“Oh, Myka. You act like you’ve never shown a little ass and side boob before.”
“Bitch, this is booty-cheeks-no material--chain-links-with-mirrored-sequins-may-as-well-be-naked wear.”
“Yes, but trust me, this will turn heads as well as get your man’s attention.”
“I don’t have a man.”
“You do. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“No. What else do you have in the other bag?”
“Eew. I never get to have fun dressing you.” She unzips the remaining bag and reveals a second ensemble that is still a bit risqué. A backless, metallic, cropped halter top, and a pair of asymmetrical shorts with a chain embellishment.
“Now, see, this I like. Why would you hold back on such a wonderful set?”
“I’m trying to get you to live a bit dangerously. You know, go outside the box. Not that you are too reserved, you just don’t let loose at times. And hunty, you are in the right industry to do just that. Take a lesson from Simon.”
This is the second time in less than a week I’ve heard that. Am I too rigid? I can’t disappoint my boss or my clients, so I try to stay on the straight and narrow. And it’s not like they are trying to convert me or anything. I just don’t like to fail.
“Okay, I rummaged through your closet and found these cute yet comfortable heels to go with your outfit. Now go shower, and do a co-wash on your hair. We’re going curls tonight, and I will meet you in the spare room for transformation.” Brianna wheels her two cases to the back and sets up before she jumps into the guest shower.
Meanwhile, I go start my pre-outing routine, making sure to exfoliate well before Bri opens a fresh pack of makeup brushes to adorn my face with her skills. I don’t do heavy cosmetics at all, but the way Brianna works those wands, you’d think the whole counter display at MAC was on my face. She is fabulous at what she does, and that is why she is in high demand. Everything she does for me and my clients is because she loves me. Otherwise, I couldn’t afford her.
I hop into the shower, wash, and moisturize before stepping out and adding an additional light layer of shea butter. I throw on my robe and socks and march into my dressing room, where my stylist awaits. I scroll through my phone for updates, last-minute crises, or missed messages from anyone about tonight's performance. All I find are Lenny saying it’s go-time and Sebastian and the guys sending me photos from the soundcheck. Nothing from Simon. I must admit, I’ve become accustomed to his daily texts to see how I’m doing or to just flat out annoy me. The photo from Miami pops up on my IG because another person liked it. I stare at it, thinking of that kiss and how he didn’t want to let me go.
“Okay, Myka. Let’s get to work.” Brianna announces, coming from the guest bath.
I quickly close the app to dismiss any potential comments and let her do what she does best.