Unwanted Stars (15 page)

"Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes. "Are you in or out?"

"How about this," he said, placing his hands on my hips. "I'll run to my office and get a few things done."

"The office? You don't even have patients today."

"I know, but as you probably know, I haven't spent as much time as I usually do in the office this week. I've been, well, I've been a little distracted."

"Point taken. Okay, fine."

"I'll meet you back at your place, say around three this afternoon?"

I glanced at my watch. That was plenty of time for me to do some serious damage. And maybe even get a makeover.

"All right," I said with a fake pout.

"I love it when you pretend to be upset with me. It's almost as fun as when you're actually angry."

"Whatever,
doctor
."

"Auden," he warned me with a growl, nuzzling my neck.

"Oops, sorry. Not supposed to say that to you at, um, inopportune moments. Are you sure you don't want to stick around? Maybe we could get frisky in a fitting room..."

"Tempting," he whispered, "but no, I should get some things done. I'll see you at three."

"See you then."

A quick peck on the lips and we went our separate ways. Just a few blocks and I'd be surrounded by retail heaven. I'd dreamed of returning to Harrods since I was a teenager.

Visiting my nan and granddad was one of my favorite things to do as a child. We usually went every year and stayed for several weeks in the summertime. I remembered one particular visit that stayed with me for years to come.

I was twelve years old and had spent two weeks with my family cooped up in my nan and Granddad's house as storms raged repeatedly that summer. Maya was driving me crazy, so in turn, I decided to take my frustration out on my adolescent brother. He was threatening to kick my ass right at the moment that Nan invited me to go shopping with her.

I always loved shopping with Nan. She's not the warmest woman in the world. She doesn’t knit or bake or do any of typical Grandmother things.

She’s what they used to call a “fashion plate.” Granddad teases her about it all the time. When they first met, she was a snotty model living in the city. Granddad swept her off her feet and convinced her to eventually move with him to Beaconsfield, where they lived a quiet life. No more swanky parties or art gallery shows. Nan traded walking down the runway for walking my mother down the street in her classic pram. I knew because she showed me pictures. Every. Single. Visit.

Nan loved to regale me with stories of her youth spent as a beautiful British socialite, mostly because I was the only one in the family who was fascinated by said stories. My mother is and always was very pretty, but Nan was different. She was elegant and sophisticated, and was just as beautiful in her fifties as she was in her twenties. It was amazing. Because of this, I'd sit happily and listen to her coo about her good old days spent sipping champagne and bouncing from bar to bar, never paying for drinks. My mother would just shake her head and leave the room, but I was fascinated and hung on her every word, imagining such a life of extravagance.

And so, when Nan asked me to shop with her, I was smart. I knew she'd want me to have what she considered to be “the best.” Trying to get Charlotte Kelly to purchase name brand labels for me was next to impossible. Thrifty and smart, my mother preferred Target to Macy's. Walmart to Neiman Marcus. She and my father were humble beings and didn't believe in designer anything.

But Nan did. And so did I.

So, that day, after Nan bought me my very first pair of Doc Martens (real ones, not the Target knock-offs that my mother had purchased for years), her face made an expression I hadn't yet seen. Excitement? Curiosity? It wasn't often that Nan was either of those things.

"I think you're old enough. Yes indeed, I believe you are."

"For what, Nan?" I was confused. Old enough? I wasn't old enough to drink and I was already wearing a bra. What on earth was she talking about?

"Makeup. The good stuff."

Excitement rippled through my twelve-year-old body. My mother had told me I needed to wait until I was a teenager, but knowing my birthday was coming up in a few short months, I knew she'd submit to Nan's desire to buy me name brand makeup.

We walked to the beauty counter where a gorgeous woman with flawless skin was wearing a white lab coat. She reminded me of a doctor or a nurse, only instead of wearing a surgical mask or stethoscope, she had shiny pearls around her neck and a shade of deep plum on her thick lips.

"My granddaughter needs makeup," Nan said.

"Excellent," the lady replied. "My name is Imogen and I can help you with that.”

"What are the youngsters wearing these days?"

"It's all about Clinique, ma'am. Which I happen to sell."

"Oh, yes!" I said, my face lighting up like a Christmas tree in winter. Maya had a few friends whose moms encouraged them to wear Clinique, and sometimes they'd give Maya the shades they didn't like. Mom refused to pay for it, and so Maya could only afford it every so often when she saved up for a long time. She was going to be so jealous that she didn't come with us. Oh well, her loss. If she was smart, she would've taken Nan's offer. Now, I was going to own more expensive makeup than my college co-ed sister. Awesome. I couldn't wait!

"Might I suggest a makeover?" Imogen asked, hands on her tiny hips.

Nan gave her a dismissive wave as she nodded her perfectly primped head. I jumped up and down in sheer joy. My first real makeover! I couldn't wait to tell Hadley!

For thirty minutes, I sat as still as I could as Imogen applied foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow and a beautiful shade of pink lipstick to my face.

"Are you ready, then?" she asked, looking me in the eye. The excitement on her face told me I looked even better than I could've imagined. I nodded eagerly and she turned my chair so I was facing the mirror perched atop the counter. Nan looked up from her magazine. A satisfied smile crossed her lips.

"Auden, darling..."

"I look—"

"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

"Thanks, Nan," I said, turning my head to the left and right, inspecting the transformation of my face. My skin looked like porcelain. The pink shade of lipstick brought out the gorgeous taupe of the eyeshadow on my lids. She'd darkened my eyebrows ever so slightly and embellished my lashes with mascara. I looked and felt like a princess. I smiled at my nan with everything I had in me. She'd never called me beautiful before. Pretty, sure. But beautiful? Nope, not once.

"Right," Nan said, running her fingers through my long curls. "We'll take the lot."

I jumped out of the chair, shocked that Nan would spoil me rotten with every bit of makeup Imogen had put on my face.

"Really, Nan? I can't believe it!" I said, jumping up and down, grabbing her hands in mine.

"Use it well. And I'll replace it each year when you visit, but you must take good care of it. All of it. Don't take it for granted."

"I promise. I'll take such good care of it. Thank you, Nan," I said, practically tackling her in the store. Imogen smiled and removed fresh boxes of Clinique from her cabinet. The beautiful floral packages were packed into a crisp white bag simply marked "Clinique."

I loved that makeup. I lived in that makeup. And I was always grateful for that day with my nan. The day she made me feel like a princess. A princess who deserved the very best.

I hadn't visited that beauty counter in a few years and was eager to restock my makeup. I wasn't completely loyal to Clinique these days as the edginess of MAC had lured me over for a few different items. I was eager to try some new things though. Being with Campbell was bringing out something in me...something I didn't recognize entirely, but was excited about just the same. I wanted to please him. And believe me when I say this was a new emotion.

Pleasing people was not my forte. That was Hadley, not me. If people didn't like what I brought to the table, to hell with them. But, with Campbell, I was different. Of course, I was still myself. I didn't hold back on my personality or anything like that, but I felt myself morphing slightly into someone who cared just a little bit more about the other person's needs than my own. And this was new. Foreign, really. But I liked it. A lot.

Lost in thoughts of Campbell, I drifted around the beauty counter, glancing at all of the beautiful containers of makeup, wondering what he would like to see on my face. Estee Lauder, Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana...

"May I help you?" a strikingly beautiful woman asked from behind the counter. Her skin was flawless, her eyes were expressive, and her cheekbones were perfection. Her hair was pinned back into a high bun. Ruby lips smiled to greet me. Her name tag read "Tabitha" and I guessed she was probably in her early forties. She reminded me of Imogen, elegant and sophisticated in her white lab coat.

"Yes, hi. I'm desperately in need of some new makeup."

"Ahh, an American," she said in her thick accent. She wasn't from this area originally. She didn't have the polished British accent you see in the movies. Hers was a little more difficult to understand, almost like the Beatles. I wondered if she was from Liverpool.

"Yes, Chicago," I said, realizing I had no reason to be an accent snob, considering she could probably throw several insults at mine.

"Ahh, land of gangsters. Al Capone and all that," she said. This wasn't the first time Al Capone had been referenced when I revealed where I was from while in Europe. What was their fascination with the gangster of the 1920s?

"That was way before my time, but yes."

"So, Miss Capone," she winked, "what can I help you with?"

I liked her already. Her sense of humor, her wit. She was someone I could get along with.

"I desperately need to restock my makeup. I'm a tour guide for Jordan Tours and—"

"Don't say another word. I've got it. You want to look international," she said with another wink. "C'mon then, have a seat. I'll take care of you, love."

"Thanks. I usually wear Clinique, but I'm open to other brands."

She inspected my skin, placing her cool fingers on my face, tilting my head from side to side.

"Your skin is gorgeous. Clinique is a good choice. What's your price range?"

"Um, well, my job isn't exactly glamorous."

"Right. We'll stick with what we know, then. Tell me what you normally wear and I'll either agree or disagree with your choices. We've got bags of colors and shades. Lots to choose from."

For the next several minutes, I described my beauty regimen to Tabitha, and she nodded along as I pointed them all out.

"Alright, totty," she began. "Let's mix things up a bit, shall we?"

"Sounds good. What'd you have in mind?" My teeth bit into my lip with just the slightest hesitation.

"Here's how I see it. You'll be traveling all over the place and you want to look like you fit in just about anywhere. Right now you look American. Sorry, love, but you do."

"I'm not embarrassed to be an American," I shot back.

"Of course not, but you need to look the part. Let's spice up the color, make you a little less all-American girl."

"I trust you," I said.

She leaned in and caught my eyes with her own. "You're a beauty, you really are."

"Oh, thanks." My cheeks turned scarlet. There was something about her eyes, the intensity of her gaze. She intimidated me and I wasn’t easily intimidated.

My mouth remained shut through my makeover. Tabitha regaled me with retail-from-hell stories. I laughed occasionally and nodded my head as I listened, but I was hesitant to say anything else. I liked her, but I didn't. It was the strangest feeling. In some ways, she reminded me of Nan. Intimidating, intense, and beautiful with an incredibly sharp tongue.

"Here we are then," she said, turning my chair just as Imogen did years before. "Not too dolled up, but I think you look gorgeous."

"Wow," I said, looking at myself in the mirror, just as impressed as I was when I was twelve. Tabitha had given me rich ruby lips, a bronze-ish looking blush across my cheekbones, and thick eyeliner was painted across my lids, ending just a bit past my eyes. I looked stunning.

"Totty, it's been a pleasure. Did you want to purchase anything today?"

Thinking back to my nan and our experience here and how utterly blown away I was by the look of myself in the mirror, I echoed her words from over ten years prior.

"I'll take the lot."

Tabitha laughed in appreciation. "I like that. Trying to fit in around here isn't a bad thing. The Brits on your tours will surely appreciate it. Especially the totties. The fellers will like you no matter what. I mean, look at ya."

"Thanks," I said, blushing again. I was really starting to like this woman. Couldn't hurt to have a couple of local friends to hang out with when I was in between tours. When I could separate myself from Campbell, that is.

"How will you be paying today?"

"Oh right, here's my credit card," I said, reaching into my wallet and handing her my Visa.

"Great," she said with a smile. She started to ring up the sale, scanning items, and then her expression hardened as she studied my card. Suddenly self conscious, I couldn't handle the thought of my card being overextended.

"Is um, is everything okay? My card wasn't declined or anything, was it?"

"No, it's your name. It's pretty."

"Oh, thanks," I said with a shrug. "I like it most of the time."

"You don't hear it often, do ya?"

"True, it's unique."

Her cheeks were pale as she clutched my card in her hand. Again, I worried that at any second, she'd be calling security. Maybe there was some famous shoplifter or identity thief with the name Auden that was running rampant in London.