New Year's Eve Murder. Leslie Meier
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with Lurleen and Faith Edwards for make-up advice, the Montgomerys and Blausteins were off to a spa, and the McKees and Rodriguezes were sent to the fashion department. As Lucy watched Ginny and Maria walking down the hall with their heads together she wondered if Ginny’s offer to team up had simply been a ploy to trick her into making a foolish mistake. If so, it had certainly worked. The editors probably thought she was a troublemaker now, and the other contestants didn’t seem to want anything to do with her. Even Lurleen seemed unwilling to “turn the other cheek” and forgive her and was keeping her distance as they followed the directions to the beauty department. It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that she broke her silence.
“I’m of half a mind to pack up and go home,” said Lurleen, as the doors slid shut. “This isn’t at all what I expected. I feel as if I’ve been put through the wringer.”
“Mom was looking forward to some pampering and relaxation,” explained Faith.
“You can say that again. Faith here is my oldest, you see. I’ve got six more at home.”
“Seven children?” Lucy’s eyebrows shot up as the elevator landed with a thud.
“And another on the way,” she sighed, stepping into the hallway. “I’m really looking forward to that massage they promised us, but I don’t think there’s time today since we’re all going to that TV show.”
Lucy was consulting the agenda, wondering which TV show they were going to see, but the notation didn’t specify. “Maybe it’s the Norah! show,” she said, giving Elizabeth a nudge.
“Doesn’t mean a thing to me,” said Lurleen. “I can’t tell one show from another.”
“We don’t watch TV except for inspirational videos and Bible stories,” said Faith.
Lucy glanced at Elizabeth, who was rolling her eyes as she pushed open the door to the beauty department. Inside they found three desks—small, medium, and large like the chairs and beds in the three bears’ house, only Baby Bear was occupying her desk.
“Hi, I’m Fiona. Fiona Gray,” she said, jumping up and extending her hand.
Lucy took it, finding it impossible not to smile at this bright young thing. Fiona had short, dark hair in a style similar to Elizabeth’s and enormous blue eyes, and she was dressed in a very short teal dress topped with a wide leather belt with oversized chrome grommets and buckle.
“Welcome to the beauty department,” she continued, speaking in a crisp British accent. “According to the schedule…”
Lucy was enchanted. Fiona actually pronounced it shed-yule.
“…you must be the Edwards and the Stones and you’re here for make-up. Though I must say, you all look positively brilliant, and I can’t imagine what old Nadine, that’s Nadine Nelson, our beauty editor, can possibly do to improve you.”
“Now, now,” clucked an older woman, entering through a door at the rear of the office, “there’s always something we can do.” She paused. “I’m Phyllis Jackson, the assistant beauty editor. Nadine left instructions for me to get you settled. She’ll be in shortly to supervise. Follow me.”
As they trooped after her, Lucy noticed that Phyllis had a rather harried and disheveled air about her. Alhough to be honest, thought Lucy, she certainly looked better than the average woman in Tinker’s Cove, even with her smudged lipstick and worn shoes. It was only in the rarefied atmosphere of the magazine that you noticed that her olive green blouse didn’t perfectly match the acid green flecks in her tweed skirt.
The studio looked like a beauty shop with mirrors, raised chairs, and a counter filled with every imaginable make-up product. Fiona flipped a switch and they were suddenly all bathed in bright light as they seated themselves. Elizabeth was goggle-eyed at the array of cosmetics, but there was no chance for her to get her hands on them as Phyllis tilted the chair back and started sponging her face.
“Fiona, heat up the wax for the brows, and then you can start cleansing Lucy’s face,” she said.
“Brows?” squeaked Lucy. “Wax?”
“Trust her,” advised Fiona, raising one of her own delicately arched brows. “She’s a genius at shaping.”
“It makes all the difference in the world,” said Phyllis. “Really opens up your face and makes your eyes look bigger.”
“Does it hurt?” asked Elizabeth.
“Like hell,” said Fiona.
When they were through cleansing and waxing and plucking, Lucy had to admit they all looked improved, at least in the brow department. The rest of their faces were a bit like blank slates, however, awaiting the master’s touch.
“She’s running late this morning,” said Fiona, speaking to Phyllis in a whisper. “I think we should start with the foundation.”
“We better wait,” replied Phyllis, looking worried. “You know how Nadine is.”
“I know,” agreed Fiona, “but the next group is due in less than half an hour.”
Phyllis pursed her lips anxiously but was spared the agony of making a decision by the arrival of the beauty editor herself. Nadine Nelson thumped into the studio, trailing numerous scarves and carrying an assortment of bags including a purse (Louis Vuitton), brief case (Coach) and crumpled brown paper shopping bags (Bloomingdale’s and Schlagel’s Bagels).
“I’m exhausted,” she said, dropping the bags on the floor and shrugging out of her mink coat. It would have fallen on the floor, too, except for Phyllis who lunged forward and snatched it in the nick of time.
“Still feeling poorly?” inquired Phyllis, draping the coat on a padded satin hanger.
Nadine replied with a burst of coughing, and Phyllis proffered a box of tissues, which she waved away. Instead, she scrabbled around in her enormous purse, finally extracting an eye-catching gold compact lavishly decorated with colorful enamel in a pansy design.
“Ghastly,” she said, flipping the compact open and peering into the mirror. She got to work rubbing the puff all over her face, and it wasn’t until she’d shut it with a click that she noticed the four makeover winners. “Cripes!” she exclaimed. “That damn makeover. We have them all day, don’t we?”
Phyllis’s face reddened, embarrassed by her boss’s rudeness. “Let me introduce Lucy and Elizabeth Stone and Lurleen and Faith Edwards. We’ve cleansed their faces and shaped their brows, but we didn’t want to go any further without you….”
“I’ve got to sit down,” said Nadine, abruptly interrupting her. “I’ve got to catch my breath.”
Fiona grabbed a nearby chair and shoved it under her, with hardly a moment to spare. The beauty editor sat, knees splayed out, amidst her pile of bags. She looked like an upscale bag lady, despite her expensive designer pants and elaborately beaded sweater. She bore a strong resemblance to the homeless woman Lucy had spotted sheltering in a doorway a few feet from the hotel.
“Shall I start?” asked Phyllis, with a little bob of her head. “I mean, for Lucy here, I was thinking of that Bobbi Brown gloss, some mascara, but I think we should stick with a natural look she can maintain….”
“Did you see the Dior show? They used a lot of color,” said Nadine.
“Actually, I didn’t. You went but I couldn’t get away. It was too close to deadline.”
“It was war paint,” said Fiona, with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Big jags of pink and green and yellow, smeared right across the models’ noses.”
“I certainly don’t want that,” began Lucy, until she thought of the ten thousand dollars. “But, of course, I trust your judgment.”
Lurleen, on the other hand, was determined to stick to her guns. “I’m for the natural look,” she said.
“I