Lipstick & Lattes

by Tracy Krimmer

  “Add that you’re here if he needs anything.”

  “Thank you, Cyrano de Bergerac.” She snickers as I finish up the text. “I saw him at the coffee shop this morning, but he didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Of course he didn’t. You were a bitch.”

  “I was not!” Her grin is wide and her laugh evil. I love her. “Anyway, I really like him.”

  “Well I think that you two should decide if you’re a couple or not.”

  “This coming from the girl who is only interested in casual hookups?” She hasn’t referred to them as that, but that’s what they are. Ever since she broke up with her ex, she’s been hooking up here and there with guys, never close to committing.

  Hannah folds a few makeup removal towels before setting them aside. “It’s not bad I want to be alone right now. I’m being safe and that’s what’s important. For your information, I’ve only ‘hooked’ up with two guys in the past seven months. I’m still trying to get over Paul. I thought we had what you and Ed have. At least what I think you two have.”

  My heart flutters at what she’s saying. Is it possible to have only been out on a few dates and know this is the one? As much as I want a fairy tale, I’m not Princess Anna from Frozen trying to get engaged the night I meet someone.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I only met up with him the beginning of this month. It’s been, what, half a month? All I know is I love being with him, and he makes me laugh. When he’s not around, I miss him terribly. I really want to see where it goes.”

  “Well then see where it goes.”

  Her nonchalant approach is what I need, her laid back attitude bringing balance to my otherwise anxiety ridden thoughts. I’ll try my best not to check my messages frantically for a response. A busy day should assist in that.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” An older woman with dark hair and purple highlights approaches me. Her bold lipstick catches my attention. Not many people can pull off such a shade. She does it well.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m hoping you can. My name is Vivian Weeks, and I work at a studio. I need make up for my actors, and I’ve been out around town, and I can’t seem to find this.” She hands me a slip of paper with a type of eyeliner written on it.

  “Yes! We do have this.” I step away for a moment and grab the product she’s seeking. Her grin is full of gratefulness as I hand it to her.

  “I can’t believe I found it. One of my actresses is demanding this specific shade of eyeliner, and I’ve been going completely crazy on this scavenger hunt for it.”

  “I’m glad I could help. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I don’t believe so. But,” she reaches into her purse and hands me two slips of paper. “Here are two tickets to an upcoming production. This eyeliner is for Beauty and the Beast, which is sold out. But this one opens in August.”

  I take the tickets from her. It’s a production of Wicked. The Wizard of Oz is one of my favorite childhood books and movies, and I’ve been wanting to see this adaptation. Granted it’s not the Broadway musical but our local centers have been known to do very well. “Thank you very much, Miss Weeks.”

  “Just call me Vivian, please. And after the show, please do come backstage and meet the actors.” Hannah’s stare is burning through me. Mindy Kaling might as well have walked up to my station.

  “That sounds great, Vivian. The makeup will be $20.47.”

  She hands me her debit card, and I run it through. “Have a great day, and I can’t wait to see you in August.”

  “Likewise.”

  Hannah shoves me against the counter once Vivian leaves, and I stumble but catch myself.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” I straighten my apron and make sure no one saw what she just did.

  “I can’t believe she came to your station. If she would’ve come to mine, I would be going to that show and being discovered.”

  “Selling eyeliner hardly means you’ll be discovered.” She’s still pouting. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “No. You should take Ed.”

  “I don’t know if he would be interested in seeing a musical. Besides, he hasn’t even responded to my text yet, and the show is three months away. Who knows what will happen between now and then?”

  She leans against the counter. “You really want to take me?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  My phone vibrates in my apron causing me to freeze.

  “What? Is that Ed?” Hannah sounds anxious to read the text. I’m crippled with fear.

  I can’t bring myself to look at my phone, but I remind myself that it may not even be him. My brother could be texting me for all I know. I pull the phone out of my pocket and glance down. Two of the kindest words in the English language and their simplicity crushes me as I read them.

  Thank you.

  Nothing else. No update, no heart emoji, nothing. He’s brushing me off. Fine. I’m a big girl. I can handle this response. I won’t cry.

  “Are you okay?”

  I sniff the tear away that is trying so desperately to escape. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. We’re going to see Wicked! Life can’t get much better than that.”

  I hate lying to myself.

  ••••••••

  I’m off of work today, which is well-deserved after yesterday’s craziness. My counter got so busy I eventually stopped analyzing Ed’s text. Hannah tried her best to distract me, but the only thing that worked was good old-fashioned keeping busy.

  While I’m free of the store today, Hannah isn’t, Josie is teaching a few classes, my brother is in school, and my parents are working. I’m bummed the Humane Society doesn’t need my help today. I thought about stopping by to play with a few of the kittens there, but the way I’m feeling, I’m afraid I wouldn’t leave without bringing an animal home.

  After sleeping in and watching an embarrassing episode of Judge Judy, I decide to pull myself out of the slump I’m in and move around. A hot shower later, I’m in front of my vanity staring at my washed-out face.

  Makeup. It’s how we transform ourselves. We can take an empty canvas and create a work of art. I can look like a movie star or the girl next door depending upon what color choices I make. I can be one person in the morning and a different one in the evening. The ability to be somebody else is appealing and scary at the same time. Do I hide behind my makeup? Sometimes. When I’m stripped bare like this, everything about me is exposed. The scar on my nose from when I fell in third grade and hit a chair, the bags under my eyes from never getting enough sleep, and the fear in my eyes that I’ll never find my purpose in life. I don’t know what will make me happy. Everyone else seems to have it figured out, yet here I am.

  I stop wallowing in my sorrows and put my face on. That’s what my mom used to call it. She would get ready for work and tell me she’d be done as soon as she “put her face on.” Maybe that’s when all this began. My love of makeup and transformation. Thinking that I could be somebody else.

  I open my closet and begin rifling through my clothes. A lazy day calls for equally lazy clothes. Yoga pants and my T-shirt claiming all I need is coffee and mascara, it is. I yank the T-shirt off the hanger and a spot of blue on the white fabric stands out. Where did this come from? I pick at the rough spot and it’s not coming off. Then it occurs to me how the stain on my favorite shirt came to be.

  I pull the shirt over my head and stick my arms through the sleeves before I swipe my hangers to the sides and expose the back of the closet.

  There it is.

  I’m careful when I handle the canvas, maneuvering it through the boxes it’s stuck between. Gosh, I remember when I began painting this. Two weeks after my grandma died, I stayed at her house for a weekend. Being there alone was hard, but cathartic. While there, I set my easel up outside and began a painting of her house. The trees were beginning to change colors and in between the swaying wildflowers I could just make out the meadow. I brushed
my grandma’s memory onto the canvas that day. A storm rolled in and I couldn’t finish. I brought the unfinished painting home and stuffed it in the closet.

  Painting is the only other thing besides makeup that fills my body with such energy. The transformation. The creating. Taking something so plain and making it into something beautiful, breathtaking, so full of love. That’s what I want in my life. That’s what I need.

  I need to honor my grandmother’s memory and finish this. I set the painting aside and search through my closet until I find my brushes. The paint is close by as well. I take a deep breath and exhale, my heart fluttering with excitement and purpose. A few minutes later, I’ve found my easel. I set everything up, prepared to dress my shirts and my face with paint instead of makeup.

  The house is done, but the meadow is still not complete. I dip my brush into the tranquil blue and the moment the brush pulls against the canvas it’s as though I’ve never stopped painting. I break long enough to turn on some music, something heavy and fast, the way I like to paint. Hours must pass before I realize I haven’t gotten up to use the bathroom. When Josie pops through the door, I drop the brush and wipe my forehead. No doubt I’ll need another shower. I’m sticky and my arms ache, but my masterpiece is finished.

  “Whitney! I didn’t know you’re a painter!” Josie tosses her keys on the end table and steps up behind me, observing my work. “This is just… gorgeous! Did you paint this today?”

  “Kind of.” I wipe my brush down and grab a rubber band to pull back my hair. “I started this a long time ago. That weekend I stayed at my grandma’s. I guess I put it away and forgot about it.” It’s funny how you can stuff something in a closet and it ceases to exist, but the moment you see it again, all the emotion and happiness and pain that came with it come flooding back.

  Josie steps from side to side as she absorbs the painting for what it is. “This is really good. How long have you been doing this?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Ten or fifteen years maybe. I remember painting was always my favorite in art class. Some kids loved playing with the papier-mâché, others liked sketching. I gravitated toward the paints. The first thing I ever remember painting was an orange. Simple, sure, but it grew into this.”

  She places her hand on my shoulder. “Wow. I think this may be your calling.”

  “Painting?” Her observation makes sense to me, but it’s not something I can imagine doing for a living. “Who can really make a living painting?”

  “I don’t know. But some people can.” She marches into the kitchen. “Just don’t cut your ear off okay?” She clicks her teeth at me before grabbing menus from our drawer. “How about some Chinese?”

  I can’t believe it’s dinner time already. I haven’t lost track of time like that for ages. I give her a thumbs up and glance back at my piece of art. Not to brag, but I’m very pleased with what I’ve done. My grandmother’s memory lives on here, and in paint, forever.

  Chapter Nine

  Twenty minutes later our food has arrived and our kitchen table is covered with rice and vegetable containers. I set my fortune cookie aside. I’ll open that later. Right now I’ll read into anything in a negative way, whether it’s good or bad. Besides, I’m starving. This food must meet my belly fast.

  “I’m shocked you don’t have any classes scheduled tonight.” I dump soy sauce onto my rice watching the color fade.

  “I can’t teach aerobics eight hours a day. Sometimes a break is needed.”

  Breaks are important, even from life. As adults, we forget the importance of those few hours or days we need to unwind. The weekends or days not working are spent cleaning or doing yard work for those that own houses. We pay bills and lose sight of what’s important. Fun. Happiness. That’s why I try to get out with Hannah every week if I can. Dancing and drinking are fun and relaxing, especially if I’m safe about it, though the night at Vogue was anything but. Meeting Ed was a positive from the experience, but now I think that may already be done. We barely had a chance to even give it a shot.

  “While I have you, there’s something I need to discuss with you.” Josie picks at her rice with her chopsticks.

  It’s funny that she makes a comment as though I’m the one who’s never home. We both work and our schedules are often opposite each other. When we are home at the same time, we try to be quiet and respectful to one another. “Sure. What’s up?”

  She takes her meal into the living room and makes herself comfortable on the couch. “We’ve been living together now for almost two years, right?”

  I follow her lead and take my food and sit opposite the couch from her. “Right.”

  “My job is going great, and I’ve saved enough money that I think I can finally afford a place on my own.”

  Bomb dropped. Our lease is coming up due in a few months, and I didn’t think I would need to find another roommate. I would love to live with Hannah, but she’s been looking into buying a house. A house! Here’s another prime example of people in my life moving forward and I’m standing still. “Oh.”

  “I need to do this. I’m almost twenty-five. I want to be out on my own, and be responsible for myself. I want to prove to myself that I can do this.”

  “And I’m holding you back.”

  “No!” She touches my leg and reaches back to put her hand over her mouth. “It’s not that at all. You’re awesome. I want to establish a life on my own. Things with Theo are getting serious—”

  “Who’s Theo?” This is a name I’ve never heard in my entire life and suddenly now ‘things are getting serious’ between them.

  Her doe eyes light up and a smile spreads across her face. “Theo is this amazing guy I’ve been seeing. We met about two months ago. He’s an instructor at the fitness studio. A personal trainer actually. Let’s just say I have had a few personal sessions with him, and he’s spectacular.”

  This explains why she’s been at the studio so much. Not to be outdone, I decide to fill her in on Ed. “Well I’ve been seeing someone, too.”

  “Really? That guy from the nightclub?”

  Oh. I forgot I even told her about him. Crap.

  “Do tell. How are things going between you two?”

  I can’t very well lie to her about it. Leave it to me to shoot myself in the foot. “I’m not sure there is much to tell anymore. We’ve been out a few times, and I like him, but I haven’t heard from him for two days now.”

  “That’s nothing. A guy once waited two weeks to call me. That doesn’t mean he’s not interested.”

  “I suppose.” He did respond. It’s not as though he completely ignored my text or anything. I just thought by now I would have gotten another text.

  Before I can finish my thought, my phone starts buzzing. It’s Ed! His ears must have been ringing. I can finally stop worrying because now he wants to talk. “Sorry, Josie. I need to take this.”

  I put my food on the end table and jog into my room, shutting the door behind me. “Hello?” I’m out of breath from the excitement of seeing his name on my phone, but I don’t want to seem too eager.

  “Whitney. Hi.”

  Oh, how I’ve missed his voice. The husky tone is the perfect match for his scruffy face. When he says my name I want to close my eyes and imagine myself lying in his arms, and he’s holding me tight, whispering in my ear.

  “Before you say anything, I need to apologize to you. I should’ve called you, if not that night, then at least the next morning to see how you were doing and how your dad was doing. I’m very sorry, and I hope that you can forgive me. How is he doing? How are you doing?”

  He clears his throat and I wonder if he’s holding back tears. “First, don’t be sorry. You offered to come to the hospital with me. I know you were concerned. I should have called you. I left you hanging. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “You don’t need to be. Let’s call it even then.”

  “I like that plan.” It seems to me we both overreacted a bit with worrying how the other wo
uld respond. We can put this behind us and move on. I don’t know how I let something so trivial cloud my judgement. Of course he needed to deal with this, and I wanted to be with him. I’m just afraid of any missteps. I don’t want to ruin this relationship, should one develop.

  “My dad.”

  This is it. He’s going to confide in me, and we’ll share this moment. Details a boyfriend shares with a girlfriend. Ears open and paying attention. “Yes. Your dad. How is he?”

  “By some miracle, he’s going to be okay.” I give him a moment to collect his thoughts and catch his breath. “He works for a shipping company. The other day he was walking through an area stacked with boxes. One must not have been stacked correctly and the boxes toppled over as he went past them. A pretty heavy one fell on him.”

  There’s no hiding the gasp that comes from my mouth. I’m sure anybody he tells would have the same reaction. “That’s horrible! But he’s okay?”

  “In time. The worst of it is his legs. The box was pretty heavy and landed on the lower part of his body. A freak accident for sure. He broke his legs in multiple places. He’s already been in and out of surgery and has a few more.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ed. This is absolutely terrible.”

  “To make matters worse, he has diabetes, which makes the healing more difficult. The doctors assure us he’ll be fine, but he has a long road to recovery.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I’ve already said that. But what else can I say?

  “It’s not your fault.”

  I fall onto my bed and sink into the mattress. “I…how… Is there anything I can do? I meant that when I said it in my text.”

  “Your offer means so much. Thank you. Between me, my mom, and Leann, we should have it covered.”

  Leann? It can’t be. The name must be a coincidence. “Is Leann from the coffee shop your sister?”

  He laughs. “Yes. I thought you knew that.” He chuckles again.

  “I had no clue.” And now I feel like a complete doofus. The dark hair, even the eyes, they do have similarities. Overall, Leann is a little less hairy. “I mean, you can’t serve coffee like she can so that’s what threw me off.”