Page 25 of Pistol Whipped

Lou’s leathery face graces each of us. “I’m footing the bill for this and considering it’s the first time any of you have performed live in a decade, sue me for wanting to make you look good.”

Great. I swallow another lump of terror in my throat that isn’t helped by Lou’s continued lecture.

“And I mayyyy have already leaked the news of your reunion to some media outlets, so you need to be camera-ready too. And Tina,” he points wildly at the only other woman in the room, “Make sure Ray-Ray is looking extra beautiful.”

The stress that he puts on the word ‘extra’ makes me gag a little. However, the woman’s slightly accented reply helps.

“Mmmmkay.”

She grabs my arm and hauls me out into the hallway. “Let’s go. The lighting in here is—”

She doesn’t say what it is, but she licks her teeth and gives a dissatisfied grimace. She drags me behind her until we reach the venue’s ladies’ toilets. She pushes the door open, looks around and gives a satisfied nod, before shoving me inside.

“Better,” is all she says by way of explanation.

I’m unsure of what to do with myself, so I stand there like an idiot until she points me towards the vanity, with an aggressive, “Sit.”

I hop my ass up on the sink’s edge while she drops that giant toolbox of hers onto the bathroom floor and starts to unpack more makeup than I’ve ever seen.

“I have done makeup in worse places,” she grumbles under her breath. I don’t mean to ask, but the question “Where?” slips out.

“I lie”—she turns back to me with a container of foundation in her left hand and a brush in her right—“This is the worst, Ray-Ray.”

I cringe. “You can call me Rain.”

“Thank God. Ray-Ray is a stupid name.”

I nod my agreement while she starts applying my makeup. She doesn’t wait for me to bend but shoves my knees open and stands between them before ordering me to close my eyes. I do so, but a laugh escapes me all the same.

“Stop laughing,” she bosses, “close your eyes.”

For the next few minutes I sit in silence, while she sponges makeup onto my face and drags eyeliner across my eyes. She tugs my uncooperative brows into place and runs something through my hair that I can’t identify.

Then she has me lean back over the sink, and the root ends of my hair are tugged as she brushes something wet through every strand. She forces me to stay that way for at least ten minutes before running another wet brush through it.

“Head up,” she orders, and I lift, catching a glimpse of myself in the large mirror as I do.

“Tina,” I gasp. “My hair! It looks incredible! How did you do that?!”

She doesn’t answer my question, but she does jerk her head towards the hallway. “Those men out there, they love you, yes?”

“Uhhhhhhhh,” is about all the answer I can muster before she interrupts me again.

“Because they were looking at you like you’re dessert.”

“I think you’ve got it wrong, girl; they hate me.” Although I stall, because I’m not quite sure that’s true for all of them. “Or, at least one of them does. Cohen…” I describe his eyes and curly hair so she knows which of them I’m referring to. “He’s my ex, and he hates me.”

“No,” she replies so definitively that I’m afraid to suggest otherwise, but she shrugs, “Even if that’s true, it’s my job to make you so beautiful, he forgets.”

“Thank you for that. I need all the help I can get,” I huff. My shoulders slope inwards, but then there’s an aggressive tap on my right cheek.

“No, you don’t. You are beautiful. Our society has just forgotten what normal aging looks like. My job is to remind them that you, and all women, dyed hair or not, makeup or not, are beautiful.”

Tina’s brown eyes stare into mine. They are an invitation to remember who I am and everything I have survived. It takes a few seconds, but eventually I smile a little, and she grins back. Then she helps me off the sink’s edge and spins me so I can see myself properly in the large bathroom mirror. I’m shocked. I do look beautiful. Like myself. Like my age. But beautiful.

“You are a rockstar, Rain Gamble,” she reminds me.

I was a rockstar. Once. But as I look at the beautiful reflection staring back at me, with her smoky eyeliner and deep purple lips, maybe I could be again with a little bit of help.