The telephone in the living room rang, loudly breaking Rose’s concentration. After putting her last dress in the closet, she started towards it.
“Hello. Rose Dawson,” she answered into the mouthpiece.
“Miss Dawson? This is George from reception. I have a gentleman here who wishes to speak with you.”
Rose was puzzled. Who would possibly be visiting her? Who knew that she was there? She placed her hand over the mouthpiece before calling Derek, who took the call for her.
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Says his name is Jack Dawson. He’s the photographer. If you wish me to send him away, I will.”
“Oh, no. No. Let the man up.” He put the earpiece back before heading for the door. “The photographer has arrived,” he told Rose, who had gone back to her closet, searching absentmindedly for a suitable dress. She had so many, but still felt that none of them would be suitable for the publicity pictures.
“How about this one?” Clara, her maid, held up a gold flapper dress. Rose wrinkled her nose slightly. She didn’t feel it was something her character would wear.
“I’m not sure. Maybe something white?” she suggested, searching through the closet once more, even though nothing more suitable had appeared in the last few minutes. Her hair was golden and curled, clipped to one side, and her lips were rosy red. She was every inch the movie star, the vision of a goddess every man in the room would want to marry and cherish forever. Her beauty wasn’t fake. She wasn’t one who had to be in the powder room being made up for hours. The only thing she loved was wearing red lipstick, something that she had loved from the fashion pages when she was a little girl.
“Meet us in the Sun Room in a half hour!” Derek called. He lit his cigar before heading out the door to meet the photographer.
“Come on, now. Let’s get your makeup done.” Clara ushered her towards the vanity.
Rose kept her eyes on the mirror in front of her, watching as Clara transformed her. “All right. I’m going to trim your ends. They’re a little split,” Clara pointed out. Rose threw a worried look at her, but she smiled softly, seeing Rose’s worry.
“Perfect.” Clara put the scissors on the table. “Now, a little makeup.” Clara pulled out a bag of makeup from the vanity drawer. It was large and rattled as she pulled it out.
“Don’t worry. I won’t make you look like the other girls in the pictures. They look like melted wax.” Clara giggled and Rose smiled a little. The other girls wore so much makeup that they looked hideous, almost like clowns.
“I just want to highlight just how naturally lovely you really are.” Rose smiled and began to loosen up slightly. She trusted her more now. “I want to put some powder on you to take away any blemishes or freckles. Makes your skin look perfect.” Clara opened a small jar, took a brush, and dusted it over Rose’s face. The powder stank like dirt and made Rose want to sneeze as she applied it over her nose. Afterward, she peered at her complexion in the mirror. She didn’t appear any different, except her face felt like dust. “Next is some rouge. This is like powder, but red. It gives you a little color, because you are so pale.”
“All right. Well, now, there is lipstick. I think you need a dark red. Stand in front of me while I apply it.” Rose stood and came face-to-face with Clara, who instructed Rose to close her mouth while she applied her lipstick. Rose watched as she applied it with brilliance and skill. She carefully smudged the lipstick across Rose’s lips.
“All right. Now we need to do your eyelashes. Let me find some mascara.”
What on earth for? Rose watched as Clara disappeared. She sat in the chair at the vanity and stared at her own reflection. Her eyebrows had been arched a little more and she appeared to be like one of the women on the front of the fashion pages. Clara returned a few minutes later with a small brush and a box. “Right now, this is going to color your lashes.”
“Close your eyes.” She opened the box and dipped the brush in before applying it to Rose’s eyelashes. This was supposed to darken and make the lashes appear thicker. After both eyes were done, Rose opened them, feeling just how heavy they were. She almost appeared to be a different woman altogether. “I think that has really worked to help bring out your eyes,” Clara told her. Clara was around thirty-seven and had appeared in a few pictures back in the early 1900’s, but now she preferred to work behind the camera.
“It feels heavy.” Rose blinked a few times.
“No, no.” Clara headed to Rose’s closet. “Don’t mess with your eyes. The color needs to dry.” She reached into the closet and pulled out a white flapper dress, along with a silver wrap and some white heels. “How about this ensemble?”
Rose stood and walked over to the closet. “I think this is more like it.” She smiled, happy to finally find something to wear.