Page 109 of Home Grown Talent

All of it neatly labelled. #happy, #me, #livingmybestlife

#love

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Mason

Mason dressed down for his Weekend Wellness appearance. Even now, a week on, the online conversation was furiously judgmental. The situation called for, if not quite sackcloth and ashes, something fairly sober.

He opted for dark blue jeans, a white shirt and a pale-grey, fine-knit sweater. When he checked himself in the mirror, he saw a serious young man with an innocent, concerned expression.

Innocent. Hell, looks really could be deceiving.

He took a cab to the RPP studios and was met at reception by one of the production crew, Rowan. She was older than Adam, obviously more senior, and looked beyond irritated to have to fetch him. She made no attempt at small talk as she sorted him out with his security pass.

“You’re late,” she said irritably, leading him towards the lifts. “You were supposed to be here at eight.”

“I’m not on till eleven,” Mason pointed out. “I’d just have been kicking my heels for hours in the green room.” Hours during which Misty could be badgering him when he wanted to avoid her as much as possible.

Rowan sent him an aggravated look. “Yeah, well, it’s a pain for us—the show’s started, and it’s busy this morning. I’ve got better things to be doing than escorting you around the place.”

“Sorry,” Mason said meekly. “Don’t let me delay you. I don’t need Wardrobe, and I know the way to Make-up—room 3.09, right? I can find my own way to the green room after that.”

Rowan looked undecided for a moment; then she nodded. “Okay. Third floor, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mason agreed.

“And straight to the green room after Make-up,” she added firmly.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honour.”

She sighed, her hostility ebbing. “Okay, thanks. Sorry to be grumpy, but Misty—” She broke off, then began again, a note of weariness in her voice. “This morning’s been a bitch.”

“It’s okay,” Mason said. “My fault entirely.”

The lift pinged, the doors opened, and he stepped inside, hitting the button for the third floor.

He found room 3.09 easily, but it was empty. The man in the next room, who was busy straightening a woman’s hair, told him to try room 3.14.

Room 3.14 turned out to be hidden away on the other side of the third floor. When he finally found it, he knocked on the door softly, relaxing when Carmen’s cheerful voice called out, “Come in.”

Today, her kaftan was black with gold stripes, and she was rocking a black geometric wig and some serious eye make-up.

“Nice outfit,” Mason said as he dropped into the chair. “Very Elizabeth Taylor.”

She winked at him and whipped out one of her little plastic shoulder capes, a canary-yellow one this time.

“I thought you were in 3.09,” he said.

“I am, usually, but the bloody lights have blown again,” she grumbled as she fastened the cape ties at the back of his neck. “I’ve told them a hundred times there must be something wrong with the fuses, but they just keep putting in new bulbs. Still takes them all day to get around to it, mind.” She shook her head irritably and turned away to rummage in her trolley.

“Anyway, this won’t take long,” she said. “You just need a smidge of foundation to even you out and some definition around the eyes.”

She dotted his face with foundation and began blending it in with a sponge.

“Is your friend coming in today again?” she asked after a while.

“My friend?” Mason echoed faintly, though he knew who she meant.