2. The Makeover

Chapter two

The Makeover

F or the three-hour plane ride, I’m primped and prodded more than I’ve ever been in my life.

Two Korean girls chatter in their own language while they move my limbs around to do my finger and toenails. Meanwhile, my natural curls are tamed into something glossy using a treatment I’ve never heard of by a traveling hair stylist from Australia. She assures me the job pays well, but she knows almost nothing about her employer.

I tell them I think my brother and my friends have arranged a surprise party for me. That’s still my best guess at what’s going on. Perhaps Todd came into some money, and worked together with my girlfriends to give me the makeover they’ve been begging me to get for years. Tamara was a convincing liar, and that’s why he picked her. It’s hard to stay mad when someone’s giving you a head massage.

Why else would we be heading to Greece, the homeland of my parents, and the one place I’ve always wanted to go?

I’m then handed over to a makeup artist and stylist called Quan. They’re a YouTube celebrity from New York, and they look it, with a high blue faux-hawk, minimalist but designer-looking black clothes and gold-glittered eyelids.

They’re kind of famous, which raises more doubts about the expense of this escapade. Maybe my brother won a competition? Quan knows as much as the hairdresser did.

Quan takes a ‘before’ photo of me, promising to only post if I give consent, and then spends an hour fussing over my face. They spend a lot of time on my eyebrows and scold me for neglecting ‘these gorgeous, bold brows’. Then they ooh at my naturally symmetrical cupid’s bow, and scold me for not making the most of one of my best features. It’s all very flattering, especially considering I’ve barely looked in a mirror for the past few years.

They won’t let me see the results when my face is done. Instead, they roll out a rack of clothing and tell me to pick ‘something that speaks to me’.

My first instinct is to pick black. It’s slimming, and easy to clean. It’s my normal go-to. But I resist the urge. I’m having a makeover, aren’t I?

I pull out a champagne-colored dress that sparkles with diamantes. It’s nothing like my normal taste.

Behind me, Quan whistles. “Excellent choice.” They pull out a hanger with a champagne colored g-string and bra with see-through cups. “They all come with matching lingerie,” Quan explains. My cheeks are hot again. The girls really were thorough.

It’s only after I’m dressed that I call out ‘ready’. I didn’t bother with the g-string. I’ve never worn one, and there’s nothing wrong with what my brother calls ‘free balling’ in a dress this tight.

My stomach flips a little, but I trust Quan. They’ve been kind about my looks.

Quan rolls out a mirror and beams at me, clapping their hands. “I’m an actual genius,” they say.

The dress is elaborate and sexy, with twists of fabric where it cinches at the waist. The neckline dips to show more cleavage than I ever have in my life before, and it clings to my hips. I imagine winking at my friends when I walk off the plane in that dress.

The makeup emphasizes real cheekbones that look healthy and flushed. And my tits have been weaponized.

I look hot. And it only took four hours, I think wryly. The newly confident part of me slaps that down. I haven’t had a good look at myself for years, and my friends were right - I needed a makeover. When this is over, I’m going to keep some of these grooming tips, and hopefully some of this self esteem.

Tears sting my eyes as Quan comes over and waves their hands at me. “No crying. Your mascara will run. Suck it up, princess.” They blow air into my eyes and I open them wide. Then they hand me a champagne-colored masquerade mask and some sparkling flats.

“The final touches,” they say, and they help me tie the mask on as I slip into the flats. The mask is surprisingly comfortable. Any doubts about who organized this are gone - my friends know I hate heels.

Quan waits until I’m done, then snaps an ‘after’ picture. They show me the picture and swipe back to the ‘before’ shot. It’s strange, now I’ve seen the result, I don’t think I look so bad in the before shot.

“This is going to blow up,” they say. “But only with your permission?” They look at me with wide eyes and I nod a yes, and give them a hug, trying not to smudge my makeup. It’s the least I can do to thank them.

I’m led back to the seat across from Kent Edwards for touch down. His eyes widen when he looks at me, and I notice his gaze doesn’t stray as I strap in. It’s pretty firmly glued to my cleavage.

He whistles. “You clean up nice,” he drawls, and I’m shocked that he sounds sleazy. My stomach tumbles with excitement, but I don’t blush - I’m remembering Tamara’s words.

I’m not the smart-mouthed sidekick tonight. I’m the main event. Besides, the new me is still too celebrity struck to hope at decent conversation, so I go for the quiet and mysterious type.

I smile at him politely and gaze out the window to get a look at the island we’re fast approaching. I can’t wait until my friends see me.