Page 31 of I Do, or Dye Trying
Her disdain for me brought out my inner bitch, and I acted extra campy when she was around in case her dislike was due to my sexuality. I thought that someone with that hair color should be a little less judgmental of everyone else. The orangey-red dye her stylist used made her skin look sallow. That color might work on someone else, or a restaurant clown, whose face wasn’t constantly screwed into insta-bitch the minute the camera panned away, but it didn’t work for her.
Of course, it didn’t help my cause when I said her constant scowling would cause wrinkles and recommended a good rejuvenating cream. Imagine my surprise when the same woman threw open her arms to welcome me like a long lost relative she loved and hadn’t seen in decades. “Josh, honey, you’re back.”
“Like a bad case of herpes, Joyce,” I told her.
“Oh, you’re so damn funny.” She gripped my biceps when she pulled back from the hug and looked into my eyes. “We missed you while you were away. I didn’t know how dull it was around here until you came along. You’re so sparkly and vibrant in a room filled with boring gray people.”
“Just call me Sparkles,” I said, then narrowed my eyes as a thought hit me. “You’ve been using the cream I told you about.”
“Yeah,” Joyce said nodding happily. “It’s like a miracle cream!”
“I’m glad you like it, Joyce.” I bit my tongue, wondering if I could press my luck a little further and tell her how wretched that hair color was for her complexion. “Can I be frank about something else?” I asked her.
“You hate my hair,” she replied.
“Well…”
“I know, it’s terrible, but I’m not sure what to do,” Joyce said. “I go to the same hairstylist as my mother, and she uses the same color on both of us. I end up looking just like my mother, and although I love the woman dearly, that’s not a compliment. This hair color is awful on me,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Do you want to be my makeover for next week? I have one scheduled for today already. We’d film it on Monday, and it would air on Friday. What do you think?” I asked her.
“I think you’re a lifesaver and I was a horrible uptight bitch to you when you first arrived,” she replied. “Forgive me?”
“Of course,” I said naturally. I saw the camera guy waving to get my attention and knew he was ready to film my first segment. “Can we talk about it later? Pete is ready to film.”
“Sure, sweetie,” Joyce said then went on her merry way.
We’ve all had days where we felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. Sometimes what you found at the bottom was a wonderful thing and other times not. Luckily, my conversation with Joyce fell into the first category. The first segment wasn’t that exciting. I talked about vitamins, minerals, and the way our eating habits affected our skin, hair, and nails. I tried to jazz it up with my humor and sass to keep it from being a drab segment. It must’ve worked because Pete laughed at my antics behind the camera.
We took a quick break, and I changed clothes. I didn’t want people to think I wore the same adorable ensemble three days a week. I chose a more relaxed, hip outfit for the second segment to review the products sent to the station.
“What do we have here?” I asked excitedly. “I love this soft pink and black color scheme for the packaging and the font used for the lettering. It’s both elegant and edgy. Let’s take a look at what’s inside.” I pulled out a large contouring palette that offered four different highlighters and shades. “At first sight, this is a gorgeous palette with a great variety to use for all skin tones, which I think is important. Let’s check out the pigment for each color.”
I got a few different brushes out of my kit and put a sample of each color on the back of one hand. “Gorgeous,” I said. Then on the back of the other hand. I used two complimentary shades and showed how well they blended. “They blend beautifully too. How much is this kit?” I picked up the box and saw the price. “Fifty dollars, folks. I know it sounds like a lot, but you can expect to pay double for bigger name brands and not get nearly as pigmented colors that blend this well. Besides, you get eight colors, so that’s a great bargain.”
I tested a few other products for my segment—some were okay, but none wowed me as much as the contouring palette. In between filming the second and final segment, I had lunch and ordered a few of the palettes online to use in the salon because we received a lot of requests to do full makeup for weddings and other special events. In fact, since it was June we were already in full swing with weddings. Cindy told me I could keep the test palette and I planned to put it to use immediately.
Cindy was a hell of a good sport, and we shared a lot of laughs while we changed her makeup from a day at the office to a night on the town. She literally let her hair down, and let me tell you; she was a show stopper!
“Girl, you need to call your friends and go out tonight,” I said. “Don’t waste this hair and makeup.”
“I agree,” Cindy replied, looping her arm around my neck. “I can see why Gabe calls you Sunshine, you know.” Her remark caught me off guard because even though she was always friendly, Cindy was the epitome of professionalism. She rarely remarked on anything too personal. “You light the world up around you.”
“That’s what Gabe says,” I replied, then nibbled on my bottom lip like I did when I got nervous or emotional.
“It’s true.” She gave me an extra squeeze then dropped her arm. “We’ll see you next week.”
I put the top down on the way home and had my music blaring. I loved the feel of the wind whipping through my hair and the happiness of a great day humming through my body. The damn police siren going on behind me startled the shit out of me, but then I saw it was my man.
Damn him for talking dirty to me and then not following me home right away to do the wicked things his eyes promised me. I wasn’t angry with him because I knew if he was saying “later” to sex that something serious was going on. Still, I expected him home in the time frame he gave me. As often as I told myself not to borrow trouble, I found myself worrying when he wasn’t home on time or called to say he’d be late. Before Emory’s prediction, I would’ve handled the situation better.
I couldn’t do a damn thing but wait unless I wanted to call and look like a nagging husband. Animals sense when their human is stressed, and that crazy-ass bird that I loved so much was no exception.
“Sugartits! Sugartits!” he squawked while I was trying to do yoga to calm my frigging nerves. “Little Daddy! Sugartits!”
“Dirty Bird!”
“Sugartits!”