“That sounds stunning, Ms. Wentworth,” Derek said. “Unfortunately, the brief is for powder only. No actual makeup.”
Sofia paused, stiffening. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought I heard you say no makeup.”
Derek nodded.
“Do you mean to tell me this production is requesting that I, Sofia Wentworth, who once played Batgirl, who was once brand ambassador for a very prestigious soda corporation, walk onto set and appear in a film with no makeup on?”
Derek nodded again and took a cautious step backward, away from her.
She surveyed her face in the mirror. “No foundation, no primer, no mascara—everything’s banned?”
“Of course not! Not everything’s banned,” Derek said quickly with a relieved laugh.
“Thank heavens,” she said with a sigh. “What products are allowed, then, Derek?”
“I’m supposed to put on moisturizer and lash gel,” he replied confidently.
Sofia scowled. “Lash gel? What is that?”
“I’m not sure exactly.” He held up the bottle and studied it, tipping the bottle sideways; a clear substance moved from one end of the tube to the other.
“Derek, that looks like water to me.”
“I agree with you,” he said, his voice growing less confident by the second.
“And the moisturizer?”
He showed her a pot of cream with a shaky hand. “Is that supermarket moisturizer?” she asked, horrified. He checked the pot’s label and nodded cautiously. “I’m already wearing moisturizer that costs two hundred pounds a pot. It has crushed-up sea creatures in it, I kid you not.” She paused. “So you’re saying my face will be stripped bare, my eye bags visible, my blemishes and blotches on display. I’m already walking out there in a dress with leg-of-mutton sleeves. What else would they like? My firstborn?”
This wouldn’t be good for anyone. Parade her bare, wrinkle-mortified face to the whole world? She would be a laughingstock.
“Jack will hate this,” she said.
“It was his idea,” Derek replied.
“What?” She shuddered, struggling to decide which horror to concern herself with most—that her public would be seeing her for the first time since her breakup with no makeup on, or that her husband would.
Jack. Oh God. He was going to see every blotch and crow’s-foot, every eye bag and burst capillary, every sag and crack. If her chances of getting her husband back were slim before, they were nonexistent now.
“Derek, I don’t know if you understand the power of makeup to transform.”
“Believe me, Ms. Wentworth, I know,” he said. He held up a brush, as if to remind her of his profession.
“Right, so you understand what a tragedy this will be for everyone if I walk out there as myself.”
“It won’t be a tragedy,” he said in a kind voice.
“Don’t sugarcoat this, Derek. You make us both feel cheap. This is catastrophic and you know it. The last time I walked outside without makeup, I was twelve years old. I don’t plan to start up again now at thirty-eight! You don’t understand, Derek. They’re going to laugh at me.”
Derek bowed his head. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Wentworth.”
She looked at the floor. “Derek, I’m not sure if you know, but my husband is the director of this film. I have not seen this man in five months, since he walked out the door after a decade of marriage.”
“I know, Ms. Wentworth.” Derek sighed and touched her arm.
“I had this grand fantasy that I’d stroll onto set today with pro hair and makeup. Jack would see me and feel like he’d made the worst mistake of his life.” She laughed. “I thought my husband might want me again. No chance now.”
Derek’s lip quivered; he looked like he might cry, too. She cringed; she did not want pity. But then he brightened. “I think eye drops are allowed, too?”
Sofia smiled, defeated. “Thank you, Derek. That will be lovely.” She leaned back and he dropped some liquid into her eyes as she heard the door of the makeup truck open and a pair of feet climb the stairs.
“You don’t mind, do you?” a woman’s voice said. With her eyes full of saline, Sofia could not see who sat down next to her—just blurry shapes—but her ears pricked up at the California accent. She recognized the voice, she thought.
“How long do these drops take to clear, Derek?” she asked anxiously.
“A few seconds,” he said. Sofia opened her eyes and turned to the chair next to her. Her eyes were still blurred and now also stung as the drops ran down her face, but as she squinted, Sofia could make out a svelte, twentysomething natural blonde.
“We’ve never met, but I am a huge fan,” said the chair’s occupant with a giant smile. Her teeth were so white they seemed blue.
“I appreciate that,” Sofia said. She squinted again, feeling like a mad scientist looking into a microscope.
“Courtney Smith,” said the girl and held out her hand. “I came to welcome you to the picture.”
Sofia’s eyes suddenly cleared into sharp focus. She gripped the hand of the zygote who had replaced her as the female lead in the planet’s most lucrative film franchise. “Sofia Wentworth,” she said. They shook hands. Sofia felt a soft wetness grip her palm in a slimy hold.
“Just washed my hands, sorry,” Courtney said. “It’s so cool to be working together.” The moment marked itself with auspiciousness: Batgirl and the girl who took her job, meeting for the first time. If the paparazzi knew, they would have camped themselves outside.
“Have you come to have your makeup done, too?” Sofia asked. “Considering the brief, I won’t be long.”
“No, this is the reserve truck, for supporting. I have my own truck,” Courtney said. “I came to welcome you to my movie.”
“Oh, cheers.” Sofia laughed at the comment. She did not care what role she played, so long as Jack was directing, but she had swallowed a few bags of pride when they announced that Courtney Smith, the