Page 21 of The Cruise Club
Dicky was in his dressing room. He sat in front of a large mirror where soft lights lined the metallic frame, designed to eliminate shadows and allow the artist a clear view from all angles. Every wrinkle and flaw stood out no matter how he turned from side to side or tilted his head.
Dicky shrugged. After a sleepless night and a full day entertaining the wealthy widow, he’d need more than a layer of concealer to ready himself for the evening performance. He poked about on Melody’s side of the table, picking up a Kryolan paint stick and a tube of MAC cosmetics.
‘Dermacolor Camouflage System,’ Dicky read from the side of the tube. ‘That’ll do nicely,’ he muttered, squeezing a hefty measure onto his fingers.
Smoothing it into his skin, he was pleased to see his lines fade. He knew this expensive product withstood harsh stage lights, and adding a touch of Studio Fix Foundation beneath each eye, sat back to re-examine his skin. Perfect! He was camera-ready and looked at least ten years younger.
Dicky was about to replace the caps on the tubes when the door burst open, and Melody strode in. She wore an emerald-green, shimmering silk cocktail dress with a glamorous auburn wig. Her complexion was as flawless as her figure.
Spreading his fingers, Dicky hastily covered the tubes.
‘No wonder they call you Tricky Dicky,’ Melody said as she stared at Dicky’s reflection, ‘you’ve got GUILT written all over your face.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Dicky shrugged.
‘Your foundation can be seen from space,’ she added, ‘there’s more life in Madame Tussauds. Surely, you’re not going on stage like that?’
Dicky scowled and, taking a tissue, leaned into the mirror to dab at his face. Close-up, he had to agree. Perhaps he did look a little waxy.
Melody spied her tubes and, stepping out of her heels, held out her hand. ‘Thief!’ she growled, her voice growing deeper and fingers clenching into a fist.
‘Oh, are these yours?’ Dicky said, replacing the caps. ‘They were on my side, and I thought I’d left them here earlier.’
‘Yeah, likely story.’ Melody pushed her chair to the end of the table and sat down. ‘If I ever see you stealing my gear again, I’ll make sure you’re incapable of walking out on stage.’
As Melody removed her makeup, the sculpted chin and cheekbones slowly disappeared, revealing a layer of faint stubble.
Her lips, no longer ruby red, lost their fullness and pulled tight like a washing line.
She dabbed at her eyes with cleanser to remove the vibrant eyeshadow and reveal real eyes beneath. They stared at Dicky with menace.
Dicky thought Melody looked more like a prize fighter than a glamorous drag artist, and he didn’t fancy a bout in her ring. He decided to drop the cutting quips, do what he was good at, and shower her with compliments.
Knowing Melody had been singing in the piano bar, he began, ‘I hear there was standing room only for your performance. My spies tell me you were brilliant and had the audience eating out of your hand.’
Melody eyed Dicky suspiciously.
‘In fact, one or two were overheard to say you are the best female vocal they’ve ever heard.’
Melody stood. She unzipped her dress and placed it on a hanger. ‘Cut the crap, Dicky,’ she said and, reaching for her robe, disappeared into the bathroom.
Shaking his head, Dicky gesticulated as the door closed. At a loss to understand why Melody disliked him, he decided there was no time to flatter her further. He would shortly be on stage. Swiping a stick of Melody’s blusher, he dabbed at his cheeks again.
Nothing was going to quell his enthusiasm tonight.
He’d had a great day with the widow, and they’d stopped off at a jeweller in Rhodes Old Town, where she insisted on gifting Dicky an expensive chunky gold chain.
He’d also privately sold many copies of his book in generous cash deals that he sealed with a smile, signing each one to the captivated guest, who would head home with tales of personally knowing the onboard entertainer.
He removed the towel protecting his brilliant white shirt and tossed it to one side. Standing, Dicky reached for his evening jacket, and straightening the lapels, smiled at his reflection and whispered, ‘Showtime!’
Carmen was in her cabin. To her dismay, Betty insisted they have a lighter dinner in the Deck Café, where a buffet was served.
Despite complaining of an upset stomach from an ice cream she’d eaten when visiting the windmills with Sid, Betty had polished off two plates of food and a cheesecake dessert.
Back in her cabin after their meal, Betty feigned tiredness.
But Carmen suspected that the moment she prepared Betty for bed and left her upright surrounded by cushions, the TV would be on, and a box of chocolates whipped out from beneath the covers.
Betty would be channel hopping all night in a fluffy pink bedjacket and matching nightie, with her hair netted in place.
‘She’s like Barbara Cartland,’ Carmen muttered as she paced around her cabin, ‘lying in bed, scoffing chocolates while dictating her orders to the world.’
Carmen stared at her laptop and with a shrug, pushed it to one side. Writing was the last thing on her mind, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Now, having missed dinner with Fran and Sid, she didn’t feel like heading out to a show alone.
When they’d arrived back on the ship after their visit to Rhodes, Fran had whisked Carmen away to the onboard stylist, while Sid took Betty to the library where the Golden Oldies Gang had grouped for a game of pre-dinner Lingo-Livener.
The oldies enjoyed a livener as the host used cruise-related phrases for the Lingo.
Betty, grinning with delight, had romped through her card to win a giant box of chocolates.
Now Carmen sat before a mirror and stared, wide-eyed with disbelief at her reflection.
In the onboard salon, at Fran’s insistence, a beautician had given Carmen a makeover and the makeup she’d applied was subtle yet transforming.
A hint of colour to her cheeks, soft eyeshadow and mascara made her eyes appear larger and peachy lipstick flattered Carmen’s smile. The whole new look surprised her.
With Fran’s encouragement Carmen had allowed a stylist to cut subtle layers into her hair that gave movement and body.
Turning to study each side, she realised that this cleverly highlighted her cheekbones and brightened her complexion.
A curling wand created soft waves, and a caramel-coloured rinse added depth.
The stylist assured Carmen that she’d left enough length to sweep the hair into an up-style for formal occasions, and as light from an overhead lamp shone down, Carmen reached up to touch her face, reassuring herself that the image was real.
She could hardly believe the revamped version of herself.
‘Wow!’ Carmen whispered as she took it all in. The dowdy look she was used to had melted away and she couldn’t deny that an attractive face stared back.
Betty had told Carmen that she looked like an attention seeker. ‘Your new hairdo makes you look desperate,’ Betty sneered. ‘You look like a buffoon with all that gunk on your face. I suggest you go to your cabin and wash it all off.’
Carmen pushed back her chair and stood up. She remembered Betty’s words and felt determined to defy them. ‘It’s no use sitting here, twiddling my thumbs or staring at a blank page.’
Without time to change her mind, Carmen went to her wardrobe and stared at all the purchases she’d made that day.
She hadn’t a clue what to wear or where to go, knowing that she’d missed dinner in the Terrace Restaurant and the start of the show in the Neptune Theatre, but she felt confident that plenty was going on elsewhere in the ship.
‘Goodness me,’ Carmen whispered when she stood before a mirror, thirty minutes later.
As she’d dressed, Carmen had opened a half bottle of champagne, and now, twirling before the mirror in an off-the-shoulder, silky maxi dress, she was delighted with how she looked.
Gone were her heavy-rimmed glasses, and without Betty nagging her to hurry along, Carmen had had time to insert her contact lenses.
The delicate coral-coloured fabric of the dress was flattering and flowed elegantly to mid-calf.
Fran had found a pair of gold hoop earrings and strappy sandals, and Carmen had to admit that the outfit was sensational.
She drained her glass and picked up a small gold clutch. As she dimmed the lights, the sound of a stick banging against the wall came from the room next door.
‘Carmen!’ Betty yelled. ‘Are you awake? Come and make my cocoa.’
Pausing, Carmen felt a wave of guilt and was about to head to Betty’s room when an invisible hand reached out to stop her. As though whispering from above and waving a heavenly wand, a ghostly voice said, ‘Slip away, Cinderella!’
Within seconds, Carmen closed her door and set off.