Chapter 6
After the spray tan, a very patient Indian woman came into the aesthetician’s room, instructed Brandon to lie back in a chair, and proceeded to spend forty-five minutes threading his eyebrows...and learning every curse word he’d ever picked up in prep school. He emerged looking flawless, more alert, and if possible more gorgeous than before. Unfortunately, he also felt like he’d wasted an afternoon and should probably have to give up all claim to alpha-male status. It was hard to believe that other executives did this, devoted entire half days to grooming, to getting their nails shaped and buffed, their suits tailored. It seemed so trivial. And yet he knew that, across town, Marj was going through something similar, if not worse.
***
The stylist told Marj to think of it as pampering, as rejuvenation. There was nothing about the Brazilian bikini wax that felt refreshing. In fact, it hurt like hell. Then when Helga the technician got out the long tweezers to finish the job, Marj started muttering curses. She’d already had her underarms, legs, and upper lip waxed. The eyebrows had been painful, her eyes tearing up now at just the memory of that hot wax being yanked off tender skin. Then the exfoliation and the mud wrap, which was appallingly too warm and much more like being imprisoned in a Domino’s pizza hot-bag than any sort of spa treatment.
Shimmery highlights ranging from caramel (to match Brandon’s) to champagne blonde were woven through her normally darker hair. She sat for four hours getting a Japanese hair-straightening treatment that made the entire salon smell like the carcasses of dead fish being devoured in vats of foul acid. Still, it was the pin-straight Kate Middleton slash post-breakup Kourtney Kardashian look that the stylists insisted was most sympathetic and enviable. And by lightening her hair a few shades, it looked less suspiciously like copycatting famous women and their hairstyles.
Her teeth were professionally whitened, and she was forbidden to consume coffee, dark soda, or wine until after the photo session. She had to be gleaming white. Any suggestion that she consumed caffeine or alcohol and stained her teeth might permanently alienate all the Power Regions stockholders, apparently.
Sierra, the stylist who was coordinating Marj’s magazine debut, took her through a personal shopping gambit at a high-end department store and narrowed the selection down to three contenders. Marj’s hopes of choosing something that she loved, something that was really ‘her,’ dwindled to embers at the sight of the trio of wannabe Princess Kate frocks. Silk dresses all, in royal blue, emerald green, and, worst of all, a cotton candy pink, hung in a row on the pegs of the fitting room. They all had sleeves. They all covered her fiercely toned thighs all the way to the knee. They were each one the epitome of designer elegance, cut simply and beautifully and without the slightest touch of personality or flair. They were expensive and unassuming—just as Marj was supposed to be in the interview. In the end, Marj let the stylist choose and didn’t put up the slightest protest at the green silk jersey day dress that would have been perfectly at home on a local dignitary at a Shamrock festival. In fact, she pictured bagpipes, a tweedy coat, and a close-fitting dapper hat to complete the ensemble...if she’d been inspecting sheep and the royal guards in Ireland, perhaps. As it was, a single strand of matched pearls and tiny gold studs were all the accessories she was granted.
As much time as it had taken to groom her body, the preparation of her personality was even more exhaustive. She had to speak first with an articulation specialist to polish her pronunciation of a few words that showed her ‘working class background’ and her public education. Her vowels were too nasal; her g’s had a tendency to drop off entirely if she was talking too fast. And she talked way too fast. And too flippantly. Her vocabulary was full of slang, of pop culture references and plenty of sub-par factors. She had to eliminate anything too casual, too crude. Vulgar, Sierra had assured her, meant ‘common,’ and no mere commoner could possibly hold her own in this interview.
The reporter was used to visiting the country manors of the old money aristocracy and talking to the brides about their dressage horses and charity work. Not about whether Ryan Gosling was hotter than Bradley Cooper or if the sequel Magic Mike XXL was better than the original (two topics Marj brought up during the training session). Mandy Manners, Marj’s nickname for Ms. Reising the etiquette expert, nearly fainted dead away at the mention of male strippers. This was supposed to be a civilized conversation, an interview about their whirlwind romance and timeless love story. No one, but no one, was to mention the dangly man parts of Channing Tatum and company, original or sequel! Ms. Reising had cleared her throat after that and thrown back what looked suspiciously like straight gin before proceeding.
She coached Marj to talk about the specialness of becoming part of Brandon’s world, and how she was coming to fully appreciate the opportunity it gave her to become very active and influential in a charitable way. She could talk about the afterschool program she’d helped, and how inspiring it was. She could discuss ways they collaborated to make the world a better place. And she could talk about their romantic time together in Dubai and Mexico and how his work schedule just made all their time together seem like an extended honeymoon. She was not to complain about how many hours he worked or how online shopping got boring, and she couldn’t really relate to the rich women in the corporate circle because she was used to being a middle management drone. She could spin it as the chance to seek really fulfilling and original consulting work instead. There was a great deal of, ‘no, do not say that!’ for about an hour before they came to understand each other.
At that point, Marj made drinks for them both, and they toasted to lying smoothly and beautifully. Marj also made a mental note to send Ms. Reising the DVDs of the Magic Mike series so she could loosen up a bit. As it was, they concluded that the interview would likely be a successful one-time event. Anyone, Ms. Reising said with resignation, could control themselves for a single afternoon. Surely Marj wouldn’t say anything shocking. Just to reassure herself, she ran through the questions one more time.
“Now, Mrs. Cates, the reporter will ask you what you love most about Brandon. How will you answer?”
“The first time I met him, I noticed he has incredibly thick wrists. You know, there’s really nothing to that adage about a man’s thumb and finger length in proportion to his dick, but a thick wrist will always tell the truth. A man with skinny wrists will have a scrawny, useless erection that—”
“Stop!” Ms. Reising squealed with a laugh. “You really mustn’t sport with me so. I know you wouldn’t say such a thing in the interview, so please don’t kid around like that.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Just trying to break the ice. The truth is, Brandon is very thoughtful, Ms. Reising. I will tell them about the mocha cake he ordered the night we got married and how he didn’t even want any of it. This is just a world away from my old life, so it’s more comfortable to make a joke of it than to admit that it’s actually important. I know what I say carries weight in this interview. It was my idea, in fact, and I’m taking a great deal of expert advice, yours included, to make a success of it. Because the bottom line is that what’s important to my husband is important to me.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Reising said, and took her leave. Marj had liked having fun with her and being shocking, but she did respect the specialist’s skill...even if it was all posing and spouting platitudes. It wasn’t about being original, it was about being accepted and approved, she reminded herself. The interview was about saving Brandon and his company, which was what she had set out to do half drunk in Las Vegas, and she meant to see it through.
At home that night, when she got the predictable text message from her husband not to wait up because he had work to do after spending all afternoon being groomed, she decided to go to bed early. She’d need her wits about her the next day and every minute of beauty sleep to save those PhotoShoppers some effort. That being said, she did drag herself up at the last moment before sleep to slather on three different face and undereye creams that she’d promised faithfully to use. And she set out the toner for in the morning. There was way more to natural beauty than she’d ever been aware of before. She thought natural beauty was like her friend, the flawless Britt, who was just extraordinarily gorgeous but lacked confidence. Fact was, for the kind of people like Marj, who were attractive but not knockout hot, there was a hell of a lot of working out and spray tanning and expensive skin care required to take it up to the next level.