and when that’s done, Tatum finishes up the final touches on my wig.
It’s unsettling how real it looks.
It’s been years since I’ve seen myself as a brunette, and while my makeup is heavier than anything I’d wear back then, I can still see the younger me staring back through the vanity mirror. It’s so overwhelming that I almost want to cry.
The things I would tell her if I could. The warnings. The encouragement.
I smile at my reflection, and I have to swallow back a sob. The resemblance is unnerving. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think I was the same person as that girl back then. But I know better.
“Oh hun, don’t cry,” Pax says, and Chanel attacks my face with a cotton swab.
“You’re not supposed to cry until later,” Chanel grumbles, dabbing under my eyes.
Chanel purposely used non-waterproof eyeliner because the final scene we’re shooting today requires an ugly cry, and the script wants me to look like a hot ass mess, all streaky eye makeup and snot. Weirdly enough, I’m more terrified of the crying scene than I am of the sex scenes. There’s only one crying scene, thank god, but there are three sex scenes.
