Page 10 of Take It Till You Make It
While Remi works, I listen to my music and revel in the lack of stress across my shoulders. The absence of a knot in my stomach. The fact that I’m not looking over my shoulder – physically or metaphorically – for danger.
“Man, this feels great,” I say without opening my eyes. “Can we do this every day?”
“Open your eyes for me,” Remi replies.
I do, looking up to find her studying my face with an odd expression. When her brow furrows, sadness enters her eyes.
“Ah, that maturity on your face is experience. You’ve been through something.”
My mouth drops open. “How do you know that?”
“Now that you are relaxed, the hardness is gone. You naturally look younger without my help.”
“Oh.” I close my eyes again. That’s sad. It’s all sad.
“No worries, little one. I can make it look like you haven’t been through the wringer.”
I let the corners of my mouth turn up. I like Remi. I like that she hasn’t asked what has caused my rough edges, or whatever it is she sees. I like that she’s treating me like the thirteen-year-old I’m playing. It feels good to pretend that I’m not fully responsible for myself and my mother right now. I whisper. “Thanks.”
While she works, she makes notes in a notebook and takes pictures. Every now and again, she asks me to smile or make a funny face or stick my tongue out, but mostly she works and reworks the makeup while coloring and trimming my hair. She is called out to the shoot a couple of times for an emergency makeup fix on Chandra. But mostly, she methodically tries her different ideas on me. I love how organized she seems to be.
After more than four hours, she finally tells me she’s done. I turn and glance over my shoulder at the mirror behind me.
“I’m just me.”
“I will compare the looks I’ve tried with your mother and decide which I will choose.”
I spin all the way around to study my hair in the mirror. The difference is subtle, a more golden shine than my usual platinum. I actually can’t stand the color of my hair and am happy to don different colored wigs in my videos so that I don’t have to deal with it, but this color is just warmed up enough to make my cheeks look pink, which makes my gray eyes look a bit bluer.
“Wow, I like my hair.” I meet Remi’s gaze in the mirror. “Those are words I never thought I’d say.”
Remi pats my shoulder. “You just needed some low lights underneath and a golden wash to match your mom and sister. Honestly, they have the most unique hair color I’ve ever seen. Most people just see blond, but I see the blend of whites and yellows and browns that make it their own. It’s quite complicated. I think I got you close enough.”
I study my reflection and wonder how Dad would like this color. While I always felt like an albino, he always loved my white-blonde hair, pale skin, and gray eyes. He thought they made me unique. The kids at school were always sure to let me know they thought my coloring made me a freak. I sigh and give my image a sad smile. Dad would love everything about this crazy movie experience I’m living.
I force the maudlin expression to clear and meet Remi’s gaze again. “So tomorrow you’ll fully make me into Stella?”
Remi nods. “Bright and early. I work on you before your mother.”
“And do I come the same way I came today? Don’t wash hair, no makeup?
“Yes. Please shower, though. Teenage hormones can be lethal!”
My chuckle releases some pent-up stress. I can already tell Remi will be good for me. “Will do. Thanks for a relaxing day. I look forward to working with you.”
Remi stops, her hand on her hip, and studies me. “How old are you actually?”
“Seventeen.”
She shakes her head sadly. “Well, you’re giving off twenty-something vibes.”
“Cool. Maybe I should stop at a bar on the way home.”
“Don’t you dare.” She points a long finger at me, made longer by her artificial nails that didn’t poke my eye out once.
Of course, a wave of grief hits me then. Dad was struck by a drunk driver. I look down at the floor. When my voice comes out, it’s quiet and choked. “Don’t worry. I would never.”
Chapter Six
