Thinking of Luke, I Google what I think he called me back at the expo, but my phonetic spelling must be off, because if this is right it seems, in addition to his “Red Queen,” he called me his little cabbage or puff pastry depending on how you interpret it.
Shrugging over French translations, I plug in my straightener and wash my face so I can redo my makeup with a blank slate. I prep my skin with moisturizer and a primer. While that dries, I section my mass of hair for straightening.
I run serum through the sections and start the painstaking process of straightening my curls. I don’t do it often, simply because it is so much work, but it is fun to have a completely fresh look.
As I straighten my hair section by section, I continue my earlier thoughts comparing McHottie to Luke. They are so vastly different, but I can’t deny I have an attraction to each of them. I’d love to spend more time together, get to know them better.
Maybe Luke is just a flirt, and this entire thought process is a waste of time. Maybe McHottie was a flash in the pan and doesn’t actually have the interest in me I thought he did. Maybe I could have both of them and be a Lieshe sandwich?
That thought just about makes me moan out loud. I imagine McHottie’s cold marble body pressed to my front and Luke’s incendiary touch flush against my back. I’ve never been in a multiple partner situation before, but I could get into this.
Fantasies of four hands on my body distract me until I smell something burning. I jump and realize my hair is getting singed while I am lost in my daydream.
With tremendous effort, I focus on straightening my hair and thankfully finish it out without further incident. For my full make up look I am planning, I am thankful I always travel with my complete make-up bag, even when traveling light. My playlist is a little slow, so I hit skip until I find something fresh and funky to get ready to.
Setting my glasses to the side, I pop in a pair of contacts I dig out of the bottom of my makeup bag. I prefer my chunky black glasses, but I don’t want to hide my face tonight. Contacts will let my bold makeup really show.
I fight to get the slippery little buggers in my eyes and, with a lot of contact solution and blinking, everything finally feels like it’s in place. My vision is terrible, so they give me the added advantage of being better able to see to paint my face.
I start with foundation and then layer the various colors needed for contouring. When I’m happy with my base, I build a dark smokey eye. Once the black shadow is flawless, I add a red glitter layer and then finish with thick winged liner.
Next, I add multiple layers of mascara to make my lashes thick and long. I finish it with a white shimmer liner to my inner lower eyelid to make my eyes pop.
I rarely add a dark lip to a flashy eye, but tonight I make an exception. I pull out my favorite lipstick, a deep dark red called Nosferatu. This incredible lipstick lasts a solid 12 hours minimum, even if I drink something or, better yet, kiss someone.
I wish McHottie was here so we could really test out the lipstick’s staying power. The image of mussed lipstick not just on me, but on him, is smoking.
I think of Luke's black on black-on-black outfit from earlier today and decide to add black for a vampire ombre lip to represent both of them. I start the painstaking process of lining my lips in black and then filling in the center with a dark matte red, carefully building up the perfect coverage. At last, I cover the center with the glossy Nosferatu.
The make-up gods must be smiling down upon me because the result tonight is fierce. I quirk an eyebrow at myself in the mirror and decide to extend them out just a little. Not too much, just for a little added drama.
I run some hair serum over my ends to keep them silky smooth and finish by spraying on my favorite perfume, a deep rose scent. I’ve always been drawn to the smell of roses, and this particular scent is dark and spicy rather than floral and girly.
I feel confident and sexy. The woman looking back at me is stunning. I like my burgeoning confidence. It feels so much better than beating myself up. The world is harsh enough and already tries to beat everyone down. Why had I added to my misery by also being so hard on myself all these years?
As I gained weight in high school, I felt more and more pressure to conform to the airbrushed images imposed on my generation, coupled with the poor nutrition narrative that healthy fat was the enemy.
My mother was always dieting, attending group meetings and counting fat. As a result, she pushed chicken breast and diet coke on me, and rather than allowing me gluten-free treats, deprived me of carbs altogether.
Despite her efforts and my father’s retorts, my thick frame refused to thin out, and when I got my first job, most of my money went to junk food. By college, I was uncomfortable and unhealthy.
Mindy has changed my life in many ways, and during our first year in college, she taught me about eating for fuel more than for comfort. With her help, I transitioned my diet to real food with healthy fats.
When the third member of our girl gang, Jo, joined us, she introduced me to yoga, and I loved the flexibility and connection to my body that it brought. It also helped with the stress of nursing school.
With the help of my two best friends, I found the middle road between eating garbage and society’s obsession with weight. I enjoyed real food, fueled my body, and kept my full figure. And now, I was learning to really embrace 30-year-old Lieshe. Single, curvy, gray streak of hair, and all.
I give myself one more confident smile in the bathroom mirror, then grab my phone and go out to change. I hadn't packed any fun outfits for this trip, but at least I had grabbed a cool shirt to wear home tomorrow. It will be perfect for tonight instead, paired with my red fishnet stockings under my ripped black skinny jeans.
I leave my red lace bra on, knowing it will add a pop of color to the back of my outfit and swap out the Grimm logo shirt. The upgrade is a draped black material in the front that shows a little cleavage, but the back is where the money is with this one. The entire back is a sheer fine mesh, embroidered down the center in white with an anatomically correct spine.
I head back to the bathroom to check out my final look but am disappointed when I see over my shoulder my hair is covering the coolest aspect of my shirt. I think for a second and then I gather my straight hair into a super high pony and add a little rhinestone skeleton hand clip I fish out of my bag to the side of my head.
Now I am ready. I glance at the clock and realize I left myself no time for dinner between the extra glam time and needing to get back to the expo center for the show in time. I’ll have to hustle.
The problem with transforming to dust is I am aware of my surroundings but powerless to interact with them. But this is the only form that allows me to be virtually undetectable. I watch her face in the mirror as she gets ready to go out.
She randomly grins or quirks one eyebrow at herself, and I wish, as I have thousands of times before, that I had the power to read her mind. I hope her smiles are from thoughts of me. And not of that monster she finally met.
