Air Kisses Page 14

  Once I got to my desk, I dumped everything on it and started wiping my dress using a tissue dunked into my drinking water. I had my cranky pants on, and ooh-wee did they fit snugly.

  Once settled, drinking what was left of my coffee, I turned my PC on. Immediately my Outlook chirped at me cheerfully about a 10 a.m. presentation with Annick Taylor, an upmarket make-up-artistry brand that felt it entirely appropriate to charge 100-dollars-plus for foundation.

  I swivelled my head with neck-crunching velocity to face the whiteboard. There was nothing written for today except an interview with a make-up artist who had apparently worked with Victoria Beckham. I couldn’t wait to ask which fake tan Posh bathed in daily.

  But there was no Annick Taylor presentation. Nor was there an appointment to hotwire a car, which sat right next to Presenting to a Boardroom Full of People on my scale of expertise.

  I exhaled and dialled Marley.

  ‘Marley, do I have to be at this Annick thing at ten?’

  ‘Of course. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Aside from the fact you know I’ve never done this before, and that I would rather drink my own vomit? No. Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Relaaaax, you’ll only have to speak for five minutes. If that. And you’re only speaking about your job, which I presume you know a little about?’

  ‘Please don’t make me do this.’ Jay was signalling I had to get my arse into the production meeting. ‘Oh, I’ve gotta go. See you at ten.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. And if you’re not we’ll laugh about it later. Kidding.’ Click.

  I put down the phone and turned my attention to Jay, who stood by my desk with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  ‘How’s my little lovebird?’ she said, grinning. ‘Still high on Dancaine? Has he proposed yet? Decided to move here for good?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ I blushed. ‘Oh, Jay, it sucks so bad. He’s leaving this morning…’

  ‘Ohhhh, honey, I’m sorry. God, that came around quick. How about we have dinner tomorrow night, and you can tell me how mind-blowing the sex was, and then we’ll drink your blues away?’

  ‘I think I have a launch, but definitely after?’

  ‘Perfect. There’s new Japanese place I want to try in Barker Street.’ She pirouetted and pranced back to her desk.

  Kate walked past and did the neck-chopping thing to indicate the meeting was off. ‘Karen’s too busy with finals. It’ll be later.’

  Thank God.

  Now I just had to work out how to impress a boardroom full of steely-eyed cosmetic people. It would be worse than a wisdom-tooth extraction, eating raw liver and nibbling my father’s toenails all at once. You had to excel in these situations, to be memorable to the clients, and thus end up scoring the biggest piece of their budget. My hair was being very ‘memorable’. I had lied to myself this morning that my hair wasn’t oily. But now my lie had betrayed me, and, just like an old rock star about to go on 60 Minutes, it wouldn’t be styled. I teased it angrily then shoved it up into a quiff and ponytail. That would have to do.

  I noticed that the coffee mark on my dress had barely shifted despite my scrubbing, and also that my red nail polish was chipped.

  What a picture of good grooming I was.

  I sat down to write some speech cards, and felt a princess tear starting to well. Princess tears are those you know you shouldn’t be shedding, because you’re all grown up and you don’t cry over insignificant, unchangeable or frustrating things any more. But I had a right to be petulant: I hadn’t signed up for public speaking, I’d signed up for sitting at a desk and trying on lip gloss.

  Ten o’clock came. I applied some gloss and walked to the Beckert boardroom. My gut was swarming with agitated moths. Butterflies could never be so wicked.

  ‘Hi, Hannah from Gloss. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Hi, Hannah from Gloss. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Hi, Hannah from Gloss. Nice to meet you.’

  Small talk before presentations? That I could do. Weather, outfits, striking accessories, upcoming holidays; I knew the score and sang it well.

  As we sat down – the Annick people in their suits and sensible flats, and us in our trendy dresses and heels – I noticed a sheet of paper highlighting the running order of the day. This served as a tender reminder that there were twelve other beauty editors from Beckert who were way, way better at talking in front of a live audience than me, and that I was pretty much going to choke.

  I wondered how Fiona went in these things. And Yasmin – could Yasmin really not swear for a whole fifteen minutes?

  ‘…And now it’s over to our wonderful beauty editor, Hannah, who’ll fill you in on what Gloss’s beauty pages are all about. Hannah?’

  Oh shit. My mouth was so dry. My hands were shaking. Shit, shit, shit. I smiled and looked around the table.

  ‘Um, thanks, Marley. Hi everyone. I’m Hannah.’ Insert lame wave. Cue polite chuckles.

  ‘Um, well, as you know, Gloss has over fifteen pages of beauty every month, and they’re just loaded with great products, because the Gloss reader only wants to know about great products. She can’t get enough of beauty. It’s like her daily hit of caffeine. And she loves Annick Taylor – that’s exactly the kind of product she wants to read about. And see, you know, because they’re such lovely products, and they shoot so well, and, you know…’

  A lady with brown hair pulled back tight and frameless glasses suddenly interrupted. Her voice was faux-friendly and her smile stopped at her mouth.

  ‘Hannah, we had our team do a quick tally before we came over here today, and it seems that we aren’t getting nearly as much editorial as Blush or Carmen Jo cosmetics.’

  Oh. My. God.

  ‘Is there any reason why? I mean, is there anything more we can do to help you, Hannah?’

  There was no correct answer. In fact, there was no answer at all as far as I was concerned. I looked to Marley for help. She opened her eyes wide, as if to say, Go on, tell her, but do it in a way that will not jeopardise my ad spend.

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘Um, well, there’s no, you know, reason. I mean, it’s probably just that those, uh, those particular stories, um, lent themselves, product-wise, to, um…’

  ‘What Hannah is trying to say,’ swooped in Marley, ‘is that it’s a very noisy market out there, and it’s hard to please everyone, but Hannah does her best, and as long as she’s kept abreast of all your launches… Hannah, is that ever a problem, is the PR always on top of everything?’

  Ooh, she was good. Flipping it back onto them.

  ‘She’s great – oh, except last month I didn’t actually receive your 24-hour Fresh Foundation until I had already shot my stills, but I understand that was an international issue…’

  ‘Is that so? We weren’t aware of that.’ Glasses wrote something down.

  Great. Now I’d got the poor PR fired. Jesus.

  Time to grovel.

  ‘Did you catch your bronzer in the current make-up feature?’

  I pushed the magazine open to a page featuring their SunKiss bronzer. Thank God I’d featured it. Glasses perused the page then turned it. Tough crowd.

  ‘Mm, it came up really well, looks great, such a fine texture, really nice stuff, staff are raving about it, It’s just lovely…’ I waffled on with what I hoped passed as conviction.

  ‘Going forward, Hannah is going to be doing some amazing things in the next issue. In fact, there’s an eye-make-up master class that you guys will simply love…’

  As Marley tried to smooth the whole situation over, I attempted to relax. That had been full on. There was no way I could’ve prepared for that. Glasses was basically questioning my editorial right to choose the products I wanted to feature.

  Suddenly, Marley threw back to me so I could continue my spiel. My mind was blank. I had completely forgotten what I did for a job.

  ‘Hannah, why don’t you tell us all about your role in relation to the reader?’

  Jesus,
now Marley was feeding me my lines.

  ‘I guess you could say I’m a kind of big sister to the reader. Or her best friend. But, like, a best friend with the most awesome cabinet full of cosmetics you’ve ever seen. And so I talk her through what’s the best, and why she should buy it. And she listens to me, because I am trying and testing everything there is, so obviously I know what’s worth buying. And also because I speak to her as you speak to your friends. Without all the flowery waffle you see in other beauty pages.’

  Oh, dissing the opposition. Nice one.

  ‘And, like the reader, I still get excited about beauty products, and want to be completely in the know about what’s hot. Because that’s her social currency. Knowing what’s hot. Just like me. I guess you could just say I’m obsessed with booty! I mean beauty. Beauty. I’m obsessed with beauty.’

  It was an out-of-body experience. I felt like a stand-up comedian after his jokes had fallen flat, that at any moment someone would start heckling about how I should go back to funny school. I hoped this presentational train wreck would at least mean I would never be asked to speak again.

  ‘And, uh, what do you have coming up for next issue’s beauty pages, Hannah?’ Marley was now glaring at me.

  ‘Well, as we’re going into the colder months there’ll be a big focus on skin, but also on hair and make-up, too. Because we’ve realised that when it’s colder, girls are willing to experiment more with make-up. Maybe it’s because they’re all covered up and all that’s left to project their image is their face.’

  Now I was just making shit up.

  The MD was checking his BlackBerry. The Women’s Titles Advertising Director, Pauline Erica, who I’d thus far avoided meeting, was wearing an expression that was both terrifying and terrified.

  She perversely kept nodding, I could only assume in agreement with how fired my arse was.

  I have no idea. I have no idea. I have no idea. Despite what was coming out of my mouth, this was what I was saying: I have an absolute dearth of knowledge. Spend with another magazine, because at this rate I am more likely to be feeding pigeons in a park than writing intelligently about your products.

  Marley finally realised that I was going to be as helpful as a poisonous jellyfish, and moved on to talk about tailored sponsorship opportunities. I fixed my hair and twiddled my thumbs and tried not to think about the appalling show I had just put on.

  ‘Thanks so much for your time, and, please, enjoy your Gloss hampers. Especially the pink-lemonade cupcakes – they were baked fresh today.’

  I could not get out of there fast enough. A few nods and lovely-to-meet-yous and I pulled a sports guy that I knew Marley would go off her nut over later. Right now, I didn’t care. I went back to my desk, sat down, and told myself to take a few deep breaths to cleanse that awful memory from my mind forever.

  A text message chimed. I hoped it was Dan saying that he’d decided not to go, and that we should probably head to Mexico together forever. It wasn’t. I read Iz’s text, deflated.

  Dec n I cooking dinner 2nt, come round? Food on @ 7.

  Dec was back? Dec was back!

  Dan’s plane would be in the air by then, so at least I wouldn’t be torturing myself wondering if he’d text. I’d just be rereading the ones he’d already sent.

  A two-week honeymoon with a total stranger

  The rule of black-tie hair: if your dress is super-glamorous, go for a loose, gentle hairstyle (try some hot rollers). If your dress is low-key, balance it with a chic up-do (try a slick low bun). And please, no glitter.

  When I arrived at Iz’s at ten past seven I was dangerously dependent on fun people to lift my mood, and was trying desperately not to feel nervous about seeing Dec for the first time since we’d kissed. The table wasn’t set, the food was still in grocery bags, and Dec and Iz were drinking beers on the balcony. This was far from ideal. I was ravenous – ready to eat my own appendages – and a scene indicating I was hours away from being fed was not what I wanted to find. I tried not to be snarly.

  ‘I see dinner is about to be served?’ I said as I opened the sliding door to the balcony. Mission not to be snarly had failed, then.

  ‘Oh shit, Han’s in a food mood. Quick, Dec, offer your arm.’

  ‘Hi Han.’ He smiled and my heart melted a little bit. He was a rude shade of health. His skin was tanned, his teeth freakishly white, his hair had grown a little and he had a freshly shaven face: he looked fragrance-advertisement incredible. There was a warmth in his eyes that I’d missed the last time I’d seen him. Maybe he was in love again? Or back with Pia?

  He took me inside. ‘You look amazing, Hannah. You been on holiday?’

  I blushed and adjusted my hair. ‘Um, nope. But thank you. So, Dec, what brings you back to these parts?’

  ‘I’ve taken on a pretty huge telco client over here. They’re about to do a stream of massive teen-consumer events, which means I’ll be back and forth for a while, annoying my dear sister and crashing in her spare room to sleep among all of her derelict saucepans… Are you sure you’re not on a detox or something? You’re glowing.’

  I blushed again and shook my head.

  ‘Dec, cut it out, you’re killing her. Now, Han, a beer? Some wine?’

  Grateful for the distraction, I turned my attention to Iz. ‘I’m cool for now, actually. Starving, though – can I steal some crackers or something? I’ll find them—’

  ‘I’ll get you some, you stay here.’

  Ah, Dec, ever the gentleman. I watched after him as he walked out of the room.

  I wondered if Dec would’ve mentioned the kiss to Iz. I doubted it, but they were exceptionally close.

  ‘Decka, can you please get on to that linguine you’ve been bragging about all day?’ Iz yelled. ‘Oh shit, what a pig! I didn’t even ask: did you get to say bye to Dan in the end?’

  ‘Who’s Dan?’ Dec asked as he came back in.

  Whoa. Dec didn’t miss a beat.

  ‘Just a friend. I mean, this guy I—’

  ‘Han just had an amazing two-week honeymoon with a total stranger. Best sex she’s ever had. Isn’t that right, Han?’

  Okay, Dec definitely hadn’t told Iz about us.

  ‘IZ! Shut up! It wasn’t like that! Dec, your sister is being inappropriate.’

  ‘Oh, right, sorry: you and Dan played scrabble the whole time. Ha! Don’t play nun with me, baby – you was gettin’ it onnn.’

  I wanted to maim her. Dec was looking at me with an unreadable expression. I decided to be mature and abort the situation entirely.

  ‘Iz, you’re a twit. Dec, excuse me while I go to the bathroom.’

  I walked through the screen door into the kitchen, and Iz followed me.

  ‘Iz, I don’t want Dec to think about me doing those things!’

  ‘Why not? As if he doesn’t know you’re doing them!’

  ‘I just, it’s just that, well, he’s like a brother to me.’

  ‘Oh, really? That why you still blush around him? After all these years? Do you honestly think I can’t tell when you have a crush? Hannah. Please. Giz the Iz some credit.’

  Right on cue, I blushed.

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘You’re so obvious. Honestly…’

  ‘Iz! Shut up!’ My voice had an edge to it. She knew better than to keep going. Sadly, she also knew that when I snapped about silly things there was usually some truth behind them. Whatever. I had always been awkward around Dec; why was she making a big deal out of it now? I was relieved I’d never told her about Dec; the way she was carrying on now was already too much to handle.

  I wondered if Dec had thought of me at all since our drunken bathroom kiss. I decided that he might have for a few intoxicated moments, but then he would have forgotten about it pretty much straightaway. We had been drunk, and even though he’d definitely made the first move, it was nothing I should think too much about. And anyway, I had fresh, delicious memories of Dan to be focusing on. An electric flutter floated through my body
at the memory of our final session together that morning.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll stop.’ Iz put her hands up in surrender.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll go to the loo then help you set up the table.’

  It wasn’t until I was in the hallway that I heard her say, ‘And I’ll have a little fish to see if Dec was all tortured about the idea of you and Dan just now.’

  A stab of irrational rage pierced me: why would she do that? I could kill her! Dec wouldn’t care, and even if he did care, so what? Dan was a completely different species; you couldn’t even compare the two! Dec was the handsome, sensible, settle-down, see-you-at-the-altar type, whereas Dan was the fun, sexy, wild, spontaneous, let’s-do-it-on-the-lounge-room-rug kind of guy that your friends were privately envious of and your family openly feared.

  And right now, that suited me perfectly.

  Pumpkin-head and Schnooky

  Bad frizz and no product? Grab some hand cream, rub between your fingers and smooth down your crazy hair with it. Don’t even have hand cream? Face cream? No? Use some goo from your little pot of lip balm. Don’t have THAT? You almost deserve your frizz.

  Next to obscenely famous people and general practitioners, I was convinced beauty editors were the busiest people on Earth.

  Being a beauty writer himself, Gabe knew this, and yet he still gave me grief about it. He said I was a goody-goody, a beauty suck who did everything she was told and went to everything she was invited to, even when it was after hours.

  But I was still enjoying all of my outings. Especially if an international make-up artist or hairdresser was in town and I scored freebies. That was tops. I’d recently, to my regular hairdresser Johnson’s disgust, had my hair cut into a beautiful layered dream by the man who cut Scarlett Johansson’s hair (Winner, Best Haircut of My Life). His assistant’s blow-dry, however? Not so hot. It was way too high on top and flicky at the ends. I looked forty-five at least, and, at the function that followed, Yasmin kept saying, ‘And now to Hannah with the weather.’