Page 113 of Girls Night
Each time she took picture after picture of me since that first day, her camera flashing, her whole being came to life. Sometimes, I still couldn’t help but think all of it was a prank. People paid that much money to get their pictures taken? No crazy shit, no sweat involved? But as the camera clicked one shot after the other, I finally believed it. I also believed Mia was indeed a true artist.
Once, when we were taking a break, I asked her to show me some of her work. Always quiet and super private, I was surprised when she let me look at what she called her “2019 portfolio.” As I flipped the shiny plastic pages one by one, my mouth had dropped at what I saw. Color. Life. Pain. Sorrow. And so much talent.
“Damn, girl,” I had told her, my eyes glued to a photo of two women in a yin and yang position, both lying on a floor of flower petals. The photo was taken from above and felt like a private moment that I was watching without them knowing. “You should send these to one of those art stores, you know, the ones that have big parties and raise a gazillion dollars. These are fucking awesome.”
Mia had turned away, but not before I could see her lovely pale face blush bright red. She was such a tiny thing, even though she was only a few inches shorter than my five-six frame.
Seeing her uncomfortable, I had dropped my praise, changing the subject to something dumb, like the weather.
“So,” she said now, bringing me back to the present. “I have an idea that I want to run by you.” She was speaking faster than she usually did, which told me she was in the “zone.”
There were two sides of Mia that I’d picked up on since meeting her. One side was mysterious, almost “other,” like an elf queen in a fantasy show. She even resembled one, with her long dark hair that was always piled on top of her head, and those haunting blue eyes that seemed to know things. The other side of her was uber-focused and driven. Confident and badass. That was the artist in her. Right now she was in artist mode.
I followed her into the art studio, dropping my bag on the kitchen counter. When I came into the room, the first thing I saw was the black backdrop with a billion holes in it that showed the yellow light shining behind it, like stars in a moonless sky.
Every session was different, but this night sky thing was like yesterday’s session. She seemed to have settled on that “right look,” as she called it. I still hadn’t seen anything yet on what she was working on with me; I just sat, posed, and got paid. For the most part. Because she rarely spoke, so into her work that I could barely sit still in the silence, I ended up chatting away the hour until she’d ask me to hush.
“I want to try some makeup,” she said after I sat on the stool in front of her. “I can’t seem to get the depth right, so I think the reality will aid me here in my vision.” She touched my cheeks, her hands cold. Her touch was gentle and so, so careful, as if I were made of glass. Something in that touch made my breath catch. The blue in her eyes darkened as she searched for whatever it was she was looking for in the plains of my face.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” I blurted out. She was so close, just less than a foot away from my face, so close I could see exactly how soft her lips would be if I touched them with my finger.
Her fingertips stilled on my jaw as her wide gaze met mine. “I’m really not, but thank you,” she whispered. Then, clearing her throat, she stepped back. “Okay, I need you to strip from the waist up. I’ll need naked collarbones and shoulders for this shot.”
And back into artist mode she went.
I went in the back, behind the curtain, not even bothering to shut it as I took off my T-shirt and bra, slipping off my boots. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun, figuring she’d need it out of the way for this makeup business.
When I returned to the stool, she had rolled out a cart filled with product, brushes, powders, the whole deal. Soft music played in the background, a lazy, jazzy techno beat.
I gave the cart a suspicious look as she began to work on me. My experience with makeup stopped at lipstick and eyeliner. Having brown eyes and a permanent tan, I never really needed any, hating how it felt like a mud mask on my face. But having Mia apply all these fancy and colorful shades of eye-make-up, mascara, and creamy foundation, made me feel feminine, and I wondered why I had never taken the time to learn how to use makeup as a tool, especially in my line of work.
Mia stepped back to see her progress and grinned. “Wanna see?”
Shrugging, I accepted the hand mirror she’d dug out from the bottom of the bin and inspected my face. “Wow.” My eyes looked alive, outlined in some sparkling teal liner, my lids powdery soft in purples, blues, and greens. I looked like a piece of art, which was the point, I figured.
“A bit more to go, then we’ll take some proofs,” she said softly.
As she worked some more, I asked, “So, you’ve been doing this for how long? Using live models and such?”
“Oh, at least four years. Took me awhile to get the nerve up to even ask one person at the local college.”
My lips tingled as she applied some lip liner in blue, of all colors. “Uh…why these colors?” My words came out warbly since I was trying to keep my mouth still.
She looked up at me, pulling the liner away. “You’re going to be a bird.”
“What?”
Grinning, she bit her lip. “A bird.”
I laughed, I couldn’t help it. She was too cute. “You’re turning me into a bird.”
She nodded. “It’s my theme for this set. You’ll see when I’m done.”
I lifted an eyebrow, curiosity winning despite how funny the whole thing sounded. “Whatever you say, you’re the artiste.”
* * *
My face washed of all makeup, I got dressed and met Mia out in the living area. She was sipping on her hot tea—she’d offered me some after every session, but I just couldn’t see what she saw in the stuff; tasted like plant water to me. Her legs were curled underneath her as she eyed the phone in her free hand.
