“I’d like a cup, too, please!” Rachel and I said in unison.
I took out my phone, but Abi put her hand on my arm. “There will be no recording until after the coffee.”
“But we have to take the ‘before’ shots,” I said.
“Oh, I can do that for you,” said a curvy brunette who’d sidled up next to us. A professional camera bounced against her ample bosom, but it was her voice that captured my attention. It held a hint of a southern accent, so I liked her instantly. “I can record video for you today, too.”
“Awesome,” I said as I gestured for Abi and Rachel to come over and get our “before” pictures taken. We posed together and separately while our new friend wielded her camera. Once we were done, I extended my hand. “Hi, I’m Vivian.”
“I’m Laura Lee. Laura Lee Simmons, that is.”
“Double name, I see. Where are you from, Laura Lee?”
“Originally from Tennessee, but I got an internship with Busy Mom Cosmetics, and here I am.”
I shook hands with her. “I’m glad to have another southerner in the house. And you’re going to record everything and then send it to me?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Well, then. Thank you!”
By that time the coffee had arrived.
So had the spa team. Laura Lee flitted around with her camera, capturing all the action. This video was going to take a million years to edit.
Once we’d had manicures and pedicures, the hairstylists arrived.
“I do appreciate that you got someone who knows how to work with my hair texture,” Abi said.
“Of course!” Deborah said. “We at Busy Mom Cosmetics believe thatallwomen should be represented. Just wait until you see the foundation shades we have.”
Abi looked at the camera with an expression of pleasant surprise.
“I don’t know if I have ever been this pampered,” I said to the camera Laura Lee held. “So far, I can’t thank Busy Mom Cosmetics enough. The exfoliant scrub has really smoothed my skin, and look at what this undereye gel has done! I know y’all have been staring at the bags under my eyes in all the other videos. Don’t lie.”
Before we got into makeup or outfits, it was time for lunch. Deborah brought us chicken salad sandwiches—not as good as mine, but I’d never tell—on fancy china. We ate and laughed and then returned for our makeup. Rachel still felt sensitive about letting someone touch her hair, but she agreed to a touch-up of her roots and some basic styling. She and her makeup artist then spent at least fifteen minutes trying different eyeshadow shades on the inside of her arm.
“Oh, look at this lipstick,” she said, holding up a dark-wine red that suited both her copper complexion and her choice of beverages.
“And it will stay on forhours,” Deborah promised.
With words of thanks and lots of preening for both the camera and the mirrors, we left the room dedicated to hair and makeup and went next door to a room with racks full of clothes, tables full of accessories, and a corner of shoeboxes. It was like walking into a dream closet.
“Champagne, ladies?” asked Deborah.
“Doesn’tthatdry out the skin?” I asked.
Abi put a hand on my shoulder. “Vivian, if you ruin this moment for me, I swear ...”
Rachel, nose crinkled, asked, “What kind of champagne is it?”
Deborah drew a bottle from a bucket full. “Schramsberg?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Schramsberg? Rachel will take the entire bottle.”
“For real,” Abi said. “I’m glad to see you have bottles for the rest of us.”
“Very funny,” Rachel said. “Y’all are acting like I’m a lush who doesn’t share my wine with you.”
