Page 19 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
I turn it over in my hand. “What is this?”
She takes a deep breath, and I can tell she’s trying not to strangle me.
“It’s a razor—the best electric shaver money can buy. You need to use it.” Her gaze flits from my head to my toes. “Everywhere.”
I gulp. “Is that really...”
“Either do it yourself, or I’m coming in there to take over. Your choice.”
God, she’s terrifying. Like Norman Bates–level scary at the moment.
“Fine.” I slam the shower curtain closed.
Fifteen minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom in one of the hotel’s comfy white robes, as smooth and hairless as the day I was born. I half expect Ginny to insist upon a full-body inspection, but miraculously, she takes my word for it.
She sprays something on my hair (post-post-post conditioner?), runs a comb through it, and then applies a generous amount of mousse. I sit and have a moment of reprieve while she wields a blow-dryer—not the one anchored to the hotel wall, but a special, heavy silver contraption the likes of which I’ve never seen in the budget salon where I get my hair cut.
It’s a meticulous process, much more time-consuming than even an upscale blowout bar. She divides my hair into sections, which she winds around a huge, round brush beneath the force of the dryer, over and over again, until it’s Christina Hendricks glossy. Like a shiny copper penny.
I stifle a smile. My hair has never looked so amazing, and Ginny’s just getting started. After nearly an hour of blow-drying, she drags the desk chair into position right behind me, sits down, and begins clipping the extensions into place.
I’m astounded at the difference they make. Within minutes I’m transformed into Disney’s Ariel. The mass of silky, ginger waves extends past my elbows, but somehow still manages to look real. Ginny arranges them in an ombré pattern, so the ends twist into pale, blond curls, with just a hint of strawberry.
The effect is undeniably stunning. I find it hard to breathe all of a sudden.
Then Ginny spins me around, and another three hours pass before I get a glimpse of my reflection.
During this time, Ginny attached tips to my fingernails and applied a variety of serums, mists, and creams to my face and neck. They all come in bottles with lettering I can’t read.
“Korean skin care is ahh-mazing,” Ginny gushes. “Never use anything else. Promise me.”
I nod mutely, unable to speak because I’ve got something called a collagen lip-plumping patch sealing my mouth closed. It’s also Korean and must stay put for the next twenty minutes.
I make a mental note to ask my sister where she’s buying all these coveted Asian products. I’ve never seen anything like them where I buy my Dove face soap, which is the extent of my skin-care regimen. Then again, the odds that I will ever do any of this again are slim to none. I spend my days with books and small children. No one cares how plump my lips are.
Noon comes and goes. Ginny makes a third pot of coffee, and I remind her to take her prescription. Her face looks no different than it did when she was released from the urgent-care center. No better, but no worse either, which I guess is a good thing.
I somehow survive the hour in which I’m forced to stand naked in the bathtub while Ginny applies bronzer to every square inch of my skin. It’s humiliating, it smells terrible, and by the time it’s all over, I’m shivering like a Chihuahua.
“I’m all sticky. Is it supposed to feel this way?” I slip back into my beloved robe. I swear, when we check out of this hotel I’m taking it with me. It’s become my security blanket throughout this ordeal.
“Yes. It means the tan is set. Still, try not to move while it finishes drying.” Ginny sweeps me up and down with her gaze. “So far, so good. Now I need to start on your makeup.”
Finally.
I’d thought makeup was all I needed. How foolish of me. According to Ginny, makeup is only the icing on the cake—myself being the cake in this scenario.
Cake.
Great. Now I want cake. “I’m starving. Why don’t we take a little lunch break first? Maybe order some room service?”
Ginny looks at me as though I’ve sprouted two heads. I clamp my mouth closed before she seals it shut again with one of her Korean beauty products.
So no lunch, then. Got it.
I close my eyes while Ginny mists my face with foundation from a tiny airbrush machine. It tickles, but I know better than to laugh.
“I’m going to explain the interview process to you while we do this, so listen up.” Ginny takes my chin in her hand and moves my face from side to side for inspection.
