“Right then,” she said, looking me over, too close. “D’you know, that won’t even be a problem.
Bobbi’s got some marvelous concealers that can match any skin tone. I can’t get rid of it, but I can certainly minimize it.”
I wondered if she always talked about herself in the third person. “Are you talking about my face?” I said.
“No, silly, your scar. Your face is lovely. You’ve got very clear skin, you know. Now, just watch this.”
She had a tool belt around her waist in the manner of a joiner or plumber, and her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she worked.
We’ve only got ten minutes till the store closes,” she said, “so I’ll focus on camouflage and eyes. D’you like a smoky eye?
I don’t like anything to do with smoking,” I said, and, bizarrely, she laughed again. Strange woman.
You’ll see...” she said, pushing my head back, asking me to look up, look down, turn to the side...
there was so much touching, with so many different implements, and she was so close that I could smell her minty gum,
not quite masking the coffee she’d drunk earlier. A bell rang, and she swore.
The intercom announced that the store was now closed. “Time’s up, I’m afraid,” she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork.
She passed me a hand mirror. I didn’t really recognize myself.
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