Short Story: Candy Wings

By Emma Olsen

makeup illustration
Young Vi Ricci’s dream is to get out of Kirks department store for good and to become a makeup artist to the stars. When she gets the chance to work with the prominent David Silverman, it seems her wish might be coming true sooner than she ever expected.

David Silverman cocks his head to one side and laughs in his opponent’s face. “Socialism gone mad!” he says, gesturing in an ostentatious manner that only a politician or actor could pull off with conviction. He spots an elderly woman in the audience and rolls his eyes; the older woman laughs as if she has been included in the joke, she blushes and grins wider, suddenly feeling seen.

David is clearly winning the debate over privatising state-owned assets and everyone is on edge as to what he’ll say next or who he’ll dare to go after. David is a wordsmith, as Trish calls him, a real fancy one, who can get away with bollocks because he looks like a man’s man. Vi stands behind the monitor, her job is to make sure that David’s skin looks luminous whilst at the same time matte, as a man’s man would never wear make-up, not even for a televised debate that could launch his career to becoming the leader of the opposition party.

“Don’t let me break a sweat, or better yet, make sure I don’t look like I am,” David had said to her in the makeup room.

“I won’t,” she said, smiling amiably, flashing her newly un-braced teeth whilst gliding fresh powder over his forehead.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked.

“It’s my first week,” she said, pulling out her ginger blush from her fanny pack; she hadn’t quite managed to save up the funds for a more professional set-up, and the production company had specified that makeup artists were to provide their own gear, makeup and accessories. Vi estimated that at the end of her contract she would have just broken even. But it was the experience she wanted, at least that’s what she told her friends, but in truth she wanted to be on the beach and say to her family, ‘Oh, I worked on that’. Her dad would whip out tomorrow’s Dominion Post and her family would say, ‘Really? Wow Vi, that’s amazing. That must be so glamorous!’

‘Oh, it’s nothing, they’re just people … like us,’ she would reply. But they weren’t.

David took her hand and held it. He looked her in the eye and waited a moment so that she registered what he was doing.

“I don’t want to look like a …you know.” She didn’t know.

He sneered and looked over at Jeff, the senior makeup artist on set. Suddenly she understood.

“Um, I’m just trying to make you look healthy and awake.” She giggled because that’s what she did when she didn’t know what else to do. She swallowed the saliva that she felt drying at the back on her throat and looked down because that was less scary than maintaining eye contact with a powerful man. Nauseating anxiety whirled its way around her chest, settling in her lungs. He laughed, and then when she felt safe again, she did too; at first it was forced and then it was genuine. He continued to hold her hand.

“You’re new, and you’re young, how sublime.”

Sublime. The word lingered in the air until it fell on her sweetly, like butterfly kisses.

*****

They pause the debate for the final ad-break. Vi watches the monitor and agrees – he didn’t need the ginger blush. This is her first role as a self-employed makeup artist and she can already feel herself growing, learning, evolving into the artist she wants to be. David came alive when debating; so much so, he illuminated in the most galvanising way. He peers down the monitor and gives a thumbs up.

‘Is that for me?’ she asks herself. She looks over the monitor to see him gazing her way; he gestures to his face and gives her a thumbs up again, as if to say, ‘Yes you, silly-billy! This is for you!’ Her face flushes, her arms tingle.

Trish whispers into her ear, “Careful girly, he’s had more women than you’ve had hot dinners.” Jeff looks over to her and mouths, “Good job.”

She smiles back; she’s been smiling so much her checks are aching. “Thank you,” she whispers back at him. Even under two layers of foundation she blushes. She can’t believe she’s made it; Vi Ricci from Newtown is no longer a makeup assistant at Kirks.

*****

“You’ll be here until 2am if you’re gonna clean up at that pace,” Trish says as Vi meticulously cleans every makeup brush, whilst Trish hastily dumps hers back into her bag unwashed; as she does, months of taffy blush float into the air like candied fumes.

“Coming to the after party?”

“I’m exhausted,” Vi says, wiping Trish’s blush off her make-up products.

“That’s because you’re the hardest working girl here,” David says, leaning against the door. “Trish, I saw you lick my opponent’s face at half time. I need to thank you for that, I think it really threw him.”

“I didn’t lick! His eyeliner was smudging, I spat on a tissue and used that, okay? Not my fault, I told the old bugger to stop rubbing his eyes. The way he was carrying on, you’d have thought I’d stuck needles in them.”

“Eyeliner? Yikes, when I go to church this Sunday, I’ll thank the big guy for directing me to Vi Ricci’s chair instead of yours, Trish,” he said.

“Oh, get off it, Dave, if you go to church, you should probably take a hard right and get your ass in the confessional chair!”

“That’s Catholicism, Trish, I would never abide by a religion that’s so medieval.”

“Oh jeez, you’re a winder upper aren’t ya? Careful of this one Vi, he’s a grade A shit-talker.” Trish laughs at her own joke and throws the last of her sapphire eyeshadow into her kit.

“Vi, you coming with me, love?”

She doesn’t hear her, all she heard is David Silverman say her full name; she could see on Trish’s face that she had clocked that as well. He had gone out of his way to ask about her and one of the crew would’ve said, ‘Oh, you mean Vi Ricci?’

“She doesn’t want to go in your car Trish, it’s a death trap. I absolutely cannot let you go with her, Vi. Trish still thinks it’s legal to be driving around on donut tyres.”

“Yeah, well we ain’t all got taxpayer money lining our pockets.”

Vi smiles, she does so when she’s nervous, and she gets nervous when people around her talk about money. Her Dad taught her it was vulgar, especially for women.

“Well, you know, Trish, when I become Prime Minister –”

“Oh, here we go!”

“When I become Prime Minister, you will have a lot more of your hard-earned money lining your pockets. That’s if you ever actually vote!”

“Don’t see the point of it. Right Vi, this conversation has drained me. I’m heading home, enjoy the after party with the next Prime Minister.”

*****

Vi didn’t feel like if they drove to the after party so much as floated there. They took her car, which she was embarrassed about and apologised for, but David had said, “This your first car? It’s a lot better than my first.” She had agreed that it was her first car, although it was actually her dad’s, and he had let her borrow it for work.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked her when the silence was building.

“A makeup artist,” she replied.

“Is that all?”

“Well, I use to be a flight attendant, but it didn’t work out.”

“What happened?’

“I spilled coffee on a famous person.”

David erupted into laughter.

“I guess you’re meant to be around famous people then.”

“Yeah maybe,” she said sheepishly, adding, “But maybe just not spilling hot beverages on them.”

“Are you friends with Jeff?”

“Yeah, he’s my mentor, why’d you ask?”

“I don’t like the type, you know… I know the … um … Homosexual Act has been repealed but that doesn’t mean it’s morally right, you know?”

“I like Jeff.”

“I like a lot of people, too, my brother’s an alcoholic, I like him, but doesn’t mean I’d trust him around my kids, or my money.”

“Jeff is … he’s good at his job.”

“Oh, now don’t go defending him. I’m not saying he can’t work; I just don’t want him working around me. Come on now, aren’t you a family values sort of girl?”

“Why would you assume that?”

He looked at her as if noticing her for the first time.

“Because you’re a nice girl at the start of her career, on the way to becoming a great makeup girl. Artist, I mean.”

She thought about replying, but didn’t understand what the question was any more.

The part of her that knew she was supposed to be amenable before a man who had influence flew away.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m good mates with the head of Alvar Studios, and I asked him before we left, if you could become head of the makeup department for a while. He said he’d have to trial you a bit more, keep an eye on you, that sort of thing, but it’s yours.”

“But Jeff is head of their makeup department.”

“Jeff was head of the makeup department, now you are. I think  ‘thank you’ is the word you’re looking for.”

“Thank you.” As she said it, she regretted it.

“I don’t have the expertise yet.”

“Oh, come on, it’s makeup, for goodness’ sake.”

“Why not Trish?”

He snorted. “Look, I don’t want Jeff touching me, or touching stuff that touches my face; and Trish, she’s heavy-handed. I want you to have it, I wouldn’t ask for just anyone.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re … nice.”

In 30 seconds, he had handed her all her hopes and dreams. She felt revolted by it. Her mind drifted back to the time when she was 14 and had caught the bus by herself to the train station. She’d heard groaning behind her. Thinking something was wrong, she looked back to check; it was a man in his late 40s, masturbating. She turned back around and sat frozen in her chair until she reached the railway station. She hadn’t thought of that for several years, but that same nauseating unease had returned. As she pulled up to the restaurant venue she spotted Jeff outside puffing on his signature menthol lights. He squinted and then waved, smiling at her with his cigarette in hand. Vi watched the glow from the cigarette wave left and right, before breaking off as ash and floating away into the night.

David stepped out of the car and walked around the bonnet to open the driver’s door for her.

“Madam, the ball awaits.”

David looked so handsome, suddenly so friendly, he seemed like the man she had met back on set, and not the man in the car that had made her feel small and silly and scared. And now, she just felt stupid and queasy.

“I’m sorry, I don’t feel well. I think I need to go home.”

“Don’t be a sook, you’re fine.”

“This is my dad’s car and I should’ve actually had it back a long time ago.”

“I thought you said this was your car.”

“I … no sorry, it’s my dad’s.”

“Come on Vi!” Jeff yelled.

“I don’t want the job.” She said it to the steering wheel because she couldn’t say it to him. “I want to learn slowly and I don’t …” she could feel the tears coming but willed them down. It didn’t matter, though; it could be heard in the quiver of her voice. She reeled her emotions back in, closed the car door and reversed. As she did so she spotted Jeff’s confused expression and David’s disbelief.

*****

Months later when Vi was in the staffroom at Kirks drinking her second cup of tea, her colleague, Sharon, plopped the daily paper down on the coffee table. David’s face was on the cover. He hadn’t made it to opposition party leader after all. He was beaten by a less exuberant family man who had been in politics much longer and understood the long game that it was.

Sharon pondered over the grainy image of David.

“Hey Vi, didn’t you do the makeup for him?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, what’s he like?”

“He’s just a person.”

 

About the Author

Emma Olsen is an award-winning stand-up comedian. She won Best Newcomer at the Wellington Comedy awards at 19, and the NZ National Raw Comedy Award at 20. Emma has a Theatre and English degree and her screenplay was a finalist in the 2018 Women in Horror Film Festival in Atlanta, Georgia. In her spare time, she attempts to write brooding short stories whilst contemplating the life of Henry James.

SHARE THIS ARTICLE

Print Recipe

BECOME A MiNDFOOD SUBSCRIBER TODAY

Let us keep you up to date with our weekly MiNDFOOD e-newsletters which include the weekly menu plan, health and news updates or tempt your taste buds with the MiNDFOOD Daily Recipe. 

Member Login