The Best Foundation Starts with a Brush
Here′s a tip I learned from a makeup artist: The best way to put on makeup foundation is with a brush, not a sponge or-worst of all-your fingers. And you should make sure to use a well-tapered, synthetic brush. Natural brushes absorb too much foundation and skin oil and can lead to an uneven result.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
″Come with me to zee casbah tonight, Kate. I have a sultan′s son I want you to meet. He has a magic flying carpet.″
″Evelyn, the last thing I want to do right now is meet someone new. I haven′t even officially broken up with Jonathan yet. I haven′t talked to him since I caught him in bed with Gi. Besides, I just made a fresh batch of sour cream onion dip.″
I was sprawled out on the couch in my living room, covered in sour cream potato chip crumbs, holding my cell phone to my ear. Elfie was perched in her favorite spot-atop my chest, purring, with her paws tucked underneath her.
Evelyn and I had just finished doing a sobby postmortem of all the recent developments of the week, including Jana′s murder. Now she had pulled out a bad Greta Garbo accent in an effort to lure me out of the comfy cocoon of my apartment on a Saturday night.
Over the phone, I heard Evelyn sigh. ″Okay, so maybe the sultan′s son I have in mind has a vintage Camaro, not a carpet,″ she said. ″But that doesn′t mean you should sit around the house on a Saturday night moping. Or eating.″
That little dig made me regret having confessed my plunge into the chip dip.
As I covered the phone to muffle the sound of my crunching down on another chip, Evelyn continued, ″Seriously, Kate-the ZuZubees are playing at the Metrodale tonight. I know the lead guitarist in the band really well. He′s dying to meet you.″
″I′ll bet.″
″Well, maybe I haven′t exactly mentioned you to him yet. But still, he′ll be thrilled to meet you once we′re there. So please come to the club tonight with Kyle and me.″
″Kyle? Who′s he? What happened to Liam?″
″Oh, Liam had major baggage,″ she said, dismissing the discarded Liam with a sniff. ″He couldn′t stop complaining about his ex-wife. He called her his ex-hole; can you believe that? How boorish. So I ended the evening early. I didn′t even let him see my new boobs.″
″Serves him right.″
Although I appreciated my friend′s offer of companionship, I dreaded the idea of becoming a third wheel in a new love formation between Evelyn and some guy. And no way did I want to be introduced to a lead guitarist who undoubtedly preferred his groupies googly-eyed and tramp stamped.
″Thanks, Evelyn,″ I said. ″But I think I just want to isolate tonight.″
″Watch out for that urge to be alone,″ she warned. ″You could slide into a depression.″
″I′m fine. Don′t worry.″
″No, you′re not. Anyone can have a few down days, Kate, but you′ve been stuck in this rut for a while. I′m no doctor, but I think you′re clinically depressed. I think you should go see someone.″
″I′m not-″
″No, really. I′ve known you a long time, and I′m worried about you. You′re eating your red-light foods again, you′re not going to the gym with me, and you never want to go out anymore. Those are the signs.″
When I started to protest that I didn′t have any signs, she cut me off. ″Yes, you do. You′re almost turning into a hermit,″ she said. ″You used to love going out clubbing with me.″
″We′ll go clubbing in the spring, okay? I really just feel like hibernating tonight.″
″Hibernating?″ Evelyn′s tone was skeptical. ″That′s only for bears. When you′re with a guy, it′s called ′cocooning.′ But when you′re by yourself, you have a tendency to put on back fat.″
″I′ll go to yoga with you next week, okay?″
After we said good-bye and clicked off, I detached Elfie from my chest and gently set her down on the floor. Then I heaved myself to my feet and made my way to the kitchen. A wave of fatigue washed over me, and I felt as if I could barely stay upright. Maybe it was sugar withdrawal. Or maybe Evelyn was right-maybe I was depressed. All I′d had to eat today were refined carbohydrates-the really evil ones that had nothing in them except major injections of high-fructose corn syrup; someone had once told me that that was what they gave to people in cults to get them to break down mentally. It was time to check out the kitchen for something green and healthy.
I was reaching into my refrigerator when Elfie froze. She scrambled for the bedroom. Before I could figure out what had startled her, I heard a light tapping at the door.
I opened the door and felt a cool rush of air. An angular, familiar silhouette was framed in the camphor-colored light of the shallow front landing.
It was Jonathan.