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“Oh my God, you’re already gorgeous!” The stylist, a blond woman nearing her fifties, says, sounding very sincere. “We just have to polish you a little.”
“I’ll be waiting outside,” Brody says, opening the door.
“Is there a bathroom here?” I ask after Brody leaves.
“Sure, right there!” The woman points me to a door in the corner.
I dash towards it, kneeling in front of the toilet the very next second. And within a few moments, everything I had that morning, which luckily wasn’t much, empties into the toilet.
“Oh, honey, are you okay?” The stylist says, approaching the bathroom.
“Now I am,” I reply, wiping my mouth and flushing the commode.
“How long have you been sick?” She asks.
I shrug. “A little lightheaded for a week. Nauseous for three days. Puking for the first time now.”
“Oh…” she says, looking like she knows something I don’t. Biting her lip, she looks at me with concern, “Are you pregnant?”
I blink, thinking for a second. “The last time I had sex without a condom was with…” Brody. The last two times. “But I have an IUD.”
The woman tsks her tongue in disapproval. “Those things can get out of place, can’t they? Back in my day all we had was the pill and condoms, and they were both expensive!”
“Yeah, they can.” I say, pensive, taking a seat on the chair designated for me. “Oh God…”
“I’m guessing this isn’t good news?” she opens her very large makeup kit and starts testing a palette for my skin tone.
“I still need to take the test to be sure about it.”
The stylist takes the hint and remains mostly silent for the extra time we’re together. Once the makeup is done, very natural, the way I like it, we decide on my clothes - a carefully distressed rock band t-shirt and a pair of jeans also carefully ripped apart in the right places.
This all takes an hour and a half, and as the stylist leaves, the assistant director arrives, bringing Sandra in tow.
“So glad you could make it, girl!” He’s an eccentric man in his thirties. “I’m Kevin Mason, assistant director on The Morning Chatter. The show will start in half an hour. Can I get you anything?”
With a sigh of relief, I ask timidly, “Water with some lemon?”
Kevin breaks into a warm smile. “Of course! Will be here in a just a moment!”
He leaves in search of my water. I reach for my guitar and begin to strum it quietly, while Sandra sits at the other chair available and says, somber, “Brody said you were feeling sick.”
I frown, angry that he blabbed his mouth. “The stylist said nothing?” I ask.
“She didn’t,” Sandra says with concern. “But this is serious. Are you sure you can go live?”
“I’m fine now,” I groan.
My water comes and I drink it in a second, feeling much better than I did before. Kevin then returns to take me to the Morning Chatter studio and get me fitted for a microphone. The host, Vivian Bellamy, is already doing the intro.
“Nervous?” Brody asks as we watch everything from backstage.
“I’m never nervous,” I say, defiant. “This is just something new.”
“Vivian will call in exactly one minute,” Kevin says. “Break a leg!”
“How do I look?” I turn to Sandra.
She fixes a few strands of my hair, and then performs a chef’s kiss. “Incredible!” she says.
