Page 58 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
“You. Are. Gorgeous!”
Not Summer this time, but a small man greeted me at the door of the photography studio. Legs like matchsticks in skintight black pants. Loose, pirate-striped shirt, hanging off his shoulder Flashdance-style. Pointy shoes. Haircut so precise it hurt, a short fade on the sides and longer on top. Was he wearing eyeliner?
He stuck out his black nail polished hand.
“I’m Trevor. Let’s get your hair and makeup done.”
Leading me to a chair set against the brick wall, he sat me down and draped me in a salon cape, with a flourish that wafted air on my face. Really cool music played that I’d never heard before, but it made me want to dance. I loved it. While on the drive here I’d recalled trips to the dentist. But this was more like a cleaning than a root canal. I soothed myself with thoughts of the way Mikey’s body felt next to mine last night. Still, I was nervous. So nervous.
Was I really going to take my clothes off for the camera?
He peered at me, his hazel brown eyes studying my features. Then he smiled, clapped his hands together, and said, “Oh, girl, we are gonna have so much fun!”
I raised an eyebrow, unsure of everything.
“Hair first!” he chirped, and he brushed my hair, sprayed it gently, and put it in large hot rollers. “Want a snack? Something to drink?”
I shook my head. For once, I didn’t want anything, too distracted by his attention.
Satisfied with my setting hair, he unrolled a makeup kit of brushes on a nearby table. Taking out a big, wheeled suitcase, he unpacked and spread out different colors of eyeshadow, powders, blushes, of all sorts of neutral colors. Then with the soft brush tickling me, he started applying makeup, all the while crooning along with the radio, interspersed with, “Fabulous. Fabulous!” He pressed the cool wetness of the liquid eyeliner to my eyelids. I smacked the stickiness of the gloss on my lips. I’d never had someone else apply mascara to me, and I had to fight to stay still and not blink too much.
He took a step back and said, “Fab-you-lous, if I do say so myself.” He paused. “And I do.”
Fussing over my hair, he took out the hot rollers and coaxed and sprayed my hair.
Then he held up a hand mirror for me to look at myself.
I gasped.
He’d winged my eyeliner perfectly, giving me a cat eye effect. My lips were pouty, kissable. He’d contoured cheekbones and made my skin look silky, glowing.
But damn, if it didn’t look good.
My long, dark hair folded into full waves around my shoulders.
This was going to be okay.
The front door unlocked, and Summer strode in, lean legs in smart jeans and again a sturdy western belt. She walked right up to me and said, “Wow. I knew you were beautiful, but these pictures are going to be amazing.”
Hearing her reaction, along with Trevor’s continual encouragement, made me feel even better.
“Don’t take my word for it, hon, you’ll see these pictures and you’ll see what we all see.”
She showed me into a room to change, and I shrugged off my jeans and T-shirt and put on the new lingerie I’d bought at a plus-size shop—a pale pink and black shelf bra with matching panties. I looked in the mirror in the changing room and my heart stopped.
No.
I couldn’t do this.
My bulges bulged. You could see all of the cellulite on my thighs, the rolls on my stomach, my flabby arms.
Summer knocked on the door.
“Let’s shoot.”
No. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I didn’t want them to see me, to look at me. I was panicking. I had to leave. I needed to put my clothes on and leave. Who was I kidding? Dressing up like this. Thinking I was someone I’m not.
I slid down to the floor of the dressing room.
