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There were endless ways to sell a customer on the various products stocked behind the clear glass case and since Amanda worked on commission, she was extremely good at all of them. Also, it was fun to see their faces fall when she negged them—giving a backhanded compliment that hurt—or played on their sense of insecurity.
Amanda had always been thin and gorgeous her entire life—she’d been winning beauty pageants since she was two—so she had no sympathy for women who let themselves go around looking less than perfect. There was just no excuse for being ugly, in her opinion. Ugly people deserved to be put down and told exactly how disgusting they were. Honestly, she was doing them a favor—they needed to know how the world really saw them. And most of them ought to be staying home anyway—not inflicting their ugly-ass-selves on society.
Of course, most of the women who visited her were just stupid old cows, though when the young girls came in to get their makeup done for Prom, Amanda had fun with them too.
“Are you going to put out for him tonight?” she might ask in a conspiratorial whisper, as she worked to get a girl’s blush or lipstick just right. “I’d do it if I were you. You’re never going to get another date with him if you don’t. Besides, Prom sex is practically a tradition—everybody does it! And don’t worry about making him wear a condom—everybody knows you can’t get pregnant on the first time.”
Yes, there were endless ways to be awful and Amanda knew them all. So as she sized up the girl with the black hair and green eyes, she was wondering how she could sell her on one of the overpriced products in stock. If she could make her feel bad enough to buy one of the “Whole Body Beauty Kits” the store was pushing, she’d make enough commission to get that new skirt she’d had her eye on for so long…
“Do I know you?” she asked, giving the new customer her brightest smile. “You look familiar.”
“Maybe because you know my sister,” the girl said, putting out her hand.
Amanda took the offered hand and started to shake but a sudden sharp pain stabbed into her palm.
“Ouch! What was that?” she gasped, yanking her hand away. Looking down, she saw a tiny drop of blood welling in the palm of her hand. “You cut me!”
“Oh, sorry,” the other girl said pleasantly. “My ring must have got you.” She held up her hand, flashing a flawless many-faceted ruby surrounded by diamonds. “Engagement ring,” she explained. “I’m due to get married next month.”
“Oh, well that’s wonderful,” Amanda said, blotting her palm on a tissue and trying to smile.
Brides were easy sells—they would buy anything to make their big day perfect. Mentally, she promised herself to make this bitch pay through the nose for poking her with that ridiculously huge engagement ring.
“So I’m guessing you want someone to do the makeup for your wedding?” she asked, brightly.
“Well, I was hoping to find something new,” the girl said. “Maybe you could show me some skin care products?”
“Certainly.” Amanda prepared to go into her sales-pitch, but honestly, she suddenly didn’t feel too well. She had a woozy, slightly dizzy feeling that made her put a hand to her head for a moment.
“Are you all right?” the girl asked.
“Fine—just a little light-headed for a minute. There—I’m better now.” And Amanda did feel better. She smiled brightly and began to put out the most expensive skin-care products in stock. “I’m sure you’re looking for something really special to make that dull skin glow so you can start looking beautiful in time for your wedding,” she remarked. “You’re probably going to want to do a whole beauty routine and if I were you, I’d get started right away.”
The girl only smiled and nodded, apparently not affected by the hint about her skin.
Just then, a senior beauty consultant—an old bitch named Janice—came behind the counter to get something. She started to dig around under the counter—even though she could clearly see that Amanda was trying to make a sale—but then she stopped and straightened up. Her nose wrinkled and she stared at Amanda.
“Amanda, what kind of perfume have you been spraying over here? It smells awful.”
“What?” Amanda shot her a glare, trying to let her know she ought to shut up and leave before she lost the lucrative sale.
“I said, whatever perfume you’re spraying, please stop. And maybe we should ask Mr. Hornfetter to come over—I think whatever it is has gone off somehow.”
Mr. Hornfetter was the beauty sales manager—the same man Amanda had charmed to get her job in the first place. He was forty, fat, and balding—not to mention stupid enough to think that Amanda might someday be willing to sleep with him. Of course, she’d never said as much, but she’d certainly implied it. She’d opened her blouse just enough to show some cleavage and licked her lips a lot during the interview—naturally he’d hired her on the spot.
