Summer Blowout Read online

  Summer Blowout

  Claire Cook

  TO MY READERS

  Contents

  1

  LIPSTICK IS MY DRUG OF CHOICE. I GRABBED A TUBE…

  2

  THE FUNNY THING ABOUT WAITING IS THAT YOU wait and…

  3

  A GOOD MAKEUP ARTIST NEVER PANICS, BUT I WAS close.

  4

  I WAS JUST FINISHING UP ESTHER WILLIAMS. HER name was…

  5

  THE TEARS I WAS FIGHTING DRIED RIGHT UP AS soon…

  6

  THE RING OF THE PHONE WOKE ME UP FROM A…

  7

  “CALL SOCIAL SERVICES,” MY MOTHER SAID. “WAIT, I’ll get you…

  8

  “WHAT IS THAT?” SEAN RYAN ASKED.

  9

  “HANDSOME HUNKA BURNING MAN, THAT BROTHER of yours,” Esther Williams…

  10

  A FEW MINUTES BEFORE SEVEN, AFTER THE PRODUCER had trotted…

  11

  “A DATE?” MARIO SAID. “AT ANDREW’S WEDDING?”

  12

  TULIA BROUGHT HER KIDS TO THE MEETING EARLY, and settled…

  13

  ONCE MY FATHER MADE THE DECISION, THERE WAS no stopping…

  14

  I RIFLED THROUGH MY LIPSTICK DRAWER, LOOKING for something strong,…

  15

  AS SOON AS SEAN RYAN ASKED ME ABOUT GIVING Precious…

  16

  WE DIDN’T KNOW OF ANY DOG-FRIENDLY RESTAURANTS in Rhode Island,…

  17

  “HERE,” I SAID. “PUT THESE LATEX GLOVES ON.”

  18

  “I SAW THE LIGHT ON DOWN HERE AND THOUGHT IT…

  19

  HAVING SEX WITH MY EX-HUSBAND TURNED OUT TO be a…

  20

  AFTER I HUNG UP WITH LIZZIE, I CHECKED MY VOICE…

  21

  THE SALONS WERE USUALLY CLOSED ON MONDAYS, but since we…

  22

  IT WAS GREAT TO HAVE A FOCUS. I’D BEEN WORKING…

  23

  CANNOLI AND I DECIDED TO DRIVE TO LOGAN AIRPORT and…

  24

  IF I COULD HAVE WALKED TO ATLANTA, I WOULD have.

  25

  SEAN RYAN HAD A BUSINESS DINNER THAT NIGHT, or at…

  26

  “GEEZ, LOUISE,” I SAID. “CAN’T I GO ANYWHERE?”

  27

  “HE ATE THE RING?” SEAN RYAN ASKED.

  28

  I TURNED AWAY FROM THE CAR WITHOUT LOOKING back and…

  29

  “A DRINK, AMORE MIO?” LUCKY LARRY SHAUGHNESSY, our father,asked…

  30

  “IT’S GOOD,” I SAID. “BUT IT’S NOT QUITE THE SAME…

  31

  I HAD TO STAND ON MY TIPTOES TO TAKE DOWN…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Claire Cook

  Copyright

  1

  LIPSTICK IS MY DRUG OF CHOICE. I GRABBED A TUBE of Nars Catfight, a rich, semi-matte nude mauve, on my way out of the salon. Easy access to beauty products is one of the perks of the business.

  There were lots of cars in the parking lot, but I saw him almost as soon as I pushed the door open. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, leaning back with his eyes closed. I was surprised I couldn’t hear that big fat snore of his all the way from here.

  I was across the parking lot before I knew it. I had a large chocolate brown shoulder bag with me, and I swung it sideways to gain some momentum. Then I picked up speed and hurled it at the windshield as hard as I could.

  My ex-husband jumped like he’d been shot and crashed his head into the window beside him. In that instant I understood every wronged woman who had ever run over her husband. Or cut off his penis. I could have killed him. Easily. And then gone back for seconds.

  Craig was looking at me with real fear in his eyes. I liked it. He looked down at the ignition, maybe calculating his chances for escape. He reached for the button and lowered the window about two inches. “What the hell was that?” he asked through the crack.

  “What the hell was that? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Sophia’s car’s in the shop,” he actually said. “She needed a ride.”

  If there was a gene for getting it, my former husband had clearly been born without it. “You’re pond scum,” I said. “No, you’re lower than pond scum. If there’s anything lower than pond scum, you’re it.” I stretched forward and started picking up the contents of my shoulder bag, which were scattered all over the hood of Craig’s stupid Lexus. He didn’t even own it. It was leased. I hoped he got completely screwed when it was time to pay for the scratches.

  My Nars Catfight, which had somehow ended up on the hood, too, twinkled up at me. I reached for it and covered my lips in slow, soothing strokes. A round hairbrush rolled to the pavement. I bent down and picked it up, then stood and pointed the sharp end at him. “Get off my father’s property. Now.”

  Craig shook his head, like I was the one with the problem. “Bella, it’s Sophia’s father’s property, too.”

  “Great,” I said. “Let me go find him for you. Then he can be the one to kill you.”

  That did it. Even before he’d left one of my father’s daughters for another one of his daughters, my father hadn’t been too crazy about Craig, and he knew it. He started up the car. “Just tell Sophia I’m waiting down the street for her, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m all over it.”

  Up until then, he’d been looking over my head or off to the side of my face. Now he looked me right in the eyes, just for a second. Despite myself, I felt a little jolt of something, possibly insanity. Embarrassing as it would be to admit it, I had this sudden crazy urge to keep him from driving away.

  I rested one hand on the hood of the car. Craig flinched. “How’re the kids?” I asked.

  He put the car into drive. “They’re not your kids, Bella,” he said. “Forget about them.”

  I MADE IT TO MY FIRST GIG in record time, possibly propelled by the smoke coming out of my ears. Then I waited. And waited.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I fumbled in my makeup kit so I could sneak another quick fix. After some consideration, I decided Revlon Super Lustrous in Pink Afterglow was a good choice for a recently divorced brunette with green eyes and ivory skin who’d just attacked her ex-husband’s car and had lips that were a lot dryer than they used to be.

  The housekeeper came in again. “He’s on the telephone right now,” she said.

  I rolled down my lipstick fast. I popped the top back on and tossed it into my makeup kit.

  “Thanks,” I said. I tried to be discreet, but I couldn’t resist running my tongue along my lower lip, savoring the rush as the emollients kicked in. The thing about lipstick is that, unlike the rest of life, it never lets you down. At least for the first five minutes. And even when it wears off, there’s still the never-ending quest for a better, longer-lasting shade to keep you going.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

  I knew it wouldn’t be polite to say, Yeah, my client, so I just shook my head. When the housekeeper turned to walk away, I could see that the seam in her panty hose was crooked beneath her tight khaki skirt. A black skirt might have been more forgiving, but with khaki it really ruined the whole effect. Who even wore panty hose anymore, and the extra points she should have gained for the effort were more than canceled out by the appearance of a crooked crack. Or a possible buttocks imbalance. Apparently she didn’t have any friends working in the house. A good friend tells you when your crack looks crooked.

  I looked at my watch again. If the governor-running-for-senator actually showed his face during the next five minutes or so, I’d just about make it to my next job. No w
onder they’d pawned him off on me. Sophia, who was his regular makeup artist, was also the regular makeup artist for the senator running for reelection against him. Since they were having a preseason televised brunch debate at Faneuil Hall at eleven, they both needed makeup at the same time. I would have picked the other guy, too.

  I grabbed a round black Studio Tech foundation compact and opened it. Yup, it was still MAC NW25. Partly to kill time, and partly just in case he turned out to be lighter or darker than he looked in the newspapers and on television, I reached into my kit and pulled out NW23 and NW30. I should have checked in with Sophia, but we weren’t exactly speaking.

  I’d commandeered one of the bay windows in the library to arrange my makeup, and then I’d pulled a wing chair over in front of it. It was my best shot at getting some decent light in this mausoleum. The gold and maroon velvet drapes appeared to have been there since the Boston Tea Party. The dark, leathery books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves didn’t look much newer either.

  My cell phone vibrated and danced around inside my purse. I wouldn’t normally answer it while I was on a job, but because the client wasn’t there yet, I reached in and picked it up. “Hello,” I whispered.

  “He’s off the phone now,” the housekeeper’s voice whispered back.

  I held out my cell phone and looked at it, then put it back to my ear. “Great,” I said.

  “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Nope,” I said. “But thanks for asking.”

  My stomach growled. Mario had brought in breakfast sandwiches for everybody this morning, but I’d forgotten to grab one on my way out of the salon. Craig’s Lexus would probably have ended up wearing it anyway, so I supposed it didn’t really matter.

  Off and on for the last hour, I’d been eyeing a huge library ladder on rollers that hooked over a brass track way up near the ceiling. I walked over to it. I put one foot up on the second rung, gave a little push, and lifted my other foot off the floor. It was kind of like riding a very tall scooter. Maybe I could at least find a decent book to flip through while I waited. I wondered if Governor What’s His Name had actually read any of these, or if a decorator had found them for him. Massachusetts didn’t have a governor’s mansion, so this was probably just an overpriced rental.

  I was halfway down one wall and picking up speed, when the housekeeper cleared her throat behind me. I figured it would be undignified to say Oops, so I just braked with my free foot and climbed off. I pulled my periwinkle tank top down to meet my chocolate brown capris. “Nice to see you again,” I said. Not for the first time I noticed that her upper lip could use a good waxing.

  “He’s almost here,” the housekeeper said. “He said to tell you it only takes him four minutes.”

  I wasn’t sure that was something he should be calling attention to in an election year, but I knew my place, so I didn’t say anything.

  “He’s eating his eggs, then he’ll brush. Then he’ll have me call for the car. And then he’ll be in.” She looked over at the window where my stuff had been camped out almost as long as the dust in the drapes. “Are you sure you’re all set for him?”

  A man poked his head through the heavy wooden doorway. He took a minute to look me up and down, in that creepy way at least one teacher in every high school in America has been checking out his students since the beginning of time. I glared at him. He was shorter and paler than the governor, or at least the way I imagined the governor, probably only an NW15. His lips were chapped, and his skin looked a little flaky, too. Moisture starts from the inside, so upping his water intake and adding some fish oil capsules would be his best bet. Of course, class starts from the inside, too, and as far as I could see, he didn’t have a prayer in that department.

  He finally finished ogling me and put his hands in his pockets. “And what are you pretty gals up to in here?” he asked.

  The housekeeper tugged at the waistband of her khaki skirt in a fruitless attempt to realign things behind her. “We’re just waiting to give the governor a little touch of makeup before his interview,” she said.

  The man shook his head. “Makeup,” he said. “Better him than me, I guess.” He leaned back into the hallway. “Gals,” he yelled. “Free makeup in the library. Any takers?”

  The look I gave him should have curled his eyelashes, but he didn’t appear to notice. An anorexic blond with the wrong shade of hair for her complexion strolled in, gave me a bored look, then walked back out. The man followed her. The housekeeper followed the man.

  I stood alone.

  Sometimes the makeup artist is like a rock star. She’s the guru you’ve been searching for. She can help you change your looks and maybe even your life. Other times, the makeup artist is like a maid. The toughest part is that you never know which one it’s going to be when you walk through the door. Clearly, I was not having a rock star kind of day so far.

  I walked over to a shelf, closed my eyes, and grabbed a book. I was hoping for a good one, but it turned out to be something boring about torts. Whatever they are. For lack of a better idea, I balanced the book on top of my head and took a couple of long, gliding steps. In health class back in sixth grade, we’d actually had to practice this to improve our posture. In hindsight, it wasn’t a bad idea. It’s not makeup, but good posture can go a long way toward creating the illusion of beauty.

  And not to be depressing, but aren’t some of the best parts of life really just an illusion?

  2

  THE FUNNY THING ABOUT WAITING IS THAT YOU wait and you wait and you wait. And then, suddenly, time speeds up like crazy, and you’re there.

  The housekeeper walked in with the governor right behind her. “Three minutes,” he said.

  “I’d heard four” slipped out before I thought it through.

  “I don’t need much,” he said as he plopped down in the chair. I realized the book was still on top of my head, not that either of them seemed to notice. I dipped my head and caught the book with one hand, then handed it to the housekeeper. She walked it over to the exact shelf where I’d found it. Maybe she’d been a librarian in her last life.

  I draped the governor in a black makeup cape. I applied some Laura Mercier foundation primer with a triangular foam sponge. I was happy to see that my first instinct had been right. He was definitely a MAC NW25. I opened the compact fast and rubbed the other side of the sponge back and forth until it was coated, then started covering his face in long, quick strokes. Even though I was in a rush, I paid special attention to his ears. I mean, my reputation was at stake here. There’s nothing worse than turning on the TV to see some guy with red or white ears.

  I grabbed my MAC powder blush in Angel. In an uncharacteristic lack of judgment, MAC had discontinued this shade, but I’d bought up enough to last me forever, as long as I was careful. Nars Orgasm is a great blush, too, but I didn’t want to give this guy the satisfaction. And Angel looks good on everyone, even politicians. I dabbed some right on the apples of his cheeks.

  “That’s not blush, is it?” the housekeeper asked.

  “Of course not,” I lied. “It’s only bronzer.”

  She nodded. “He likes a good tan.”

  With guys like this, I’d learned to get the foundation and blush on fast and set it with some loose powder. Then, if I had time, I’d go back in and fine-tune. This guy could certainly use some concealer, since he had major dark circles under his eyes, and some serious discoloration at the inside corners of his eyes, not to mention the outside corners of his nose. But you have to pick your battles.

  Sure enough, just a few pats with the powder, and he stood up. “Mirror,” he said to the housekeeper.

  “He wants a mirror,” the housekeeper said to me.

  I reached for my mirror and angled it up at the governor-running-for-senator. He nodded approvingly at himself. When he looked away from the mirror, he seemed to notice me for the first time. He reached for my hand and shook it. “I’d appreciate your vote in November,” he said. Then he turned
and started to walk away.

  I was tempted to leave the black cape on him. It might even help him win the election, since it gave him a bit of a superhero vibe, I thought. But I grabbed it and pulled. A good makeup artist always removes the cape before her client goes on television.

  GETTING FROM THE BACK BAY to the new conference center in the South End was a nightmare, but at least there was plenty of parking. I grabbed a coffee on the first floor and followed the signs for the Summer College Fair.

  “Sure, just stroll in whenever you feel like it, Bella,” my brother, Mario, said.

  “Yeah, make us do all the prep work,” my sister, Angela, said.

  “Nice of you to bring us some coffee,” my half sister Tulia said, as if I couldn’t see that she already had one right beside her.

  I took a long slow sip of my coffee. “Nice to see you, too,” I said when I finished. “At least most of you.”

  My half sister Sophia looked away. Apparently her candidate hadn’t kept her waiting forever like mine had, since she’d managed to beat me over here. A sudden picture of Craig sitting outside with his Lexus idling so she wouldn’t be late popped into my head.

  I pushed it away. I fumbled in my bag and pulled out a tube of Dolce Vita. Ha.

  “How’d it go, anyway?” Mario asked.

  I gave my lips a quick fix before I answered. “Asshole,” I said.

  “Him or me?”

  I smiled. Of all my siblings, Mario was my favorite. “Both.”

  Mario smiled back. “Did you airbrush him?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I didn’t feel like carrying the spray gun. I had to park way down the street.”