Page 12 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
Of course Ginny never mentioned that said bangs would need trimming every three weeks. Who has the time to go to a stylist so often?
“You’ve been cutting them yourself, haven’t you?” If she could move her face right now, she’d be curling her glossed lips in disgust.
How has this medical crisis turned into an all-out war on my image? It’s mind-boggling.
“Everyone cuts their own bangs.”
“No one does that,” she says flatly. “Also, what happened to those makeup samples I sent you? They were Chanel, for crying out loud.”
I can’t tell her that I gave them to one of my teacher friends so her daughters could use them for playing dress-up. She’d kill me. “I’m not a makeup person. You know that.”
Her retort is brutal. “I also know that you haven’t been on a date in over a year.”
I rear back as if I’ve been slapped.
She’s going there? Seriously?
Why didn’t I call 911 against her wishes and have her paraded through the Huntington, swollen face and all?
“Come on, Charlotte.” Ginny’s voice goes soft. And, nonsensically, it’s the sudden kindness that cuts me to the quick. “Has there beenanyonesince Adam?”
I wrap my arms around myself.Hold it together. “I’m not having this conversation.”
There hasn’t been anyone. Adam is my ex-fiancé, emphasis onex. I’m still not over what happened between us, and I probably never will be. Dating is the absolute last thing on my mind, but I don’t want to admit as much to Ginny. She’d never understand....
Probably because I still haven’t told her the real reason I called off the wedding.
And I never will.
“I’m not interested in dating right now.” My gaze is fixed on the sterile tile floor.
Ginny sighs. “That’s what you’ve been saying for nearly a year and a half.”
“Well, it’s true.” I don’t bother explaining that even if I had any interest at all in a relationship, I still wouldn’t want a makeover. I’d want to meet someone who was attracted to my inner beauty, not what he sees on the outside.
Does such a man exist?
Not in my experience—hence the dating drought.
“Anyway, what does my love life, or lack thereof, have to do with the Miss American Treasure pageant?” Nothing at all. That’s what.
“I’m just saying that if you helped me out it would be good for both of us.”
I can see the wheels spinning in her swollen head. She wants to make me over, just like Anne Hathaway inThe Princess Diaries. And Anne Hathaway inThe Devil Wears Prada.
Anne Hathaway is spectacularly gorgeous. Why does she keep getting made over? Because the world is a shallow place and all anyone cares about is appearances.
Poor, persecuted Anne Hathaway. I know exactly how she feels right now.
“Stop trying to convince me that you want to do this for my benefit. There’s only one reason you want me to take your place.” And it’s because she wants that rhinestone-covered plastic crown to be placed on her head.
“It’s my last chance, Lottie.” Her voice goes soft again, and combined with the use of my childhood nickname there’s now a vulnerability in her tone that I can’t ignore, no matter how desperately I try. “I’m twenty-nine years old.”
The age limit for Miss American Treasure is thirty. Next year, Ginny will officially be too old to follow in our mother’s footsteps. More specifically, to duplicate her reign.
“There are other pageants.” It’s a weak argument, but it’s all I’ve got at this point.
“Miss American Treasure is different. I’ve dreamed of winning this crown since I was a little girl. You know that.”
