Chapter 3I Demanded to Be a Star

I was fuming.

She knew she was in the wrong, yet somehow she twisted it into an act of her own generosity.

I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to snap. A colleague handed me some paper towels, and I numbly dabbed at the water soaking my shirt before picking up my brush and stepping forward again.

When I was finally done, a wave of relief washed over me. "The makeup is complete. My colleague will guide you through the next steps of your photoshoot."

"Wait," Chloe snapped.

She pulled out her phone, placing the photo of Anne Hathaway right next to her face in the mirror. Then she grabbed my arm, shoving the phone so close to my face I could see the pixels.

"Does this look anything like her?" she demanded, her voice rising with each word. "Did you get the features right? The nose? The mouth, the eyes, the brows? Are you blind?"

My brow furrowed. The other clients in the studio were now whispering amongst themselves, their eyes darting our way. In the phone's glow, the image of the real Anne Hathaway was all grace and serene beauty. And then there was the woman in the mirror.

I kept my voice low and steady. "Ma'am... we agreed to replicate the makeup in the photo. It's makeup imitation, not a full facial transformation."

My professional composure was shattering. When she showed me the picture and said, "Make me look like this," who in their right mind would think she meant to literally become the celebrity? That wasn't makeup; that was sculpting a new person from scratch.

And besides, who wants to get married looking like someone else?

She scoffed. "Don't try to hide your incompetence behind a bunch of jargon. 'Makeup imitation, not transformation'? I showed you the picture of Anne Hathaway from the start, didn't I? I pointed right at her and told you to make me look like that!"

As her voice reached a fever pitch, she lunged at me.

I jumped back, but it was too late. Her hand swiped across my station, sending a container of loose powder crashing to the floor. The cloud of dust was followed by a sickening thud as my entire makeup case, which had been resting by the chair, was knocked over, its contents spilling across the tiled floor.

My God.

That was my personal kit. My expensive, carefully curated collection of cosmetics. Several of the brushes in there were custom-made by hand, tools I had waited 128 days for.

It wasn't just the money. A hot, uncontrollable rage surged up from the pit of my stomach.

I stepped forward to salvage what I could, but she misinterpreted the movement.

"What, you got a problem with me?" she shrieked, as if I were the one attacking her.

Her two bridesmaids shoved me hard. I lost my balance and fell to the floor, instinctively curling up and covering my head with my hands as their accusations rained down on me.

"Our Chloe told you what she wanted, and you said you could do it! Now you're getting violent because you're not good enough!"

"Where's your manager? Get your director out here! Is this how you treat your customers?"

The studio manager came running over. He took one look at the scene—me on the floor, Chloe screaming—and his eyes narrowed, pinning me with the blame. "What is going on here?"

He was new. I'd been away on a project when he was hired, and Sarah had already told me he wasn't my biggest fan. He resented me for holding a senior position at the studio without contributing to the daily sales figures. So, his immediate assumption that I was the problem didn't surprise me.

But it still stung.

Chloe launched into a tirade. "A refund! I want a full refund!"

At the word "refund," the manager's head whipped around, his glare intensifying on me. "I specifically called you in to cover this shift because I knew the client wanted to look like Anne Hathaway."

My head snapped up. What? No one had mentioned a single word of that to me.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Are you kidding me? When exactly did you tell me that? You're just going to throw me under the bus without even asking what happened?"

His face hardened. "How dare you speak to me like that? The customer is always right, and right now, the customer is unhappy. Get over here and apologize."

My hand tightened around the makeup brush still clutched in my fist, my knuckles white with rage. "Find someone else. I'm done."

I turned to leave. Let someone else deal with this circus.

Seeing me walk away, Chloe seemed to sense her chance for a refund slipping away. Suddenly, she was insisting that only I could do her makeup.

The manager, now desperate, pleaded with her. "Can we please have another artist help you? We can find someone else, just please, let's not talk about refunds."

Chloe crossed her arms. "You've already switched artists on me once. Are you just going to keep cycling through people to run out the clock? At this point, I think a full refund is perfectly reasonable."

The manager fell silent. A full bridal package was expensive. If he comped the entire thing, who would absorb the cost of the makeup, the photography, the couture rentals, the products?

"Fine," Chloe declared. "Then she has to do it. And if it's not perfect, it's on you."

So, you want your money, and you want a freebie, and you're both willing to sacrifice your artist to get what you want?

I kept walking. This wasn't my problem.

"Sarah, you're here!" the manager yelled at my back. "Tell us! Did you or did you not tell Vivi what the client wanted when you asked her to cover?"

Sarah stepped out from the small crowd that had gathered. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

Her voice was quiet, but clear. "I told her."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

A boundless, burning rage unlike anything I had ever felt consumed me. It was worse than the bride's ridiculous demands, worse than the manager's blatant lies. This was a betrayal.

Sarah was the first person I'd met when I joined the studio. The owner and I had met at an international makeup competition. I needed a stable job with a 401k and health insurance to appease my mother, and she wanted to leverage my reputation in SFX to break into the overseas market. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Out of respect for our deal, I always pitched in when the studio needed help. I even took their basic bridal training courses, which is why Sarah knew I was capable of covering her shift.

The manager's voice was sharp with urgency. "If you can't handle this, we'll have to cancel the project, and you will be held fully responsible."

"Fully responsible" meant I would have to cover the client's refund, plus all the studio's losses for time and resources.

I looked at Sarah. Her body was trembling, her head bowed in shame.

I walked back toward her, stopping right beside her. I leaned in, my voice a low, chilling whisper in her ear.

"You know I can do it."

"You wanted Anne Hathaway? Who ever said I couldn't deliver?"