The whole day zooms past in a blur. It’s exhilarating, thinking on my feet and handling such a huge range of work. As usual, I prep and base the faces, with Natalie finishing the eyes and details, but, in the spaces between actors, I observe and assist the special effects team, preparing the latex and cleaning brushes. By the time we leave that night, I realise I’ve been so busy I haven’t thought of anything else except my brushes and applications and chatting and laughing with the actors. I look down at my phone and see a missed call from Theo.
I head up to my hotel room to return it, but by the time I’ve had a long, hot shower to wash away all the gunk and powders that I’m covered in, I’m too tired. My bones are aching like I’ve run a marathon, so I lie down and drift into a deep, jet-lagged sleep.
At 5 a.m. I wake up either with jet lag or excitement at being in New York, working on an actual freaking film, and we head to the set for 7. Make-up artists start early and finish late. I slept so peacefully last night that I’m totally ready to run at the day.
Like yesterday, time seems to be going at super-speed. No sooner have I applied powder and basic fake blood to one actor, I’ve another in my chair ready for a powder and set job. We work in a conveyor belt, with the special effects team working their magic on injuries, extreme gore and body blood, then I apply base work and brows and powder, and finally Natalie works on eyes, lips and lashes. Then we hand them over to the hairstylists to work their own magic. The whole sequence is a cacophony of chatter and movement, of people yelling, girls with clipboards, guys with headsets, nobody stopping to pause or rest because time is tight and we’re all on our A-game. It’s electric. I feel so happy to be here, so glad I was asked, and so glad I decided to come.
The momentum flows, and we all get on well. Sarah is my favourite. She lives in a box flat with two other friends and graduated from beauty school three years ago. She’s sassy and upbeat and reminds me of myself before life happened and I felt The Emptiness. Talking of sassy and upbeat, I’m excited to see Piper and how she’s getting on with her new job out here! We arrange to meet up in a few days when I’ve settled in a bit more, we’re doing shorter hours (I hope) and the jet lag’s subsided. She seems so busy living the American dream these days, and there’s some new guy on the scene – it’s hard for her to squeeze a night in to see me!
Like yesterday, time flies and we work quickly through the actors. Working with blood is something I’m not used to; there’s not much requirement for it in bridal jobs or commercial shoots, but it’s so fun. It’s so exciting to be learning new skills and working with some of the best in the industry. Natalie has always been the person I’ve looked up to in my career, but now it’s like I’m surrounded by Natalies. I’m going to observe everything they do and glean as much knowledge and skills from this trip as possible! I’m just going to ignore the fact that I’ve splashed fake blood up my fresh pale blue denim skirt, or that it’s dribbled all over my hands and wrists and go with the flow. I can do this!
I’ve worked on films before – small homegrown indie films with five or six actors and a ‘make do’ crew – but this is something else. There are more actors than I can remember the names of, but one stands out. Marnie is young and petite and sort of reminds me of Lyla. She has a lovely innocence about her that makes me want to talk to her with softer tones and mother her a little bit. While I’m priming her neck for fake blood, I notice some bruising on her upper arms and casually say, ‘Ooh, little accident?’ as I gesture to the blemishes with the end of my make-up brush.
‘Oh God, yeah, ha, party, party! I dance like a crazy person, I’ve knocked into someone. No biggie.’
There are so many people on set and so many people to get through, I don’t have any time to argue, but something about her overly sweet, happy-go-lucky attitude to bruising sticks with me. I cover them over and, like the good, well-brought-up Brit I am, I don’t press further, and say, ‘There we are, good as new,’ and watch her hop off my stool and disappear back into the throng.
I WORK SO HARD. I lose myself in the creativity and the artist–actor relationship and feel like I’m on another planet, very far from the one Robin Wilde lives on. There’s no angst; I’m just a woman who is good at a thing and I’m loving it.
Very quickly I work through my quota and move over to Natalie and Sarah to observe and assist. Watching them adhere and blend the latex wounds is amazing and after a little while, Natalie suggests I give one a go.
It turns out liquid latex is the most fun thing I’ve ever played with in my life. Remember Silly Putty when you were little? The same appeal as that! I practise a little bit on my own arm and then am offered the chance to try a very small bleeding scab on one of the extras. It works beautifully, and both Natalie and Sarah are impressed. I’m actually rather impressed with myself too. The joy of feeling proud of myself lingers and I’m eager to try more.
I spend the rest of my day learning new latex and blood techniques and practising on as many extras as I can lay my rather bloody hands on in between my own touch-up and powder work. By 7 my arms are aching but I’m elated at how much fun it’s been and how much I’ve taken to the special effects work. I’ve always been good at art but, as per usual, lacked the self-confidence to really give it my all.
As we’re cleaning our brushes ready for tomorrow’s early start, Marnie quietly walks over and asks, ‘Hey, do you have a minute?’ Natalie lifts her head slightly, pausing to see if I’m going to handle this or if she needs to be involved (that’s the manager in her) and I say, ‘Yeah, sure, what’s up?’
‘I’m going out again tonight, premiere and a party.’
‘Oh, lovely! How glamorous!’ I say encouragingly.
‘Yeah, real glamorous. I wanted to know what you used on my arms earlier? I hate turning up to jobs with … marks, but I know tonight might be a bit crazy too … lots of dancing.’
Something’s not right here.
She’s lying the way Lyla does – pausing, looking at the floor. It’s painful to watch.
‘Well, it’s correcting cream, concealer and powder to cover everything up,’ I say very gently.
‘OK, thanks. Correcting cream. I’ll get some of that,’ Marnie says, getting up to leave.
‘Listen, Marnie, I know dancing can get a bit crazy, but I also know that sometimes you want to stop and talk about that. I’m not on anyone’s side, and I’m a good listener. This is my number. If ever you want to talk about that … dancing, let me know,’ and I thrust a bit of blotting paper with my number written in eyeliner into her hand.
‘Thank you,’ she says stiffly, ‘it’s nothing. I need the work. He’s OK, really … it’s just too much partying.’ She trails off and picks up her things. Before I can ask any more, she’s left.
Langston, the formidable set director, approaches. Known for his no-nonsense demeanour, I feel myself stiffen in anticipation of something troublesome. ‘Good job today, ladies,’ he says in a booming voice and thick New York accent, as well as, amazingly, a smile, a very, very white smile, totally surprising me. ‘Really happy with everything and you,’ he says, looking directly at me, making my heart stop in panic, ‘you were a little firecracker. What a credit you are to Miss Natalie!’
‘Oh. Thank you. I’m really enjoying it all. Great to be working with—’
‘Awesome. See you girls tomorrow!’ and he walks off, not stopping long enough for me to finish my sentence.
‘Look at you! That’s high praise indeed!’ cheers Natalie when she’s sure he’s left. ‘He’s right – you’ve worked so hard these last two days, I’m proud of you. You’re really coming into your own, Robin.’
Langston and Natalie’s affirmations have made a good day amazing. If I could bottle this feeling and keep it forever, I would. I love New York!
STEPPING OUT ONTO LEXINGTON Avenue, I notice the balls of my feet aren’t burning and my head doesn’t feel like it’s full of sand like it does at the end of most working days. There’s something about this
city – I feel so energised even though sometimes you do need to take a deep breath and brace yourself. The streets are heavy with summer heat. People don’t slow down for it, though; they march by, taking huge strides on the busy pavements, weaving between bins and signs and streetlights. Everyone here has an easy confidence. Nobody dithers or panics; they just step out from the precipice, adjust to the sirens and car horns, and, alarmingly, wiggle through the jammed traffic of yellow cabs and trucks – and everything in between – and crack on. I am surprised to find myself thinking I could get used to this!
On the way back to the hotel, I stop by a little kiosk selling fizzy drinks and papers, and buy a couple of postcards with the Empire State Building twinkling at sunset. The vendor sells them to me with stamps (and, amazingly, not even so much as an eyebrow raised at all the fake blood on my arms and top) and I take them to a little bench nearby. In just a few seconds I scribble, Dear Bluebird, Hello, it’s Mummy! I’m having a lovely time working in New York. It’s so hot here and they have all sorts of yummy treats – the other day I had a deep-fried Oreo biscuit! When you’re a big girl I’ll bring you here and we can go to the top of the building on this card – it’ll be like being a princess in her tower. Missing you lots, see you very soon, love you all the way round the earth and up to Saturn, Mummy xxx. Then I take out the next one and write, Dear Kath, Thank you for everything you do, you’re helping me make my career into something, I appreciate you. Love always, Robin xxx. I write Kath’s address on the front and walk over to the blue postbox and drop them both in. Feels nice to be having a moment for Lyla. Things have been crazy out here, but I can feel myself starting to think more about things at home. I love learning new things and discovering I’m good at them – maybe I could carry on learning and really go places. Thank God for Kath and her support. I wish they could both be out here right now, sat on this bench, watching New York zoom by. Maybe minus the sweaty clothes and fake blood, though.
Three twelve-hour days in a row, and my body is clearly acclimatising to the work, which I’m so, so grateful for. I’m just over a week in and I’ve already found a new level of energy and respect for Natalie. This is the norm for her: handling the entire cast; liaising with the art team and producers; overseeing touch-ups on set; leading the assistants – and that’s before she’s even laid her kit out and picked up a make-up brush. It looks exhausting, but there must also be a real thrill to it. The buzz of knowing you’ve done a good job and the satisfaction at the end of the day when you fold up your case and turn off the mirror lights, knowing you ran the ship. I feel like alongside Natalie I’m really learning and achieving something, and I love it.
And tonight I’m free. Time to explore this city and let my hair down!
TWENTY-EIGHT
I NEVER THOUGHT I’D BE one of those drinks-on-a-week-night people (I’m more of a go-home-and-get-pyjamas-straight-on kind of gal), but Piper has invited me out for a couple of cocktails at the Sugar Factory in the West Village. It seems wasteful to say no. I’m never not searching for a babysitter and never not on my hands and knees rummaging through a clothes heap at the bottom of my wardrobe, having to do the classic yet undignified crotch-sniff test to see if the jeans are wearable. I said I’d stay out for a couple and, for me, there’s something quite liberating about that. I don’t always have to just stick to my working/mumming/sleeping routine. I’ve still got it. I’m still young. If I want to say yes to cocktails, I can. It feels good to feel so in control and have this extra pep in my step. Even if my peppy step is slightly painful after twelve hours on my feet!
Nipping back to the hotel, there’s just time for a ‘bower’ (at school Lacey and I made up ‘bower’ for when you have a shower without washing your hair, just a body shower. Yes, we were actually geniuses), a change of clothes (skinny black ripped jeans that say, ‘oh hi, I’m so rock chic’ and a black clippy-poppers-under-your-nether-regions top that gives an air of sex appeal but mostly just sucks in my mum-tum) and something to eat (a bag of vegetable crisps from Starbucks almost counts as dinner Stateside, right?). Yes, ready to go. Let’s do this.
Pulling up to the bar and stepping out of my Uber, I think I look good – a bit like a dolled-up ninja, but still good. But this only lasts until Piper strides over from the entrance of the bar where she’s been waiting. Legs like a gazelle, it only takes her about four steps to cross the street and she looks like she’s just stepped off a runway. Her skin is glowy, her hair is gleaming and everything that should, twinkles: eyes, teeth, tiny diamond stud in her belly button. Who knew belly button piercings were still a thing? I don’t think I’ve even properly looked at my belly button for about half a decade. My stomach is so untoned I think if I had a piece of jewellery in it, I’d lose it. Ew. Need to get off this train of thought and focus on Piper.
Jeans were clearly the right choice because Piper is sporting some herself, so that’s a relief. Imagine two straws made of denim and stitched together. Those are Piper’s jeans. I’m not even sure they would fit Lyla, they’re so slim-fitting. Her legs look lean, her bottom pert and just above the waistband there is no bulge, just that twinkle. Not one to shy away from daring fashion, Piper has opted for a crop top made out of a metallic fabric, folded in half to make a triangle, attached by tiny strings and tied like a halter neck. Basically, she’s wearing spray-on jeans and a golden handkerchief, and she looks sensational.
Suddenly I feel a bit meh. Meh ninja, not glamorous ninja.
‘Hiiiiiiiiiii, I’m so glad you came!’ Piper exclaims, four octaves higher than anyone else around us. ‘Welcome to Manhattan!’
‘Heeeeyyy!’ I try to match.
Piper links arms with me and we walk in.
Without wasting any time, we order an Ocean Blue and after one sip from the giant sharer cocktail goblet, I can feel the blueberry vodka slipping down a treat. All the drinks at the Sugar Factory are insane. Served in giant fishbowl-style glasses, garnished with lollipops, jelly sweets, candyfloss or fruit, each drink is a sugar high waiting to happen. Located in the trendy Meatpacking District, it’s become the place to try, and I’m not berating Piper for her choice. I don’t think I could do this every night – I’d have no teeth left, and Diabetes, but for now, sipping a blue cocktail with tiny gummy sharks floating around in it is working for me. It’s just bliss to be sitting on a bar stool and not flitting around the set with brushes in my hand and a million thoughts about liquid latex, blending creases or schedules in my head. I’m ready to zone out, let go and enjoy every moment.
We chat for a while about our days, and then about the weird man on the subway Piper sees each morning (he gets on at her stop and carries a tiny cocker spaniel dressed as a canine astronaut – only in New York!). Piper loves her job as an assistant curator at a small up-and-coming gallery nearby and to my mind, this is amazing. Ever since we were little she was into art; she’d tear the prettiest adverts out of Tina’s magazines, stick them to the walls of her bedroom and make us come in to admire the ‘art’, while me and Lacey played the more classic ‘Mums and Dads’. I admire her for following through on her dream. From small beginnings in the suburbs of Cambridgeshire to assisting in an actual gallery in the Big Apple! I don’t think I could ever just fly out somewhere and start a whole new life with a brand new job. Although, if this week is anything to go by, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I could.
‘Piper, before the cocktails go to my head, I just want to say I’m really proud of you.’
‘What? Don’t be silly. You’ve not even had a drink yet and you’re starting!’ she laughs me off.
‘No, I mean it! You’ve done incredibly, and been so brave. I don’t know how you do it.’
‘Yes you do! You’re doing it too!’
‘No, I’m not; this is temporary. I don’t live here. I’m not making a whole new life here. Look at you, being amazing and totally embracing it all!’ I say, gesturing at her and the bar around us.
‘Robin, you’re just seeing me now, now I’m settled. I was tota
lly and utterly terrified when I first arrived! Was I making the right choice? Would I miss everyone at home? Could I handle the role?’
We carry on talking about how in time she settled, but I’m still mentally on Piper being terrified. I just never thought of her as someone who was scared of anything at all. She’s so suave and vivacious. She’s the girl at the party on the bar doing shots, not the girl by the wall wondering if her shoes are a bit boring. I suddenly feel a whole new wave of love for my little Piper, her secret vulnerabilities and her ‘screw it, I’m doing it anyway’ vibe.
Then we move onto Callum – her latest squeeze – and before I know it, we’re playing virtual Shag, Marry, Avoid with the guys in the bar. I love this game. Zero consequences, zero chances of messing anything up. I wish real life could be like that. Just look at a man, pick ‘marry’ and then dream up the most wonderful life without any of the usual stress of a mediocre relationship. No second-guessing everything he says; no waiting desperately for him to message; no feeling shit when he runs his hand up your maybe-ready-for-a-shave leg and says ‘oo, bit spiky, ha ha’ as a ‘hilarious’ joke.
After a few minutes our eyes land on a group of men in suits by the back wall of the bar.
‘Shag, Marry, Avoid the three closest to us?’ asks Piper, with mischief in her already twinkling eyes and a wry smile on her glossed lips.
I look over and see the three she means clearly. Stood about with beers (why would you buy a beer in a place where the cocktails come with lollipops in them?), they’ve all come from work, in their smart trousers, lace-up shoes, white shirts slightly crumpled from the day with the sleeves rolled up.
So: the task at hand. We’ve got an older, greying guy with a hook nose and a slight back-and-forth rock to his stance: Avoid. A fresh-out-of-college hottie with eager eyes who’s clearly highly enthused to be out with the big boys: Shag, obviously. And lastly, the dish of the group – tall but not so tall people would say ‘wow you’re tall’, as if the recipient didn’t know, with dark brown hair, a decent medium build and a bit of stubble. Not ‘oh my God I need new knickers’ hot, but handsome enough. Someone your mother might like (although not my mother, because she still lives in hope that Simon and I will get back together so she can regale the ladies at the Rotary Club of our most happy ending). Anyway, Mr Handsome: Marry. He looks dependable.
Wilde Like Me Page 19
