“Mitzy’s coming soon. Do you think she’ll like me, Trixie?” she muttered, licking her full lips and shaking out her hands.
I grinned at her and took her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze. My gentle demon was nervous, and it was adorable. If they hated my Coopie, it would be because she’s drop dead gorgeous. Though, to her credit, she never seemed to notice the jealousy in other women, and I wasn’t going to start pointing it out to her now.
Brushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear, I said, “Who wouldn’t like you, Coop? First, you’re like a walking Glitzy Mitzy billboard—her signature squee and all. Not to mention, you’ve lined her pockets by purchasing every single bit of merch she sells.” I pointed to her hoodie, which read I’m a Glitzy Ditzy. “You’re funny and smart and absolutely gorgeous. You’re the total package. If she doesn’t like you, she needs to have her head examined.”
Coop’s shoulders lifted and a heavy sigh escaped her perfectly glossed lips. “I hope that’s true. I don’t want to disappoint her, and I definitely don’t want to have my head examined.”
All this talk of disappointment worried me. Coop wasn’t terribly insecure, so I wasn’t sure where this was coming from. In fact, I prayed Glitzy Mitzy didn’t disappoint Coop.
I’d read an online article or five about how snippy she could sometimes be with the people who worked for her—not to mention the infamous Twitter wars she was often caught up in.
Though, to be fair, the argumentative tweets had originated from some rival makeup gurus, Bessie Carr, Ames Snarles and infamous tea spillers—also what’s known as drama vloggers—Teesha, from Hot Tea with Teesha, and Octavia, from Dish and Makeup.
Are you wondering what a tea spiller is? I did, too, when Coop first used the term. Tea is gossip, and when you reveal the gossip it’s called spilling the tea, and when the gossip is particularly delicious, it’s called scalding-hot tea.
That’s what Teesha’s videos entail, all the juicy gossip about all the social media influencers.
Anyway, it was a pretty cutthroat world in the land of makeup, leaving me endlessly surprised when Coop discussed the infighting at what we’d dubbed our family dinners with Knuckles, Goose, and Higgs.
Coop tugged at my freezing-cold fingers and hitched her jaw. “The line’s moving, Trixie Lavender. We’ll be inside soon. I find I’m shook.”
My lips thinned and I cocked my head, my damp hair getting caught on my high gloss lips. “Shook?” I asked on a shiver as I looked at the sea of heads in front of us.
Coop had learned a lot of new words since she’d become so active on social media, and it was becoming hard to keep up.
She patted my arm as though I were her doddering old grandmother. “It sort of means excited, but not really. I think.” Coop frowned then shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. I only know Mitzy uses it to describe how she feels in a lot of different situations.”
Aha. Interesting. I hooked my arm through hers and bounced on the balls of my feet. “I’m excited for you, Coopie. I’m glad you invited me.”
But she shook her head and narrowed her gaze. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. You think all this is silly. Every time I tell you about it, you have to make an effort not to roll your eyes.”
I winced. Okay, maybe I thought it was a little silly, but only because some of the drama associated with something as nonessential to one’s breathing as makeup astounded me.
I made a face at her as the rain began to come down harder, pinging the top of our umbrella with a vicious spatter of drops. “Correction, missy. I think the arguments surrounding the makeup experts are silly. I don’t think your love of Mitzy is silly at all. I think it’s sweet how devoted you are to her, and the care you take learning her techniques because they ‘give you life.’”
Yet another of Coop’s freshly acquired colloquialisms. A lot of things “gave her life” these days.
Coop narrowed her eyes and was about to say something when suddenly we were at the security checkpoint, handing over our purses and phones to be scanned on a conveyor belt along with a full body check via wand.
The security guards—big, beefy gentleman—went through my purse with a fine-toothed comb before they had me show them the lining of the pockets on my jacket and my jeans.
Geez Louise. I don’t know that I ever thought Mitzy was this popular. Sure, I knew she had millions of followers, but this mob scene? I guess I underestimated the power of Mitzy’s glitz.
As we were allowed access to the gargantuan room, my eyes widened. Not only was it packed wall to wall, but it was beautifully decorated. There had to be at least five hundred fans here.
Throngs of people milled about, all glammed up; there were teens with their mothers, and even a few with their obviously reluctant fathers trailing behind them, as well as adults.
What I assumed were other local makeup gurus, judging by how fabulous their makeup and outfits were, had shown up, too, sweeping across the hall floor with their fans following in rabid succession behind them.
Lavender and silver balloons, Mitzy’s signature colors, made up an enormous archway under a filmy gauze silk and tulle confection where some of her fans were gathering for pictures, sitting on a throne similar to the very throne Mitzy sat upon in her vids. A big lavender and silver cushiony chair with plated arms and a high back with a swirly design.
There were rows of high-top tables covered in lavender tablecloths and some sparkly glitter scattered all over, with silver-embossed bags stuffed full of what I presumed was swag, covered every square inch of the tables’ surfaces.
Big-screen televisions featuring life-size still shots of Mitzy flashed in all their glitzy glam, with the makeup
