Pretty

Molly pursed her lips, taking stock of the situation. Yes, there’s still plenty of time. Deadlines and the demand to look good acquiesced to no woman. She squared her shoulders determinedly and opened her makeup case. 

First came foundation. Nothing looks good if the skin underneath is blotchy. Molly dabbed a bit of the silken liquid on a sponge, then applied it in a fine layer, blending and smoothing as she went. In no more than a minute and a half, she stopped and reviewed her work with a keen, discerning eye.

That’ll do.

Now for concealer. A few small blemishes, one high on the cheekbone, another on the point of the chin, would be easy enough to hide. It was the black eye that was going to give her trouble.

That was all right. She’d done it before. She’d probably do it again.

Molly pulled two separate concealer creams from her magic case, one heavier than the other, for the heavier problem. Another sponge, another dab, and her deft fingers did their work, gently massaging the tender skin, working the coverage evenly until it was seamless, until nobody but her would ever know exactly where the dark began and where it ended.

Well, nobody but her and Ernest.

Hiding that eye – it was a doozy – took her a good seven minutes. Time to get a move on.

She flipped the sponge over and used a different corner for the lighter, easier art of concealment. A little on the chin, a little more high up on the cheekbone, flirting with the hairline. Molly used a tender touch, her fingertips brushing like butterfly wings over painted skin.

She checked the clock. “Ha!” It had taken her less than a minute. Now to let that set for a bit, then she could really get her groove on.

All the rest depended on each other, the way the sections of an orchestra depended on each other to make the song complete. She considered the dress and shoes for this evening and decided that an understated, yet elegant, palette would be the way to go. It would be a good overall look, refined and ladylike. Besides, it was better not to draw too much attention to that eye.

The dress first, so as not to muss the hair later. A delicate, robin’s egg blue satin number, with a high neck, figure skimming bodice, and long sweeping skirt that fell nearly to the ground in waves of fabric, it felt impossibly soft in her hands. Silver settings held petite rhinestones in place along the shoulders, a detail that tied the silver slingback pumps in quite nicely. It took a little shimmying to get the zipper all the way up, but once it was, the dress fit like a glove. Molly’s hands glided lightly down the length of the bodice, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded to herself in approval.

Nobody would pay any attention to the shoes, not really, but the look would be incomplete without them, like an orchestra without a violin section. Molly really liked the orchestra metaphor. She’d never actually seen one perform live, and the idea of it held such a sophisticated, romantic appeal that it seemed almost like magic.

Even though she knew she would find nothing, she checked the neckline of the dress for smudges of foundation or concealer before moving on. Briskly, she pulled a soft, cool pink blush with an oversized brush from her case, along with a periwinkle eyeshadow and a navy accent powder, ‘Going On Midnight’ mascara, and a barely-there pink lip gloss. She chewed her tongue in thought, then returned the navy accent powder to its proper place, choosing instead a muted silver, the kind without glitter.

Yes, that’ll do. That’ll do nicely if I do say so myself.

Her hand was as steady as a rock as she applied the eye shadow, first the periwinkle, then the silver. Using the side of the applicator, she dabbed the silver right along the lash line before carefully alternating (three times) between wielding the mascara wand and separating clumped eyelashes with a pushpin. The eyebrows were fine, already shaped and just the right shade. A combination of good genes and good grooming, of course.

She puffed out a quick breath and stepped back to take in the full effect. Light, feminine, and elegant. Not overdone in the least. Did the blue bring out the bruising around the eye? She squinted, looked up close, then stepped back again. No, the bruise wasn’t visible.

Good. Because there were only ten minutes left before she was expected.

The blush was easy; a light dusting would be just enough, from apple to temple. The lips, now, those required an extra step. Molly grabbed a mini-vat of petroleum jelly from her supplies and used the tip of her little finger to run the smallest amount over first lower lip, then upper. That would fill in any cracks or divots that would cause discoloration in the gloss. A quick sheen of gloss, and she had a shiny, perfect pout.

Three minutes. Could she do a full hairdo in three minutes?

No, she’d better opt for a half updo. Grabbing her brush and styling pomade, Molly coaxed waves of dark blonde hair up on the left side, as smooth as glass, culminating in soft undulations that cascaded down to the fabric of the dress.

Molly stepped back to take in the entire effect of her efforts. Hair, elegant. Face, lovely. Dress, exquisite. Shoes, perfect.

She took a deep breath and smiled proudly. Was she talented or what?! Happily, she began collecting her tools and replacing them with care in her trusty case.

A knock on the door drew Molly’s attention to the other side of the room. “Come on in, Ernest.”

“Hey, Molly.” Ernest, a tall man with broad shoulders in his mid-50s, strode with his usual upright posture into the room. “You done in here yet?”

“Just finished.” She gestured to the dead woman lying on the table. “What do you think, Mr. Mortician?”

Ernest whistled. “I don't know how you do it, Moll. And just in time for the viewing, too.” He cast an anxious look at the closed door. “Her entire family’s out there.”

She laid a reassuring hand on his forearm. “They’re gonna think she looks real pretty, Ernest, you wait and see.”