by Jules Wake
‘Still mean,’ muttered Vince as he put them back in the box.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Mean or sensible? I touched my third finger. It’s all very well having a princess-cut diamond Tiffany engagement ring but the grand gesture loses its lustre when it’s you paying off the loan instalments each month.
‘Tilly! Vince!’ With a machine gun rattle, Jeanie spat the words out. Neither of us had noticed her walk into the studio.
She snatched up the box, looked inside and recoiled immediately.
‘Oh, my good lord, heaven’s preserve us. What were you thinking? They are …’
‘See!’ I pointed at Vince.
For a moment, she shuddered before closing the shoe box again. ‘I most fervently hope that they are on their return journey.’
‘Yes,’ said Vince, over brightly. ‘Just on my way now.’
‘Honestly the pair of you. I let you out of my sight for one minute.’ She stopped, looking suspicious. ‘Hang on a minute. These are shag-me shoes, aren’t they?’
See Jeanie’s so much more on the ball than me. Of course, they were.
He froze, reminding me of a cartoon character teetering on the precipice of danger, looking extremely sheepish. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Hot date,’ said Jeanie and I in perfect unison, we exchanged grins and then my face fell as Vince coloured and wriggled on the spot.
‘I’m just meeting a friend,’ he squirmed, crossing his feet and looking like an incontinent penguin.
‘What friend? We’re your friends. We don’t know other friends,’ said Jeanie.
‘No one you know,’ Vince said with an airy smile belied by the rigid set of his chin.
Jeanie and I watched him go. ‘He’s up to no good,’ surmised Jeanie narrowing her lips.
‘Leave him be,’ I said. ‘He obviously doesn’t want us to know. All we can do is pick up the pieces when it turns out to be a disaster.’
Chapter 16
London at this time on a weekend was always a pleasure. No tourists, no commuters, uncluttered pavements and empty roads. Even the taxi drivers seem to slow down. Getting a coffee in Costa took seconds as there was no queue and I turned up outside the stage door five minutes before Fred.
Cautiously sipping my coffee, I watched deliveries being unloaded, a set of flats being manoeuvred through the huge stage doors and listened to the crash and bang of van doors, as new scenery and props were carried into the building.
‘Morning.’
I whipped my head around in the direction of the smooth voice.
‘M-morning.’ Oh lord, he looked good.
He had a coffee in his hand which he toasted me with and then stood there taking the occasional sip and watching the scenery guys with interest. He’d got the Wolverine, tough guy leather jacket and jeans look to a T. On a purely objective basis, even I could see that he rocked it as confirmed by a couple of girls passing by who wheeled around to take a second look.
‘Have you any idea what they’re doing?’ he asked after a few minutes of studying the scenery shifters.
‘They’re taking the set down and putting it into storage.’
‘Right,’ he said, followed by the grave stare I was becoming used to.
‘So many of the sets can be reused or are used if the company tours with the production but there isn’t room to keep them all here. We have a huge storage place out in Elstree.’
He nodded and we lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
‘Are you looking forward …’ I asked.
Marcus was supposed to ease my social discomfort by filling in the appropriate gap. He didn’t, instead he just nodded politely as if waiting for my next words.
An unearthly cackle right in my ear broke the awkward silence.
‘Getting into character?’ I asked, glaring at Fred who’d made me jump.
‘Sorry darlin’.’ He embodied the part already in his purple suit, orange shirt and green waistcoat. ‘Hiya boss.’
‘Nice costume Fred.’ Marcus leaned over and felt the fabric. ‘Where the hell did you get that?’
‘Leonie made it for me, bless her.’
‘Yeah, but this is pure wool. It’s a proper suit.’
‘She is brilliant,’ I piped up. ‘Made a skirt for me in October. Copied a vintage one I already had.’
‘Leonie made this?’ asked Marcus, still eyeing the purple suit. His expression suggested he couldn’t make up his mind whether he was appalled or impressed. ‘The one in costume.’
Where else? What did he think we all did?
‘But it looks as if it were made by a proper tailor. Savile Row or Armani or something.’
‘She is a proper tailor,’ I said with a touch of snark. ‘Where do you think we get the costumes? On eBay?’
He glared at me.
‘Come on then, let’s get this show on the road,’ Fred piped up. ‘We need to get to ExCeL by 10.30. Promised my mate I’d meet him. Tourists are gonna love this on the tube.’
‘They’ll think you’re a nutter,’ observed Marcus.
‘They won’t be wrong,’ I muttered.
‘And why do we have to be here so early?’ Marcus scowled and took another sip of coffee. I surreptitiously took stock. In casual clothes, he packed an even more powerful punch, all man. It bloody irritated me. I didn’t like this stupid out of control feeling. You should be able to decide who you fancied or not. It made me glare at him even more which he managed to ignore or at least seem completely oblivious to.
He checked his watch. ‘You’re dressed. Surely putting a bit of face paint and lipstick on isn’t going to take that long. Or sticking on a couple of sideburns.’
Fred turned his back on Marcus, with an exaggerated wince and winked at me.
‘Sorry he doesn’t know what he–’
‘Putting a bit of face paint and lipstick won’t,’ I said with bite and an insincere smile. ‘Doing a decent job will take a tad longer. Sideburns. We’ll just have to see.’ If he wasn’t careful he might end up looking more werewolf than super-hero.
‘Ooh I like this.’ Fred settled himself into one of the throne-like cream leather chairs and turned himself round. ‘Feel like a proper star.’
I pulled out a selection of pictures and sketches I’d made and laid them on the bench in front of him. ‘Don’t get too comfortable yet. I need to know what you want.’
In the mirror, I caught Marcus frowning but I ignored him. This was my domain, he could frown all he liked.
‘I did some research. Obviously, there’s the Heath Ledger Joker. Seriously scary and you might frighten small children on the tube. Or there’s the proper DC Joker from the original series which is more the look they used for Jack Nicholson from the earlier Batman film.’
Fred peered at the pictures, taking his time. ‘I think Jack Nicholson, more classic Joker. What do you reckon?’
Marcus’s attention had been captured by the framed pictures and photos on the walls.
‘Whatever gets us moving,’ he said with an ostentatious pull back of the leather jacket sleeve to indicate his watch.
Fred grinned. ‘Mr Efficiency. He’s into all that time and motion stuff.’
‘Hmm,’ I muttered under my breath.
Whatever Fred chose, I would need white base, red lipstick, pencils, brushes and some smoky eye shadow as well as the green hairspray. In my usual anal fashion, I laid them out in neat lines, the brushes and pencils at precise right angles to the palettes of shadow, everything spaced at even intervals.
Eventually after a bit of dithering, Fred settled on the Jack Nicholson version of the Joker, which was more structured and would take more effort. As I got started, Marcus perched his bum against the bench at my left elbow to watch.
Draping a cover around Fred’s fancy suit, I brushed back his hair and gathered the long wispy bits into a tight ponytail which I then pinned up and under. Luckily his receding hairline worked perfectly and I had virtually no work to do to c
reate the Dracula shaped V at his forehead. With a good steady application of the hair spray, I turned his dirty blonde hair into a luxuriant green. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled slightly as I stepped back to review my progress. Marcus had settled into a relaxed pose, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded and leaning back against the bench.
Determined not to let him put me off, I did my best to ignore him but every time I reached out to pick up anything I was conscious of his thoughtful observation.
Thankfully Fred, as instructed with no awkwardness, had close-shaved, so the sponge didn’t drag and the white base went on quickly and easily. I smoothed it over his face with regular, even strokes making sure he had no tidelines and I didn’t spoil the green hairline.
Fred’s face had been rendered utterly featureless and this was where the real work began and my favourite part. I took a quick look at one of the pictures to remind myself of the shape of the brows. Slightly maniacal.
Fred stared at himself in the mirror as I worked, keeping perfectly still as if too scared to move. It made my job easier although once I’d finished his eyebrows, painted in with a dark black glossy finish, he waggled them with villainous intent.
‘Cool Tilly.’
‘They do look good.’ Marcus picked up the picture of Jack Nicholson. ‘What next? Lips and then you’re done.’
I held the picture next to Fred’s white face which was now totally featureless. ‘Notice a difference.’
Facing Fred, I stepped between his legs. Although I needed to concentrate, it’s highly personal working on someone’s face, touching them, stroking them and when you are up so close they often have nowhere else to look, so it’s important to put them at their ease. I could feel that Fred had stiffened up and was staring with a fixed gaze at himself in the mirror.
‘So, going anywhere nice on your holidays, Mr Joker? I hear Gotham City’s nice this time of year.’ I shaded the side of his nose to give greater contour and shape to his face and made sure I stepped right back each time to give him a bit of space.
‘I’m saving. To go to Comic Con. San Diego. That’s the big one.’ His shoulders moved marginally, so they weren’t quite up by his ears.
‘So what do you do at these things?’ I faffed about cleaning my brush on my hand.
‘Just get together with other comic fans.’
I lifted his chin, all business. ‘Look to the right for me.’ His nose was starting to look sharper.
‘What about you?’ I tossed over my shoulder and then added a bit more shade to Fred’s nose. Getting Marcus to join in the conversation would also help Fred.
‘I’ve never been before. Enjoyed Marvel when I was a kid, so I thought I’d tag along.’
‘You just want to catch an eyeful of Wonder Woman,’ said Fred, drawing his eyebrows together in an alarming slash and waggling them.
With hesitant strokes, I started shading Fred’s cheeks. I wouldn’t have said it to him but he had quite a pudgy face, so getting the Joker’s angular look was going to take quite a bit of work on the cheekbones. When I’m working on a production, I’ve already studied a person’s facial structure, the contours of their face and the texture of their skin and I have a pretty good idea of what I need to do.
‘Not too much longer,’ I said cheerily. And then, oh hell, I’d have to start on Marcus. Fred had relaxed a lot but he still sat quite stiffly. Now, on the home straight, I became aware of Marcus, just on the periphery of my vision, watching with the intensity of a hawk, tracking every stroke of my brush, each dab and glide of my fingers.
I felt unaccountably nervous as I drew around Fred’s lips with a lip pencil. The shape needed careful attention; it was the trademark of the Joker. There was absolute silence in the room as I unwound the bright red lipstick from its tube. Inking in the thin lips with the matt finish took forever but I couldn’t afford to let one tiny bit bleed into the white base, it would ruin the whole look. The lips need to be a perfect, cruel slash in the face to complete the look.
When at last I finished, I wound the lipstick back with a sharp twist, and moved to the side so that Fred could see the full effect in the mirror. I caught Marcus’s eye. The look between us held, his eyes darkening.
I blushed but couldn’t look away. His glance dropped to my lips and I froze, not knowing what to do with them.
‘Wow Tilly, that’s amazing.’ Fred had leant forward to look in the mirror and grinned a horrible wide grimace which gave the full grisly Joker effect. He sprang to his feet and posed in the mirror in sheer delight.
‘Here, Marcus.’ He thrust his phone out. ‘Take a few pics. I’ve got to get these on Twitter, man.’
‘Tilly, you are a bluddy genius. Genius, mate. Don’t you think?’
Marcus nodded. I felt rather smug at the slightly shell-shocked look on his face. See Mr IT, I do know what I’m doing. As with so many people, where make-up created a mask of invincibility, Fred slipped straight into character, laughing and hopping about with a manic energy that frankly made me feel exhausted and fervently glad I wasn’t going with them.
‘Right,’ I said briskly and offered the chair to Marcus. ‘Your turn.’
‘The Wi-Fi signal up here’s shit,’ announced Fred. ‘I’ll be back in a bit. Want to get online.’
Completely in character he danced out of the room.
Marcus hung back, eying the white leather chair with something akin to terror.
‘I won’t bite,’ I snapped. Inside I felt equally terrified. I hadn’t actually thought about touching him before. Now I wasn’t sure I could.
Marcus sat down and looked down at the bench and then up at me. ‘Where … I thought you’d have some … things to stick on.’
‘That’s what joke shops are for. We do things properly up here,’ I said severely. Why were my legs so wobbly all of a sudden? This had never happened before, not even when I’d first done stars such as Bryn Terfel, Jonas Kauffman and Placido Domingo and managed it without batting an eyelid.
Stalling for a moment before I had to make the first move, I took a quick look at the picture of Hugh Jackman dressed as Wolverine. Tensing, I gave Marcus’s face an assessing look, focusing on his jawline and making sure I avoided looking into his eyes. Recreating the shape of the facial hair would be dead easy but would look impressive.
Focus on the job in hand, I told myself, gripping the brush tightly, as I dipped it into the small bottle of adhesive gum and began to carefully paint a small patch of his face, taking care to avoid any skin contact. The brush skated over a tiny mole just below his cheekbone, a shallow chicken pox scar and the shadow of a dimple. I focused on each of these landmarks on his face with each stroke of the brush, ignoring the tightness in my chest as I tried to keep my breathing steady. Inside, I had a Mexican jumping bean bouncing around in my diaphragm.
Now, I had to apply the small strands of wiry wool while it was still sticky, a fiddly job. Touch his face. Press the fibres down. There was no avoiding it, I was going to have to take hold of his face to gain purchase.
‘Erm … do you mind if I … er … just …’ Taking a discreet breath, I lifted my hand to cup his chin, it shook slightly.
‘No … that’s … it’s OK.’
A tang of soap and shampoo teased the air. Clean, smooth shaven skin beckoned and as I lay my fingers along the contour of his jaw, I fixed my gaze on his lower face. The intimate touch weighed heavy in my hand and for a moment my mind wandered, my fingers twitched as if they followed the path of my wayward thoughts. Tracing under his jaw, around his neck into the thick dark hair at the nape and drawing him forward. I flicked a quick glance to his lips, slightly open and felt my stomach flip as he caught my eye.
‘So … what I’m doing … this is gum,’ my voice sounded overly loud in the room highlighting that it was just the two of us, ‘and then I’m going to attach lots of tiny fibres … see …’
Almost tipping the packet of wiry wool on the floor, I grabbed at a tiny handful and held them up.<
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‘Oh, right.’ Marcus nodded, his face determinedly expressionless, gazing at himself in the mirror.
I took a breath. ‘Keep still … please.’ Still holding his face in one hand, with the other I applied the first of the coarse strands to him. I leaned in. So close, his lips only inches from mine.
Under my fingers, I could feel the pulse in his neck, strong and steady. Like him.
Focusing on making sure the tiny fibres adhered, stroking them down and combing them into place with my fingernails, I did my best to ignore the tiny prickles threatening to break his skin and his warm breath whispering over my skin. Although he stayed perfectly still, I could tell by the rigid hold of the tendons in his neck that he was acutely uncomfortable. He kept up a stoic stare straight ahead into the mirror. Part of me regretted my pride. I could have made things a lot easier for myself. Stick on sideburns would have been so much easier. I frowned. Served me right for trying to make a point.
‘You look fierce. I dread to think what thoughts are going through your head.’
‘I might be thinking about stock control systems,’ I said. What would he think if he had any inkling? ‘You can’t smile. Keep your face still.’ He wasn’t supposed to smile like that. I didn’t want to like him, not when I was so obviously not his type. We were work colleagues; that was all.
The chat slowed as I needed him to be still. I slowly built up the heavy sideburns before moving down to his chin. The silence hung heavily as I worked down his face, thankfully the weird beard shape dipped below the mouth and I didn’t have to touch around his lips. Only a brief foray just below his lower lip which gave my pulse a run for its money so I touched it as quickly and impersonally as possible.
‘Right.’ I took a step back. ‘Almost done. Just your hair, although to be honest, it’s a little bit short for me to be able to do that much.’ For some bizarre reason, I managed to make ‘little bit short’ sound disapproving and was pleased when he frowned.
Short, however, meant that I had to run my hands through it, sliding over his scalp.
I felt him tense.
‘Sorry, did I pull?’
