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Becca shot her a side-eyed frown but wisely kept her trap shut. The caffeine hadn’t done shit to wake Michaela up, and, frankly, she felt like garbage. The walk to the hair and makeup trailer only took a few moments. Not long enough get her blood flowing and make her feel human.
When she stepped into the well-lit space, she flinched as the shocking bright lights assaulted her senses. “Fuck, can we turn a few of those down?” she asked without greeting anyone.
Ralph, her best friend and long-time stylist gave an elegant snort. “Uh, no, babe. We most certainly cannot.” Then he frowned. “With the way you look this morning, I’m gonna need all the tricks in my bag, and I can’t work my magic in the dark.” Then he winked. “Well not the kinda magic you need, anyway. Sit that skinny ass down in my chair,” he said as he spun the salon chair toward her. Then he tilted his head and gave her a long up and down look. “You losing more weight, Mick?” His voice took on a note of concern, matching the frown pulling down his lips. She’d known him since the first week she’d moved to LA. They’d climbed the cinema ladder together, and he refused to call her Scarlett in private.
“What?” She shuffled over to his station in front of the mirror and plopped into the chair. “No. I actually need to drop a few pounds.” Someone had commented on a social media post from a few weeks ago that the dress she’d been wearing made her look fat. Last thing she needed was a viral post about how fluffy she’d become.
She leaned forward, examining herself in the mirror. Oh man, Ralph wasn’t kidding. She looked rough. “My mane needs some serious help this morning, babe.”
Coming to stand behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, sweetheart. I have eyes. Speaking of eyes, Libby is gonna need to put about a gallon of concealer under yours. Wild night?”
Had it been? She shrugged. Maybe.
Ralph frowned as he switched on a hair straightener. “One of those again, huh? Mic, we’ve all had ’em, but maybe you could do me a favor and save the extra wild nights for days when you don’t have to be on set at the ass crack of dawn, huh? Help a sister out.”
“Yes, Daddy. I’ll stay in tonight and do my homework.”
Ralph laughed, but it didn’t hold the normal joy he carried. “Thank you.” He grabbed some clips and began sectioning off her hair but stopped after only a few seconds. “You okay, Mickie? For real? Because you’ve been worrying me a little latel—"
Oh, hell no. They were not playing the I’m-worried-about-you game. She was fine. At the top of her game, richer than sin, sought by all for her skills and her appearance. Not a goddamn thing was wrong besides the lack of sleep. “Becca! Where the fuck’s my coffee?” she yelled, holding up the empty Venti cup.
Ralph narrowed his eyes at her in the mirror but kept his mouth shut. Thank God.
“On it,” her assistant called back.
It was going to be a long-ass morning.
Forty-five minutes later, Ralph had straightened her long, platinum locks into a sleek, silky waterfall, which he then gathered high on her head in a fierce power ponytail. She’d have to keep the look in mind for a future awards show. But for today, the ponytail would be braided with leather ribbons woven through. After snapping the metal cuff which accompanied her ensemble around the pony, his part was complete, and she was well on her way to resembling a movie star again. Libby took over once Ralph departed and used her makeup skills to produce the badass look her tribal warrior princess character required.
And now she was standing in the middle of the California desert at four thirty in the morning waiting for the director to call action. This post-apocalyptic movie had been a surprise offer. Not a typical dramatic role for her. But so far, she’d been enjoying the challenge of stretching her acting skills. Even if Charles Francola, the director, was a bit of a misogynistic asshole. They’d rubbed each other the wrong way from day one when she’d mistaken him for an intern and demanded a coffee.
The man held a grudge like a champ and had been growly with her throughout filming.
“Fucking finally,” Francola grumbled from his chair under a tent as he stretched his arms overhead.
At least she wasn’t the only one hating the early morning hour.
After a jaw-yawn that stretched out his stubbled face, Francola straightened the ball cap he was never without. “Let’s get this fucking show on the road now that our star has decided to grace us with her presence.”
Michaela resisted the urge to roll her eyes and flip him off. Damn right, she was a star. One who’d made forty million dollars on her last movie release, which was only one of many chart-topping films she’d starred in. Francola could bitch and moan all he wanted, but he knew his movie would sell on the clout of her name alone.
