Page 22 of Open Season

He laughed. “Not quite. This box brings back memories, though. I was on Broadway for a while, and you have to slather on layers of makeup to keep from looking like a ghost when the lights hit you.”

“That sounds like fun. I’ve never been to New York. I’ve never done much of anything.”

“It was fun.”

“Why did you come back?”

“It wasn’t home,” he said simply “Besides, Mother needed someone to take care of her. That’s the way it works: they take care of you when you’re young, you take care of them when they’re old.”

“Family,” she said, smiling, because her own was so close.

“Exactly. Now,” he said, his tone turning brisk, “let’s get started.”

Less than an hour later, entranced, Daisy stared into the mirror. Her lips parted in wonder. Oh, she wasn’t a raving beauty, but the woman in the mirror was attractive, and she looked confident, lively. She didn’t fade into the wallpaper. And most important, men would notice her!

The process hadn’t been painless. First Todd had insisted she pluck her eyebrows: “You don’t want Joan Crawford eyebrows, dear. She had one brow hair that grew to about three inches long, and she named it Oscar, or something like that.” But thankfully he hadn’t wanted her to have Bette Davis eyes, either, so she’d been able to limit the tweezing to a few stragglers.

Then he had walked her through the application of a full makeup job, and, to her relief, it wasn’t very complicated. The main thing was not to use too much, and to always have a tissue and cotton tip at hand to repair any mistakes or wipe off excess. Even mascara was easy, once she had used the tissue to blot most of the goop off the little brush before applying it to her lashes.

“Heathens,” she had muttered, surveying her lovely dark lashes in the mirror. There wasn’t a caterpillar in sight.

“Beg pardon?”

“Mascara makers. They’re heathens. Why don’t they just tell you to blot most of the mascara off the brush before you start?”

“Honey, they have enough to worry about warning people not to poke it in their eyes, or eat it. I guess they figure if you really want to wear mascara, you’ll learn how.”

Well, she had wanted, and she had learned.

“I did it,” she said numbly, staring at her reflection. Her complexion was smooth and bright, her cheeks softly flushed, her eyes mysterious and larger, her lips full and moist. It hadn’t been difficult at all.

“Well, honey, of course you did. There’s nothing to it; just practice and don’t go overboard with the color. Now, let’s think about style. Which would you rather shoot for: nature girl, old money, or sex kitten?”

Todd stood in his open front door and cheerfully waved a good-bye to Daisy. He couldn’t help smiling. This was the first time he’d ever spent any time with her, though of course he’d known who she was, and he really liked her. She was touchingly naive for someone her age, but fresh and bright and honest, without a jaded bone in her body. She had absolutely no idea how to make the most of her looks, but, thank God, he did. When he was finished with her, she was going to be a knockout.

He strode to the phone and dialed a number. As soon as the call was answered on the other end, he said, “I have a candidate. Daisy Minor.”

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