Page 9 of Take It Till You Make It
“Who are you?” A woman with a light island accent, high cheekbones, and flawless skin asks as she hustles past. I swear her legs are as long as I am tall. She’s wearing an apron, so I’m guessing she’s part of the hair and makeup crew, but she’s gorgeous enough to be in front of the camera.
“Um, Arabelle Quill.”
She halts and slowly spins back toward me. Her gaze rakes over me, the slightest squint leading me to believe she’s not exactly pleased with what she sees. “You’re mine.” She points to a chair. “Sit there and don’t get in anybody’s way. I have about ten minutes left on your mother.”
I frown. My mother? She disappears into another room, and I want to follow her, but instead, I climb into the chair she pointed to and surreptitiously look around. I’m feeling very out of place.
Crispin stands, drawing my attention. He examines himself in the mirror as he removes the hairdressing smock he’s wearing. His face is expressionless, while I have to work hard for my eyes not to bug out of my head. His gorgeousness is so natural it seems unnatural. They’ve restyled his hair from the floppy waves he was wearing the other day to a styled cut with his hair parted on the side and combed back away from his face. Very all-American boy next door. It makes his cheekbones look like they could cut glass, and his eyes simmer under his thick dark brows. I think he has brown eyes, but he’s too far away for me to see for sure. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that sit low on his hips and a t-shirt that’s taut across his chest. Suddenly, his gaze shifts, and he’s looking at me in the mirror. I don’t know what expression he sees on my face, but it makes the corner of his mouth quirk, while a single brow arches.
Great, he caught me staring, so now he thinks I have a crush on him, and he thinks it’s cute. I snarl and look away. There is nothing about that puffed-up windbag that makes my teen heartthrob. I see that Sally is ready too. She’s giving her makeup artist a hug as she thanks him. Sally looks like the natural teenage beauty that she is, with her hair falling in waves around her shoulders and a clean, fresh makeup treatment on her face.
“Arabelle?”
I turn to the person who just stepped up beside me, expecting the woman who told me to sit, but my eyes grow wide.
“We didn’t get a chance to meet at the table read. I’m Chandra.” Chandra Miracle wraps my hand in a warm greeting between both of hers. Her gaze flits all around my face. “You really could pass as my daughter.”
Oh. My mother.
Warmth floods through my body when I realize Chandra Miracle – my idol – is holding my hand. I want to gush about how much she means to me. I want to ask how she chooses her roles because they are always characters who overcome impossible odds. I want to tell her I think my dad had a crush on her even though my parents were madly, deeply in love. But I can’t seem to form any of those words. Instead, I just stare at her with a gaping mouth.
The lady who told me to sit steps up beside her. “I just need to tweak her hair color a little and work on the shape of her eyes, and people will wonder if all three of you are related.”
Chandra pats my hand before letting it go. “I look forward to working with you. I understand tomorrow is your first day shooting on a real movie set.”
I nod. My tongue refuses to move.
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the wolves.” My eyes grow round, and she laughs. “Not literal wolves, promise. But between Sally and me, we’ll be able to help you learn the ropes.”
“Thank you, Ms. Miracle.”
She jerks and makes a face. “Oh, come on! You’re going to be calling me Mom for the next couple of months; at least call me Chandra. Or Channie.”
I shake my head at the last suggestion. That’s way too familiar.
“I look forward to working with you.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Me too.”
She chuckles and shakes her head as she leaves. She heads over to Sally and they leave the room, hand in hand.
“Okay,” says the tall lady. “I know what I want to do to align your coloring with your mom and sister, but I’m not sure what kind of look I want you to have. While your body type can easily pass as a thirteen-year-old, there’s something too mature or worldly about your face. I’ll need to try out a few different things, so make yourself comfortable while I play.”
“Um…” I glance around the room, which has cleared out significantly. “Will you always be doing my hair and makeup?”
“Oh, yes, girl. I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Remi. I’ll be taking care of you and your mother.”
This time, I smile when she mentions my mother. For some reason, I find it charming that she thinks of us as our characters.
“This is when you pop in earbuds and lose yourself in music or a good book,” Remi says. “I’ll move you like a marionette if I need a chin up or back straight, but mostly you’ll figure out when you need to close your eyes.”
Jennie had warned me that today would be long and boring and to bring some entertainment. I brought my script, since they seem to have changed so many of my lines, as well as earbuds and a fully charged phone. I listen to music and scroll social media while enjoying the feel of Remi tugging on my hair. As if his proximity to my phone picked up on it, a picture of Crispin Moore coming out of a restaurant with a leggy redhead stops my scroll. The post says, “New girlfriend for Hollywood’s heartthrob, Crispin Moore? Rumor has it this isn’t the first time a camera has caught Crispin with supermodel Liv Uran. We think there could be a relationship brewing.” I shake my head.
“Close your eyes,” Remi says.
I turn off my screen and immerse myself in the feeling of being pampered as Remi airbrushes foundation on my face. The swish of makeup brushes, the swipe of a warm towel to remove her work and start fresh feels marvelous, and I feel the tension dissipate from my neck and shoulders.
I don’t remember the last time I felt relaxed. It had to be before we lost Dad, but now that I’m feeling the heaviness of my muscles and the ease of my breath filling my lungs, I realize I might never have consciously experienced this before. Not that I was constantly stressed when Dad was alive, but maybe I simply took everything for granted. I just lived whatever life unfolded in front of me and never gave it much thought. Now that I have no choice but to stay in survival mode, that careless approach to life feels foreign and completely self-centered. Privileged, maybe.
