MAKE ME UP

GEMMA TO THE RESCUE

We were offered over-time at the studio, which I was thrilled about, so I was all set up by six am. Unusually, Lincoln comes running to my work station, even though I don’t think he’s needed until nine am today. I apply the last bit of glitter onto the young actress in front of me, wishing her good luck with her shoot. Lincoln quickly takes the seat, but runs his hand through his hair, looking miserable.

“Has something happened?” I ask him, feeling concerned, as one of the things that I like most about Lincoln is his calm aura and happy disposition.

“The director doesn’t think my face is thin enough. They told me that a requirement for this role was losing three stone, and that’s what I did. How can I affect where it falls from? I just don’t know what to do. I have done everything they have asked in order to be taken seriously, but I think they are still unsure about casting me. They are only two months into shooting, they could still replace me if they wanted to”. He frets.

While he is imagining the worst, I’ve already selected my make-up brushes, highlighter and bronzer. I place my finger on his lip, before looking around to make sure nobody saw me. Luckily, the coast is clear. These little slips are becoming more frequent, but I can’t help it, it feels so natural to touch him so intimately. I forget we are hiding it. Neither of us want what we have to be chewed up and splattered on the next front page of the gossip columns. Pinching his chin, I tilt his head up to the light with a little smile on my face. I know what to do, it’s an easy fix, but I won’t tell him that. I work on making his cheek bones protrude and hollowing out his cheeks. I move his jaw to make it squarer, then move onto his eyes, to make them a little sunken. Incredulously, I’m jealous of my own make-up brush that glides over his face, I wish my lips could explore his skin so easily. When I’m done, his face looks gaunt, but his worry line is creasing his forehead. Everything in me wants to kiss it away, but the trailer is too busy for such casual displays of affection. Lincoln takes a look at himself in the mirror. Joy and relief glow from his almost sickly looking face. He leans in to embrace me, before seeing the worry on my face, and grabbing my hands instead.

“Thank-you so much, you have such an incredible talent”. He says over formally, and I want to laugh at his quick response.

The other artists are trying to see what he is talking about, and when he turns the gasps are audible. He looks perfect for the role, and I’m thrilled by the reaction.

The morning is as busy as expected, and frequently I have to crack my fingers to let out the tension from holding the brush for so long. The trailer door opens, letting in a breeze that nobody appreciates, until we see Harold Owen at the door. It’s not every day that one of the world’s most prolific directors drops by your place of work, and when I realise that he is heading in my direction, I go to pieces.

“Are you the young lady who applied Lincoln Huxley’s make-up this morning?” He shouts over, before he reaches me.

“I am. Would you like a cup of tea?” I ask, in total panic and relying on deep-rooted lessons in northern hospitality that my mother taught me, even though I’m in a trailer that doesn’t have a kettle.

“Great idea, let’s head over to the canteen”, he suggests.

Of course, I say yes, because lunch was calling for me around an hour ago, and when you are invited by your boss’s, boss’s, boss, only a fool would decline.

Sitting at the white and slightly wet table, Mr Owen brings over two hot cups of tea with a pot of milk on the side.

“I would like to make you an offer. We were very impressed with the effect of your make-up today. Naturally, we have seen make-up work wonders before, but you managed to make him look thinner without dehumanising him. That is the exact look we need. Throughout the film he will be gaining weight, and we are hoping that you can show this in his face as well. Therefore, the creative team would like to end your probation period and offer you a full contract. Furthermore, we would like you to be Mr Huxley’s exclusive make-up artist. We understand that a person of your talent must be frequently offered job roles. In response to that, we would like to propose a retention bonus, in a lump sum of five thousand pounds, in addition to your pay rise for your new position. What do you think?”

I’m not exactly sure when the tea missed my mouth and spilt down my dress, but it didn’t stop me from biting his hand off at such a generous package.

“Yes, thank-you Mr Owen. This is great news!” I exclaim, while dabbing the napkins at my slightly scolded chest.

It was brilliant news. Not only because of the money, but the fact that Lincoln and I would be able to spend more time together, and really work on our connection. Scarily, it also meant that I would have to tell Lincoln about Tim soon. I couldn’t start something new and serious based on lies. If my secret was ever revealed, it would damage his career as much as my reputation.

Halfway through my delicious bagel, Lincoln finds me in the canteen. Trying not to make it obvious that he’s only there to see me, he buys some water before joining me.

“I’ve just heard the news. Are you happy?” He asks.

I don’t answer him, but only because my mouth is full, and my beaming smile speaks volumes.

“We should celebrate tonight. Where do you want to go? I’ll fully book out anywhere you fancy”. He beams.

There’s only one place we can have ‘the’ conversation, and it’s not in a public setting. I don’t want to be rejected where a waiter can eavesdrop.

“How about your place? We could watch a movie and chill out”. I suggest.

Embarrassment decorates my face as I just realise that I’ve invited myself to someone else’s house. He must think I’m so rude.

“That sounds like a great plan. Shall we say around seven?”

I nod. That will give me enough time to get home and change before he sends his driver to me. Already, I’m wondering how I will ever tell him about my past. Knowing that when I’m in his home, trying to ignore the unmistakable tension between us, I’ll be reluctant to be honest. I reach out for his hand, and pause his planning for the evening.

“I have to tell you something tonight. I’ve…well… I need to tell you why I came to London…and it’s hard for me to talk about, so I’m telling you now, so I can’t back out later…” he rubs his thumb over the knuckles on my hand.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. If you decide later on that you don’t want to tell me, that’s OK too”.

Suddenly, the dread dissipates, and I was looking forward to seeing him. Breaking down the last barrier between us was terrifying. The best thing that could happen would be that he politely declined to continue with our relationship. Unfortunately, that would be the worst thing I could imagine as well. My old friend doubt seems to be sitting on the table between us, and I knew what it was whispering.

“Who will want you when they know what you have done?”