My 15 Minutes of Fam

My 15 Minutes of Fame, Not

Part Two

In my last blog, I explained that I was going to be photographed by V-Life magazine along with movie stars and models at 2:00 Thursday.  My wonderful hair-stylist, the only one who knows how to beat my curls into submission, refused to work Thursday mornings.  I pleaded with him, cajoled, made veiled threats.  Finally he agreed as a special favor to me to come in at 10 AM.  That meant two hours in the chair, and two hours, driving home, putting on make-up, and dressing.  I could do that!
He and I both knew I’d have to throw large wads of money at him for his inconvenience, but it was worth it.  Relieved, I went on with my life until Tuesday morning, when I asked my beautiful actress friend, Katherine Garrett, to drop by and help with the shoot.  
“What are you going to wear?”
“They want a casual picture of me at home, so I thought I’d wear a bright Indian blouse.”
“Oh,” she said.  A long silence followed.  “Who’s doing your hair and make-up?”
“I told her about my adventures with my Beverly Hills hair stylist, adding, “I thought I’d do my own make-up.”
“Oh,” she said again.  Another long silence.
“I was a theater major in college.  I learned how to do make-up,” I protested.
“Um huh,” she said.  Disapprobation hung in the air between us.  
“What would you do?”  I asked finally.
“I’d have a make-up person standing by.”
I don’t have panic attacks.  In fact, I never have panic attacks.  For the next two days, I had to remind myself to breathe.  
It’s not enough to get a make-up person.  You have to find a good make-up person.  I called the photographer.  He called a few people.  No one was available.  Kathleen tried.  In the end, I went to a store in Beverly Hills where they make you up at great expense.  An impossibly thin young woman with raccoon eyes and lipstick carefully painted over her lips and halfway to her nose began to work.  She worked on me with a thinly disguised look of disgust, after I told her I wanted my lipstick on or at least near my lip lines.
When she was finished, she handed me a mirror.
You know why you don’t look like those movie stars and models you see in the magazines?  That’s because they don’t look like those movie stars and models either until someone carefully arranges their hair and applies 30 different layers of powder and paint.  
I stared into the mirror.  I looked great.  Well, at least I looked a lot better.  
The photographer came to the house.  He took a lot of shots.  I changed clothes a dozen times.  Then he went away.
After waiting as long as I could, I emailed the editor, “How did the pictures come out?”  
No response.
Last night I got the word.  They didn’t sell enough advertising.  V-Life cancelled the November issue and with it my 15 minutes of fame.