Freaky in Fresno

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  “That doesn’t mean it’s a good fit for me,” I say. “I’m already under so much stress.”

  “Lana, stop acting insecure. You are great at this!” Aunt April smiles and it sends a creepy shiver down my spine.

  “That’s not—”

  “That’s enough now,” she snaps. “My turn to talk, because I have a surprise.” She looks at her watch. “But we need to leave right now.”

  “Now?” I say. “We don’t have to head to for Digi until six.”

  “It’s already after three thirty.”

  “How?” I feel like time is skipping forward.

  Aunt April takes a bouncy step toward me and grabs hold of my arm. “Let’s go.” She gives a tug. “I’ve been on the phone all afternoon setting this up. Where are the keys to the Skylark?”

  “We can’t take the convertible,” I say. “Ricki needs it for the drive-in’s reopening.”

  Aunt April says, “Fine. We’ll just take my car now and then circle back for the convertible after. Ricki can’t complain if she’s getting the Skylark for half the day.”

  “But that’s the wrong half of the day,” I whine.

  “Stop stalling, Lana,” Aunt April says. “I have your makeup in my car. You can put on your face while I drive.”

  In desperation, I look at Erik and mouth the word help.

  “Wait a minute,” he says. “Can you please just listen to what Lana is trying to say?”

  Aunt April spins around and points an accusing finger in Erik’s face. He’s so startled he actually falls back, bouncing once and standing right back up.

  She moves in for the kill. “You,” she says to Erik. “You were supposed to be helping Lana with subscribers, not sabotaging her with some stupid prank.”

  “I’d never sabotage her,” Erik says. “I care about Lana. In fact, I care much more about her than her channel stats.”

  He puts an arm around me and through the mesh I lock eyes with Lana. She smiles.

  I say, “Erik just wants what’s best for me, Mom.”

  “What’s best for you is to come with me, right now.” She grabs both my wrists with a vicelike grip and pulls me toward the door. “I’ve arranged a meet and greet with some of your biggest fans!”

  “What? Nooooo.” I look back at Erik for help but he just shrugs.

  “Those are actually kind of nice,” he says. “Hearing from people who appreciate what you’ve been putting out there. It’s one of the parts I really enjoy. Plus, there’s security. It’ll be a troll-free zone for you.”

  “Better than that.” Aunt April ushers me toward the castle’s canvas exit. “The meet and greet is at your favorite place: the Fashion Fair Mall!”

  “What?” My whole body goes rigid.

  My aunt maniacally grins at me. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

  I envision a sea of young girls clamoring for advice about eye shadow colors and lip tints and about a million other makeup products I know nothing about.

  “Not. Wonderful,” I say helplessly as Aunt April drags me out of my safe and glittery bouncy castle cocoon.

  chapter 20

  I grab for Lana and hiss for her to “Please come with us” as her mom drags me away from the bouncy castle, but my cousin just gives me a small, helpless shrug and turns her attention back to videotaping the dogs. Zelda, the thing of evil, has clearly taken charge, leading the others on a mission to patrol the drive-in for squirrel intruders.

  The next thing I know, Aunt April shoves me into the passenger side of her RAV4 and plops a heavy pink tackle box onto my lap. She gives my face a close look, gives a humph, and pats the top of the box invitingly before slamming the door. Based on the rattling sound it makes and the smell wafting from it, the pink tackle box is packed with makeup.

  Aunt April pulls away from the concession shack and I see Erik standing alone inside the bouncy castle watching us leave. I have never seen a bouncy castle look so still and sad.

  As we drive past Wes and Aunt May, I pleadingly reach out to them and they enthusiastically wave back.

  “Nice to see you too, sis,” Aunt May sarcastically calls to Aunt April, but my captor just blows a kiss before pulling out of the Starlight.

  Passing through the drive-in’s exit, we cross paths with Jake arriving in his red Bronco. I practically have my nose pressed against the glass windshield as Aunt April hits the gas and zooms by. We’re moving so fast I don’t even get a glimpse of Jake.

  This is going to end badly. I feel sure of it.

  “Go ahead,” Aunt April encourages me. “Do your magic. You can’t show up for a beauty meet and greet all barefaced and lipstick-less.”

  She gestures to my clean face like it’s disgraceful.

  “I really don’t think I can put makeup on right now,” I say.

  “Maybe you should make this into a challenge video.” She gives me an excited grin before turning her attention back to the road. “Putting on makeup, dot, dot, dot . . . in a speeding vehicle, exclamation point!”

  “Maybe you can just stick with the speed limit?” I say.

  “Challenge videos are getting all the clicks lately,” Aunt April says. “We’ve got to get in on that!”

  “Mom.” I raise my voice. “How about this for a challenge? My face is fine, dot, dot, dot . . . the way it is.”

  “Lana Marie! You cannot go to a big event that will be featured in outtakes on social media without wearing any makeup. That’s insane.” My aunt’s knuckles turn white as she grips the steering wheel, and she looks at me like she’s insane.

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll do my best.”

  I unhook the latches of the pink plastic tackle box and lift the lid. Both sides unfold like the plastic petals of a giant square flower and the fragrance floats into my face, making me feel carsick. I’m so overwhelmed. I think longingly of my backpack filled with horror makeup supplies locked away in the trunk of the Skylark right now. Makeup I’m an expert at applying.

  Gingerly, I begin sorting through the bottles and powders and brushes and pencils and pots, lifting lids and sniffing everything. I root around until I find a number of bottles that are skin-colored and select one that looks like a nice neutral shade.

  I pick up a midsized brush and then realize I have no idea how to get the foundation onto the brush.

  “Do I just dump this . . . or . . .” Aunt April glances over at me like I’ve got two heads and I say, “Ha. Just joking, of course.”

  “This isn’t the time, Lana!” I detect a slight screech of hysteria in her voice.

  Sealing one finger over the opening of the glass bottle, I tip it over and immediately discover my finger seal wasn’t airtight.

  Liquid makeup runs down my finger and pools in my palm. I quickly place the bottle in the RAV4’s drink holder and get to work wiping the foundation on my face, spreading it with both hands.

  I have no idea what I look like, but my fingers are too covered in greasy foundation to flip down the car’s mirrored visor. I bend my arm and try to nudge the visor down with my elbow, but it keeps snapping back up until my aunt finally reaches over and slams it down for me.

  I glance in the vanity mirror at the same time Aunt April sees my face, and we both gasp in harmony.

  I picked a color based on my usual skin tone. Which is dark beige. But I’m currently wearing Lana’s skin, which, aside from the freckles, is pale as can be.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Aunt April says.

  “Why is this color even in here?” I wail as I try to rub it in, making things even more splotchy.

  “That’s contour, Lana! Contour!” She gestures wildly to the area underneath her cheekbones. “Are you really going to sabotage yourself right now?”

  “It was an honest mistake,” I say. “Although we do need to go home now so I can wash my face. It looks like I’m wearing camouflage.” I wish I could go invisible.

  Aunt April glances over. “No way,” she says, opening the center console and pulling out a
box of wet wipes. “Get yourself cleaned up and do your face the right way.”

  Everyone in my family tiptoes around my aunt April when she’s upset. Once she goes off there’s no bringing her back, and I spot a little vein pulsing in her forehead right now. I’m pretty sure she’s close to going nuclear.

  Without another word, I get to work, wiping off the contour and digging into the other products in the giant pink tackle box. I put aside the things that look completely foreign to me, such as a nubby rubber mitten and a tight silver coil with two pink handles that I have no idea what to do with. I pull out what I think is an eyeliner, but it turns out to be a tiny rake complete with a row of sharp metal spikes like teeth that make me shudder.

  Once I’ve pruned out the weaponized makeup items I prop up my phone to watch one of Lana’s tutorial videos. Unfortunately, she saves time by fast-forwarding through parts and loses me. I’m left trying to pause my phone while juggling brushes and finally give up on proper technique. I start applying all of the products I recognize in the quickest ways possible.

  I look over at my aunt, who is still running hot. This observation is based on the way she’s screaming at the car in front of us, who is following the speed limit right now. I apply makeup to my face even faster and find that I’m actually doing a fairly decent job.

  Perhaps the glamour gene didn’t completely skip me after all.

  When I’m finished, I proudly slam the tackle box shut and do a final check in the mirror. It’s not good by any means, but I don’t think I look half bad either.

  “We’re here,” Aunt April announces as she maneuvers through the Fashion Fair Mall parking lot. “Now you need to be quick—we only have about an hour here and then we’ll swing by for the convertible and get on the road to LA.”

  She pulls up to a tall man wearing a reflective vest and leans out her window.

  “Hi, I’m here with Lana from Lookie Lana!” She turns her head to look at me for the first time.

  “What the—?!?” Aunt April’s rage missiles have been deployed. “Are you kidding me right now, Lana?!?”

  I duck and cover.

  “Do you think you’re doing some sort of Miranda Sings bit?” My aunt’s face gets redder and redder, revealing she’s wearing a rather thick coat of foundation herself. Veins pop out of her neck as she shouts, “I. Am. Not. AMUSED!!”

  The man wearing the orange vest scurries to move a safety cone out of the RAV4’s way. “Please, ladies.” He looks frightened. “It’s all good. You can park over to the left of the entrance. Matt will meet you and escort you to the meeting site.”

  Aunt April sits staring at my attempted “glamour look” and breathing heavy.

  The guard picks up the flag that’s on his metal folding chair and tries to use it to wave us forward. But Aunt April’s attention stays directed at me.

  “You are meeting your fans in less than ten minutes, Lana.” My aunt’s voice has gone from deep and scary to high-pitched and shaky, which is far more terrifying.

  “It’s okay,” I say, “Watch. I can fix this.”

  I start pulling out wet wipes and undoing the makeup I’ve applied.

  “I’m just really nervous about what I’ll say in front of everyone,” I say. “No worries.”

  “No worries? Ha!” she says. “How about ALL the worries.” I’m beginning to see why Lana is suffering from stress attacks. A fresh wave of panic flutters in my chest.

  Aunt April looks at the parking guard, who has been motioning helplessly with his flag this whole time. He breaks eye contact and looks up into the sky, as if he’s watching for a plane he can wave in for a landing here at the mall parking lot.

  “This is going to be fine.” I look in the mirror and nearly laugh at my makeup-streaked face.

  “You look like a wild animal,” Aunt April growls as she puts the car in drive and pulls forward, nearly mowing down the parking guard. His little plastic flag slaps the windshield of the RAV4 as he leaps out of our way.

  But instead stopping to see if he’s okay, or turning the car around and leaving, Aunt April speeds deeper into the lot. She zooms toward the cinder-blocked backside of the mall so fast I wrap both of my thin arms over the top of my head.

  She heads directly for a metal door with a very tall security guard standing in front of it. The RAV4 screeches to a stop, landing neatly beside the curb, and I realize the uniformed guard is actually quite average-sized; he’s just standing on a Segway.

  Aunt April pulls up alongside him and he gives us a stoic nod. “You’re the talent?” he says. “Crowd is in position.”

  “We just need one minute.” Aunt April shifts toward me in her seat and clicks her tongue. “You look like someone just did a blindfold challenge on you.”

  Lifting the tackle box of makeup off my lap, she sets it on the center console between us and gets to work on my face. Roughly, I might add.

  * * *

  I squeal in pain a few times as Aunt April works with flying hands. When she stops and slams the pink tackle box shut, I dare to look in the mirror and see the on-camera version of my cousin. Big pink lips, huge spidery eyelashes, and not a freckle in sight. Despite all the wet wipes and do-overs, I still have a few dots of glitter on my face and even more of it glints unevenly from my hair.

  Aunt April says, “I don’t know why you’re trying to wreck this opportunity, Lana, but you’d better hurry now because we’re already late. You are supposed to be the down-to-earth glamour girl, not some diva.”

  She leaps out of the driver’s side and I barely have time to ask the empty RAV4, “What on earth is a down-to-earth glamour girl?” before she circles around to my door and yanks it open. I hang on to the seat belt and it extends with my grip as Aunt April pulls me from the car. She slams the car door shut, leaving the belt hanging out the side like a Labrador’s tongue.

  The security guard maneuvers his Segway back and forth, making a slow six-point turn until he’s facing the door. He awkwardly takes out his key, unlocks the door, and carefully backs up on his standing glider, dropping the door handle almost immediately.

  The metal door slams shut with a clink.

  He swears as he glides back in to restart the process.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Aunt April grabs the key from him, opens the door, and hands it back. “Thanks for nothing,” she says as he gestures for us to enter.

  We make our way down an empty hallway that has me wondering what kind of wild illuminati operation needs a secret tunnel system at the mall.

  “What is this passageway for?” I ask my aunt. “A Claire’s emergency? In case they run out of hair accessories?”

  She doesn’t laugh.

  Thinking of Claire’s will always make me picture Lana and me in our preteen years, trying to fulfill the “buy five, get five free” deal. I smile at what a challenge it was for me to come up with five things I even wanted, and how hard it was for Lana to narrow her pile down to five. I’d usually end up letting her pick seven or eight to my three or two.

  I genuinely never minded. Making Lana happy has never been easy, which is probably why I always found it so rewarding. I picture her laughing at my Claire’s “hair accessory emergency” joke and it makes me smile.

  Finally, we come to a set of double doors guarded by two men in mall cop uniforms. Their Segways are parked close by, plugged into the wall. Aunt April tells one of them, “We’re Lookie Lana! and friend for the four o’clock meet and greet.”

  “Friend, ha!” I say and then freeze. “Four o’clock? The Starlight reopens its ticket booth in less than three hours.”

  “It’s actually four-o-five,” Aunt April scolds as the security guard unhooks his walkie-talkie from his belt.

  I wail, “Volunteers will be showing up at the drive-in to help out soon.” I picture the flow of excited people and Jake and Wes hustling about. I can’t believe I’m not there.

  The guard re-belts his walkie-talkie, apparently satisfied we are who we say we are. If h
e only knew.

  Unplugging his Segway and stepping onboard, the guard tells his companion, “Hold the line,” as if the mall is under zombie attack.

  Standing on his motorized scooter, he pushes the door open and motions for Aunt April and me to follow him.

  He glides out across the mall corridor’s wide, smooth floor like he’s a figure skater on wheels soaring free, forcing my aunt and me to break into a light jog to keep up.

  As we draw closer to the open area in the center of the mall where the old fountain used to be, I can hear the din of high-pitched, joyful chattering.

  It sounds terrifying.

  When we finally chase the gliding security guard through the back of the roped-off area, we find it’s filled with over a dozen long rows of girls of various sizes and shades and hair colors sitting in folding chairs. Aside from the wall of moms across the back, and the stray dad here and there, the audience is comprised of a mammoth mob of teens and preteens.

  They’re buzzing with so much excitement it feels as if the huge, expansive space is vibrating.

  The crowd has its back turned to us, facing a large, temporary stage that’s currently empty. The raised platform sits before a latticed back wall with a giant flat-screen hanging in the center, surrounded by what appear to be plastic climbing vines. The Lookie Lana! logo repeatedly scrolls across the TV screen above a dais table with two short microphones for me and my interviewer.

  “I feel dizzy,” I tell Aunt April, and I’m not lying.

  “Sorry to hear that, honey,” she says, “But we’re here now. The appearance is no longer optional.”

  “Wait,” I say. “When was it optional?”

  The next thing I know, a blonde girl in the audience turns and sees me. Her face registers utter shock. “Lookie!” she calls out, “it’s Lana!”

  “I see what you did there,” I say under my breath. “Clever girl.”

  But nobody can hear me because their squeals are suddenly bouncing off the marble tiles as the horde of girls moves as one, jumping up from their seats and clapping enthusiastically. Lana’s image flashes up on the screen in front and I give a small wave and turn to leave.