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“Yes, but that’s not the only reason.” Kenzie regained herself. “This house used to belong to my family, back before the turn of the twentieth century.”
“No kidding?”
“Never would kid,” said Kenzie. “But during hard times, the structure was lost by the original builders and turned over to family members who made more bad investments in wartime.”
“Until Ramon Torres came along?” Will asked. The elevator arrived at the second floor. Will waved his free hand for Kenzie to exit.
“Yes,” Kenzie answered, looking at him over her shoulder.
Will nodded. “Smart of him to listen to you.”
“Smart of me to be the town historian.”
“That’s a real thing, huh?” Will asked.
“Of course.” Kenzie’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and declined the call. Will wondered if the R he saw pop up on her screen stood for Ramon. “Enough about my family drama. I can take the rest of the dresses down the hall if you’ll give this one to Zoe.”
At the sound of her name, Will grew excited. The pit of his stomach shifted with an odd feeling. “I can do that,” he said coolly.
“Thanks, and I’ll see you later tonight.”
Will headed toward his room first. He wanted to clean himself up before seeing Zoe again. Since his door was closed, he assumed the girls had disappeared. He opened the door and the smell of flowers was now faint.
“I don’t want to look like all the other girls,” said a young voice.
“You’re not,” Zoe said to whomever was in her room. “I made sure no one was exactly the same.”
“Except for your signature wingtip.”
Zoe’s light chuckle filled the air. Will smiled as he eavesdropped. This week he’d figured out what a wingtip was and saw how Zoe perfected it, as she liked to boast.
“But I want to look like Lil’ Get This. Your Instagram with her got the most likes I’ve ever seen.”
Lil’ Get This, Will recalled with a sneer, who’d posed basically naked on her CD cover. The only thing the young rap artist had worn was Zoe’s makeup. The photo was absent from Zoe’s portfolio, but that didn’t mean Will hadn’t seen it.
“Lil’ Get This is a professional artist.”
Will would use that term loosely.
“You’re going to have to remember that those ladies you see on my Instagram are going for a particular look, which is why they look that way,” Zoe explained. “You don’t think they walk around with a full face of makeup all day, do you?”
“Yeah, well, maybe. I’ve seen what you did with the teen girls on BET’s Black Girls Rock show.”
“I see you follow my work.”
“I used to collect all the different magazines your models were in, but my mom said she’d kill me if I brought in any more clutter.” The girl’s statement reminded Will of what Zoe’s parents might have said to her. Didn’t she say she used to apply beauty products to the already printed magazine pages?
“So I have a page on my blog dedicated to your work.” The girl continued naming all of Zoe’s accomplishments. “I love the eighties, thanks to you. Music videos were the best.”
“That’s so sweet,” Zoe sighed.
Will imagined Zoe beaming with pride at this moment. He pictured her cheeks turning red or her biting her bottom lip and avoiding a gaze.
“You’re really cool. But I still want to look like someone else. I want to look like a star.”
“Lisa,” Zoe said, “you don’t need all that heavy makeup to make you look like a star. Think of all the faces I’ve done. They’re like superheroes. And like all superheroes, they are wearing a mask, but when they are just being themselves, they don’t need all that extra stuff to hide their beauty. Does that make sense?”
“No.” The word came out more with a whine but accompanied by a laugh. “But okay.”
“When you get old enough, you can put your makeup on however you like, but for now, just enjoy being a kid and enjoy your prom.”
“Thanks, Miss Zoe.”
When Will heard Zoe’s door close, he crossed through their bathroom and leaned against the door. From this angle it appeared her bottom half was encased in a pair of tube socks with three pink stripes. Zoe wore an apron with I Love Makeup spelled out in makeup items, such as a tube of mascara for the I, two eyeliner pencils making the L, red lipstick spelling out the O in a heart shape, and a powder brush as the E. The word makeup was spelled out in eyeliner. Her pink apron held several pockets, each containing either a variety of lipsticks, an eyelash contraption he’d seen his sisters use, or powder brushes. Zoe’s long brown hair was piled up in a loose bun. Several strands had come loose from the band securing her tresses. Different shades of powder sprinkled her face. The insides of her forearms were streaked with various pink, mauve, red, gold and brown shades. She’d never looked more beautiful.
