looks great.”
“Thanks. I wish I’d had it for the ball last night.”
“Bummer.” Fiona reached for the blush. “Who was there? What were they wearing?”
“Beyoncé is every bit as gorgeous in real life as she is in her videos,” gushed Elizabeth. “But Paris Hilton looks even skinnier in real life than she does on TV. Can you imagine?”
“She has great skin, though,” said Fiona. “That tan is gorgeous. Fake, sure, but really well done.”
“It’s actually orange,” volunteered Lucy, waiting her turn.
“Elizabeth’s a bit peaked today,” said Fiona, applying blush liberally with a brush. “Too much champagne?”
“You’re starting to sound like my mother,” complained Elizabeth.
In the adjacent chair, Lucy suppressed a giggle as Phyllis sponged on foundation.
“Actually, I’m afraid she’s coming down with the flu.” She paused. “How’s Nadine doing?”
“I’m worried,” admitted Phyllis. “This isn’t like her. She never takes sick days. I can’t remember the last time, it was that long ago. She’s so devoted to her job.”
“Phyllis,” said Fiona, leveling her gaze at the assistant beauty editor. “Nadine doesn’t even do her job. You do her job.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” protested Phyllis.
“Yes, it is,” insisted Fiona. “Think about it. What does she actually do?”
“She’s on the phone a lot.”
“With her friends.”
“She gives assignments.”
“So she doesn’t have to do them.”
“She studies new products.”
“Takes them home, you mean. Bags and bags full.”
“Well, the manufacturers are developing new products all the time.”
“And she scoops them all up. Every single one. When’s the last time she offered something to you?”
“It’s her prerogative. She’s the beauty editor.”
“In name only. You do all the work.”
“That’s nonsense,” protested Phyllis, brushing some mascara on Lucy’s lashes. “Nadine’s the idea person. I just do what she tells me.”
“Admit it,” snapped Fiona. “If she never came back you couldn’t tell the difference, except we’d all get more free stuff.”
“You just want the bottle of Penhaligon perfume,” said Phyllis.
“Can I take it?”
“Sure.” Phyllis giggled. “Just don’t tell Nadine.”
“Cross my heart,” said Fiona, spraying it on liberally.
Lucy was still trying to pin down the fragrance—predominantly floral, but with a hint of something exotic—when they went to the fashion department to try on their new outfits. Lucy had to admit Elise had chosen well: the fitted jacket showed off her figure, and the long, straight pants, with heels underneath, made her legs look longer. Elizabeth’s off-the-shoulder top showed off her pale skin beautifully, and the flowing black skirt and boots were a nice change from the jeans she usually wore, yet it still looked fun and casual. They were quite pleased with their made-over selves when they headed for the photo studio.
That satisfaction changed when they saw the other women, all similarly arrayed in varying shades of black. And now that she got a good look at everyone, Lucy realized Rudy had given them all remarkably similar hairdos.
“Oh my gawd,” laughed Cathy. “We look like members of the same coven!”
“You shouldn’t joke about the devil,” said Lurleen.
“That hairdresser was a devil, that’s for sure,” said Ginny, fingering the shaggy pageboy that was a mirror image of Lucy’s and Lurleen’s and Serena’s styles. “We all have Jennifer Aniston’s hairdo.”
“But not the rest of her,” said Serena, patting her plump bottom, which was now disguised in a black A-line skirt. A scoop-necked blouse with a fitted waist flattered her ample decolletage while vertical stripes slimmed her middle.
“Well, I like the way I look and once I’m back home, away from you guys, I won’t look like I was stamped out with a cookie cutter,” said Lucy, as Pablo and Nancy arrived.
They both
“Thanks. I wish I’d had it for the ball last night.”
“Bummer.” Fiona reached for the blush. “Who was there? What were they wearing?”
“Beyoncé is every bit as gorgeous in real life as she is in her videos,” gushed Elizabeth. “But Paris Hilton looks even skinnier in real life than she does on TV. Can you imagine?”
“She has great skin, though,” said Fiona. “That tan is gorgeous. Fake, sure, but really well done.”
“It’s actually orange,” volunteered Lucy, waiting her turn.
“Elizabeth’s a bit peaked today,” said Fiona, applying blush liberally with a brush. “Too much champagne?”
“You’re starting to sound like my mother,” complained Elizabeth.
In the adjacent chair, Lucy suppressed a giggle as Phyllis sponged on foundation.
“Actually, I’m afraid she’s coming down with the flu.” She paused. “How’s Nadine doing?”
“I’m worried,” admitted Phyllis. “This isn’t like her. She never takes sick days. I can’t remember the last time, it was that long ago. She’s so devoted to her job.”
“Phyllis,” said Fiona, leveling her gaze at the assistant beauty editor. “Nadine doesn’t even do her job. You do her job.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” protested Phyllis.
“Yes, it is,” insisted Fiona. “Think about it. What does she actually do?”
“She’s on the phone a lot.”
“With her friends.”
“She gives assignments.”
“So she doesn’t have to do them.”
“She studies new products.”
“Takes them home, you mean. Bags and bags full.”
“Well, the manufacturers are developing new products all the time.”
“And she scoops them all up. Every single one. When’s the last time she offered something to you?”
“It’s her prerogative. She’s the beauty editor.”
“In name only. You do all the work.”
“That’s nonsense,” protested Phyllis, brushing some mascara on Lucy’s lashes. “Nadine’s the idea person. I just do what she tells me.”
“Admit it,” snapped Fiona. “If she never came back you couldn’t tell the difference, except we’d all get more free stuff.”
“You just want the bottle of Penhaligon perfume,” said Phyllis.
“Can I take it?”
“Sure.” Phyllis giggled. “Just don’t tell Nadine.”
“Cross my heart,” said Fiona, spraying it on liberally.
Lucy was still trying to pin down the fragrance—predominantly floral, but with a hint of something exotic—when they went to the fashion department to try on their new outfits. Lucy had to admit Elise had chosen well: the fitted jacket showed off her figure, and the long, straight pants, with heels underneath, made her legs look longer. Elizabeth’s off-the-shoulder top showed off her pale skin beautifully, and the flowing black skirt and boots were a nice change from the jeans she usually wore, yet it still looked fun and casual. They were quite pleased with their made-over selves when they headed for the photo studio.
That satisfaction changed when they saw the other women, all similarly arrayed in varying shades of black. And now that she got a good look at everyone, Lucy realized Rudy had given them all remarkably similar hairdos.
“Oh my gawd,” laughed Cathy. “We look like members of the same coven!”
“You shouldn’t joke about the devil,” said Lurleen.
“That hairdresser was a devil, that’s for sure,” said Ginny, fingering the shaggy pageboy that was a mirror image of Lucy’s and Lurleen’s and Serena’s styles. “We all have Jennifer Aniston’s hairdo.”
“But not the rest of her,” said Serena, patting her plump bottom, which was now disguised in a black A-line skirt. A scoop-necked blouse with a fitted waist flattered her ample decolletage while vertical stripes slimmed her middle.
“Well, I like the way I look and once I’m back home, away from you guys, I won’t look like I was stamped out with a cookie cutter,” said Lucy, as Pablo and Nancy arrived.
They both
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