Chapter 18
"Look up, Spike, and try not to blink," instructed Julie and began outlining Spike's eyes with black eyeliner.
"That's easy for you to say," replied Spike. "I could be the first Romeo ever with a pencil sticking out of his eye." He thought. "I have to say, I'm glad you're not Lynda right now!"
Julie laughed. "Speaking of Lynda, where is she?" she asked. "She's next to be made up. You don't think she . . ."
"Who, Lynda? No way!" Spike said jovially. "Not with Stacey Smithson on standby to be my leading lady. She'll be here. I'll bet my watch on it. And you know how much this watch means to me, Julie."
"I did hear the story," smiled Julie and turned to rummage in her make-up box for the next instrument of torture. Spike slid his eyes down to the much-treasured timepiece in question. Where was Lynda?
"Look up again," said Julie, now brandishing a mascara wand. Spike obliged.
"I'll never complain about girls taking so long to get ready again," he said. "And you do this every morning?"
"Some of us do," replied Julie. "Others prefer a more . . . basic approach." She replaced the mascara wand inside the tube and sorted through lip colours. "Just got your lips to do now."
"That's an hour-long job in itself," came a voice from the doorway. Lynda was standing at the dressing-room door, fully costumed.
"Lynda! You're dressed!" exclaimed Spike.
"Of course I'm dressed! Why wouldn't I be?" gabbled Lynda hastily, clutching her velvet dress for the hundreth time to reassure herself she was, indeed, clothed. "Did you think I was going out there naked?"
"Hey, take it easy, Boss," Spike said. "I just meant no-one else is in their costume yet."
"Right, well, yes. I just wanted to make sure I had everything . . . together," said Lynda.
"Stay there, Lynda. You're next," said Julie, applying the finishing touches to Spike's mouth. "There, Spike! You're done."
Spike stood and appraised himself in the mirror. "Love your work, Julie. But it's easy to create a masterpiece when you have perfection as the canvas!"
Julie rolled her eyes, motioned for Lynda to take Spike's recently-vacated seat and began deftly applying foundation and blusher.
"Watch out for what comes next, Lynda," warned Spike. "She's going to come at your eyes with a pencil. I distinctly remember you saying you've had more fun with a pencil stuck in your eye than talking to me, so your night may be about to get a lot more enjoyable!"
"Shut up, Spike," said Julie. "Look up, Lynda and don't blink."
"Are you going to let her boss you around like that, Lynda?" teased Spike.
"Shut up, Spike!" both girls replied together.
"There! Lynda, why don't you wear eyeliner more often? It really suits you!" said Julie, admiring her handiwork.
"I don't like eyeliner. It looks so cheap," replied Lynda and immediately noticed Julie's lined eyes narrowing. "On me! I meant on me. It suits other people. You just have to have the right look . . ." she trailed off.
"Cheap?" asked Julie, fighting the urge to poke the mascara wand into Lynda's baby blues.
"I think Lynda meant she prefers the more . . . basic approach," quipped Spike. Julie smiled wryly at him.
"Right, just the mouth to do now. Put your lips together, like this, Lynda," Julie demonstrated.
"Don't leave her like that for too long, Julie," begged Spike in mock fear. "The build-up of pressure without the release valve operational could kill us all!"
"Spike! Out!" ordered Julie, trying not to laugh.
"Okay, okay," Spike slipped down from the bench he was perched on. "I gotta go get into my tights anyway. They're pretty snug though and leave nothing to the imagination." He cast a look at Lynda. "I'd much rather get into somebody else's!" With that, he left the dressing room.
"Okay, Lynda. You're finished," said Julie.
"Hic!" replied Lynda. She got up and left the room immediately without even looking in the mirror.
"Oh, you're welcome," said Julie to herself. "Break a leg, Lynda. With any luck, it will be your own!"