Page 16 of The Close-Up (Hollywood Renaissance 1.50)

Chapter Two

Takira

There’s nothing like a show.

I’ve done hair and makeup for theater, TV, film, commercials, award shows. You name it. Over the last twelve years, I’ve done it. The excitement of preparing someone to shine never gets old. It infiltrates the air as I venture backstage for Lotus Ross’s celebrity fashion show. I accepted the opportunity blindly, so eager to work with Lotus in any capacity. I didn’t even ask which charity the show was benefiting, but in the hotel lobby, I passed a sign for Harbor House, which I believe focuses on domestic violence, a cause I know is close to her cousin Iris’s heart, and consequently, to Lotus’s, too.

Makeshift stations are set up backstage with small mirrors and chairs. Stylists heft bags stuffed with makeup and tools of the beauty trade. It’s been a while since I worked a fashion show, celebrity or otherwise, and I’d forgotten how tall everyone is. I’m five nine, so no small woman, but I’m dwarfed by the Amazons and giants milling around the area designated for hair and makeup.

“Takira!”

I turn my head in the direction of my name being called. An attractive woman with dark curly hair and golden-brown skin approaches, dressed in all black—T-shirt and jeans—like most of the other stylists here. Like me.

“Catalina, hey.” I accept her quick hug and return her genuine smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“You were the first one I thought of,” she says, her slight accent drawing out her vowels. If I remember correctly, she’s from Colombia. “I saw the great work you did on set that day. And I liked you. In this town, it can be hard to find competence and kindness in the same package.”

“You telling me.” I chuckle in agreement.

I relocated from New York to LA for Dessi Blue when Neevah was cast as the lead and secured a position for me in the crew. Say what you want about New Yorkers being rude. With them, you get what you get and you know what it is. Here, there sometimes seems to be a thin layer of plastic laid over most interactions. In a place that makes its money off illusions, it’s hard to know what and who is real.

“Lemme introduce you to Lo,” Catalina says, glancing at her watch. “We got a lot of ground to cover before the show starts, and we’re dealing with a bunch of amateurs today.”

“I thought I saw some big-time models.” I follow her, shifting the bag on my shoulder as we pick our way over the chaos on the floor and the racks of clothing parked throughout the space.

“Watch your step,” she warns. “It’s a mess back here. Yeah, some great models, for sure, but I’d say half the guys are ballers.”

“You mean like—”

“Basketball players.” Catalina shoots me a bright grin. “You know Lotus is married to Kenan Ross.”

“He’s retired, right?”

“Not too long ago, but he’s still got a lot of friends on the San Diego Waves and all throughout the league. He called in some favors. Lotta folks want to see these guys strutting down the catwalk. Good for Harbor House.”

When she says San Diego Waves, a kernel of unease takes root in my belly. I barely have time to consider why before we reach a petite woman on her knees with pins in her mouth, kneeling in front of a statuesque model whose dress she’s tugging.

“Lo,” Catalina says, bending a little to catch the popular designer’s attention. “I want you to meet someone if you have a sec.”

“Oh, sure.” Lotus stretches a hand up to the model, who gently pulls until Lotus is standing to her full, if modest, height.

“You’re pregnant!” I blurt, staring at her rounded belly.

“Looks that way.” Lotus laughs, rubbing her stomach through the sheer, brightly patterned caftan that falls to her knees over wide-legged flowing pants and silk slippers. Small she may be, but there is something regal and commanding about her that draws the eye and refuses to let go.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, feeling like an idiot. “Congratulations. I just didn’t know.”

“My husband Kenan is…” She rolls her eyes, tosses a swathe of platinum braids over her shoulder, and smiles. “Paranoid. We didn’t tell anyone for a long time, and since I’m not the biggest chick to begin with, it was a while before I started showing. Anyway, yeah. Six months.”

“And flyer than ever,” Catalina purrs, side-hugging Lotus. “Lo, this is Takira, the makeup artist I told you about from Dessi Blue.”

“I’m so excited for that movie,” Lotus says, her eyes widening. “Please tell me it’ll be out soon.”

“Depends on what you mean by soon.” I laugh. “We just wrapped, so I think they’re editing and finalizing.”

“I’ve heard Canon Holt is a genius.” Lotus’s eyes and nimble fingers stray back to the dress worn by the patiently waiting model. “And this new actress, Neevah. Heard great things about her, too.”

“She’s spectacular.” I beam, unable to check my pride in my best friend.

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