The mist was cool against my skin — it felt good and smelled like coconut.
"You know why he likes the red Skittles, right?" She didn't wait for me to text her. "He likes the flavor, but it's more than that. His very first movie was with some famous actor who refused to speak directly to people lest their normalness rub off on him. I won't say his name, but I'm sure you know who he is. Anyway…" She spread some cream on my eyes. "… you'll have to keep your eyes closed while I do your shadow and extensions."
I wanted to hear more about Lincoln and the reason he loved red Skittles, but I couldn't see my phone to text, and when I opened my mouth to speak, again, nothing came.
Which sucked, because she made me feel comfortable, and we were alone. If I was going to speak, it would be in a situation like that, where nobody could hear or point or laugh. For some reason, speaking in front of a complete stranger, who didn't care one way or another seemed a lot easier than speaking in front of my family, stuttering something stupid, and letting them down.
"I'm just going to apply the different shadows. If you want, you can take a nap. I can lean the chair back."
I nodded. A nap actually sounded really good. Maybe it would help take the nerves away.
It seemed like seconds later, and I was getting gently tapped. "Wake up, sunshine." Jean smiled. "You're all done! I think he'll be pleased." She winked.
He who?
The trailer door opened. Linc had a dress in his hands, along with necklaces wrapped around the hanger, and tall purple heels. "So, I don't know if you want to wear all the necklaces because it's really heavy. Depending on the makeup, we can just—"
I stood and walked over to him, reaching for the dress. The short silver cocktail dress felt silky between my fingers. It had straps that went around my neck and fell into a completely open back. It was short. I'd probably have to be careful if I had to sit down, if I could sit down at all.
"Linc?" Jean's voice danced with amusement. "Everything alright?"
"Uh…" He shoved the hanger into my face. "… yeah, sorry just… had a dry throat, freaked me out, don't want to start getting sick."
"Right," Jean said slowly. "Well, I say you wear all the necklaces. I did a purple, smoky eye and straightened your hair. I'll be sure to reapply the lipstick after every take, so don't worry about that." She clasped her hands together. "Now, Linc, I know you're used to dressing and undressing around the opposite sex, but this girl isn't, so shoo." She made a sweeping motion with her right hand. "Go on. I'll send her out when she's ready."
"But—"
"Go!"
"Fine!" He flashed me a smile. "Going. And Dani, you look really good."
I returned his smile and tried to keep myself from swooning into the chair. Regardless of how I felt about actors or men in general, I'd have to be dead not to respond to his smile. He was more than pretty. There wasn't one single thing I'd change about him, but it wasn't just his bright smile or the way his eyes seemed to look at me rather than through me. It was in the simple way he walked — or stalked. It was like he couldn't help but be seductive, even the lilt of his voice had me shivering in response, which was really, really, stupid.
The only thing that brought me back down to earth was the simple fact that he was my boss. That, and the fact that he was Lincoln Greene. He dated supermodels, not seventeen-year-old mutes. No, I was the charity case he took with him to fancy dinners in order to gain good PR. Not the girl he surprised on her birthday and whisked off to the Caribbean.
"Alright." Jean rubbed her hands together. "Let's get you into this thing."
I slid out of my jeans and pulled my T-shirt over my head as she unzipped the dress.
"You're so small," Jean mused, eying me up and down.
I wanted to tell her it was because I stopped eating after my parents died — lost my appetite and had to force myself to eat ever since then. It had nothing to do with wanting to be skinny and everything to do with the fact that after a few bites, I just felt sick.
My therapist had said it was part of the anxiety.
It was why I ate cake.
Cake made me happy, just like Sour Patch Kids. Though I couldn't eat a ton, it still made me feel joy in eating again.
"There." Jean zipped me up and placed the heels on the floor. I stepped in them and turned to face the mirror.
My mouth dropped open.
"Like I said, he'll love it." Jean winked in the mirror, and fastened about twenty different gold necklaces around my neck, with charms on them, ranging from long to short. "And before you argue, I've seen the way he looks at you. You intrigue him, and that's half the battle with a Hollywood actor. He's young, but he's still jaded."
I thought on her words.
Intrigue.
Didn't that mean I was a puzzle?
Would the old me have gotten Lincoln to turn his head? Or was the reason he was so curious the very fact that I was different?
"Ready!" Jean grinned.
My straight blonde hair fell past my shoulders, nearly touching my breasts. It was shiny but still had a nice bounce to it, rather than being glued to the sides of my head — which was how my hair normally looked whenever I tried straightening it.
Dark, long eyelashes caressed my cheeks as I gazed at myself in the mirror. I could feel each blink. I had pale pink lipstick and dark eyes, but the real difference was the sculpting.