MAKE ME UP

MOVIE MAKE-UP

At six o’clock in the evening, feeling stuffed on pizza but lighter in the emotional bagging area, I’m back in my flat thinking about the lovely afternoon I have had. Iona told me how her dream is to win Madam Drag, so she is practising her material at local bars and clubs. When I pointed out the vast difference in the day time job compared to her lifelong ambitions, she said,

‘I’m an account by day, and an artist by night”.

It still makes me smile now, although on reflection we are living juxtaposed lives. I am an artist by day, and an accountant by night adding up all my past mistakes.

We looked through each outfit that had been made in the very flat that was bursting out of its seams with material, sequences and thread.

“You seem more comfortable as Iona”. I observed, and smiled, so it was obvious that I didn’t mean it as a criticism.

“I don’t want to be a woman. That’s not what all this is about, although I respect anyone’s choice to live life in a way that brings them optimal happiness. I’m more drawn to the artistry of Iona, and when I use her as a persona, all my insecurities as Luis just fade away. Blinded by the glitter, I suppose. Playing Iona gives me an outlet to express myself, let the parts of myself, parts that we all keep hidden, come to the surface. When I go to the clubs, and people cheer her on it makes me feel confident, because I created this act that people love, and a huge part of her is the part of me I keep trapped away. In the day I’m hiding who I am, but in the evening the lies are there for all to see. I make her up, but in many ways she’s the real me”.

I could understand that evaluation all too well. The main difference between us was that I had no idea who my Iona was, she was buried too deeply in the version of Gemma Jarvis that Tim created.

Interrupting my reflections, my phone buzzes on the bedside table. Although I know it’s immature, but I really hope it’s not my mum.

Surprisingly, it’s Lincoln.

“Hello”. I greet him.

“Gem, I’m so sorry. I heard about what happened at BTC. I’m having my lawyers look over their employment contracts now. What they are doing is deplorable, and I’ve told them that I will be seeking legal advice about their willingness to target me and potentially ruin my career by enabling lies to be published, lies that are questioning my integrity…” He stops when he can hear me laughing at his outrage, but I find it sweet that it has been triggered by how I was treated.

“It’s OK, I have some make-up bookings that will keep me going for now, but if you hear of anyone needing a make-up artist, give them my name”. I joke.

There’s a momentary pause on the line, and I check my phone to make sure we are still connected.

“Can you do movie make-up? There was an advert at Willow Wood Studios, looking for a new make-up artist for the film I’m currently working on. Should I pass your name on to them?” Lincoln asks, and I all but scream with joy down the phone.

Promising to provide a reference, he laughs at my squeals of relief, but also the huge opportunities that a job on the movies could have for me.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure they will call you next week, just before filming starts. I’m really sorry that you were dragged into my mess, but I’ll be glad to have you on the set. This role will be a lot of pressure, and it will be nice to have a friend I can turn to”. He explains before hanging up.

Friend. What a conflicting word. Do I want to be Lincoln’s friend? He is kind, thoughtful and considerate, the qualities you would hope to find in a friendship. Yes, I want to be his friend. My mind races through the semantics and synonyms, all of which are positives, but the aftertaste of disappointment lingers. The truth is, if I was to ever let my inner Iona out, I’d be honest with myself and say that I wish I could be more than his friend. I wish I could acknowledge the feelings between us that seem stronger with every interaction, but I can’t. Honestly, I could only offer half of myself, the half that’s in London by day, and trying to make a success of my life. The other half dreads ten O’clock every night, and is still trying to decide what she likes as oppose to what Tim likes.

When the mind is unable to find one answer, for the thousands of questions and worries running wild in your head there is only one thing to do; batch cook for the week. This has been my favourite part of my self-discovery, deciding what food I like and expanding my tastes. I’m just about to add the minced beef to the pan, in my first attempt to make a hamburger helper lasagne, when my phone begins to ring.

“Miss Jarvis, my name is Charles Gainsborough, I am the floor manager at Willow Woods Studios. You have been highly recommended as a cosmetic consultant who would perfectly fit into our team. Are you able to have a quick and informal interview about the role and responsibilities of the position?”

The ‘interview’ ends by eight O’clock, although it didn’t feel like an interview, but rather more like a chat between two people with a passion for make-up. Charles offered me the job almost instantly, with an immediate contract start time, but with no need to go to the Studio until Monday when filming started. In my elation, I immediately text Lincoln, to thank him for any strings he might have pulled to get me the job. His text staggers me.

“I didn’t pull any strings. I just told him how exceptional your professionalism, style and artistry were. Sleep well. xx”

Two kisses, but even better, unwavering support in my abilities. Friendship is a wonderful feeling.

When I go to bed that night, my problems feel halved. A new job, and two new friends have all come at the perfect time. Tonight, not even Tim’s text can ruin my outlook.