"Phew!" a woman exasperated, taking off the headpiece of an extraordinary costume they'd assembled as part of their latest artistic project, "I think it's ready."
They stepped away from the mirror they were just inspecting the costume in and put the headpiece down on a table, and as they did their mobile phone began to buzz and ring beside it. They didn't recognise the phone number, yet in her capacity as a make-up artist, it paid her to answer it, just in case it was an opportunity rather than a cold caller trying to sell them something. More often than not it was the latter, but you never knew.
She picked up the phone, pressed the green 'answer' icon, brushed her hair out of the way of her ear, and then held the phone up to it. "Hello?" the woman answered.
"Oh, hi," the voice on the phone replied, "Is that Zoe Page?"
"This is Miss Page speaking," she confirmed.
"Hi, Miss Page, I am a representative of Fernando Ángel Castellanos, and I am calling you because Señor Castellanos has expressed an admiration for your talent and would like to hire you to work on his latest project as chief make-up artist."
Miss Page's eyes lit up and her demeanour changed instantly. She was silent, her heart rate having risen rapidly, her throat now feeling suddenly dry, glad that she had opted to answer the call rather than assume it was someone trying to sell her something, and she put the phone to her chest for a few moments while she tried to regain her composure. Despite the caller not trying to sell her anything of sort she expected, she was sold already.
Fernando Ángel Castellanos was a visionary Spanish expressionist and esteemed and eccentric creator whose works were highly regarded in the industry and community, and Miss Page as a huge fan of his work. She had always wanted to work with him, and now, out of nowhere, the opportunity was being presented to her.
Taking the phone away from her heavily beating chest and back to her ear, Miss Page resumed the conversation. "Please," she continued, "Call me Zoe. I would be honoured to work with Señor Castellanos, I am flattered that he admires my work - I likewise am an admirer of his."
"Thank you," the representative replied, "We'd be delighted to have you on board. I shall send over the details of the project, location, and date to your e-mail address listed on your portfolio, along with some formalities for you to complete and return - is that your current e-mail address?"
"Yes," Zoe confirmed, "It is. Thank you, I shall look forward to your e-mail and to working with Señor Castellanos."
"Excellent, we'll send the details over to you shortly - thank you for your time, and we look forward to working with you. Goodbye."
"Thank you, and likewise! Goodbye," Zoe regarded, and then the call disconnected. She slowly put the phone back down on the table, and then her composure abandoned her. "Oh, my God..." she panted, fanning her face with her hand, "Castellanos admires
me
?! I need to sit down..."
"
A pessimist is somebody who complains about the noise when opportunity knocks,
" is a quote attributed to Oscar Wilde, and Miss Page was many things, but a pessimist she was most certainly not, and it appeared as though she was going to reap the rewards of her optimism.
With her hands and almost her entire body trembling, Zoe wisely took a seat on an adjacent chair and took a few moments to regain her composure, and ended up sitting there for a few minutes, silent. Her mind was going haywire, her imagination racing at breakneck speed about not only getting to work with the venerated artist but also about what the project might entail. As luck would have it, she wouldn't have to wait long to find out.
As she stood back up after her mind had slowed back down to a manageable pace, her phone went off again, this time a notification - an
notification. Miss Page glanced down at the illuminated screen, her heart in her mouth, in hope. "No," she thought, "Can't be - it's way too soon for it to be that."
Picking up the device, she swiped the notification to the right and entered her passcode, opening up an e-mail from a name she didn't recognise. Alas, after skimming over the subject and reading the first couple of sentences of the e-mail, it became apparent that it
wasn't
too soon after all. Zoe fell back down onto the stool again, not even looking at it and subconsciously knowing exactly where it was, and began to scour through every word and detail of the e-mail.
It
was
from the representative she spoke to on the phone only minutes ago, and it seemed as though they were as keen as she was. As she read through the e-mail and details given to her, Zoe learned that Señor Castellanos' latest work in progress was an erotic piece about human sexuality. Miss Page was an ambassador of sexual freedom and sexual expression, so working on a project with someone whom she was an admirer of about a subject she was passionate about would be a dream come true. The only problem was, while not a long time in the grand scheme of things, the date listed in the e-mail was
two weeks
away, and, right now, two weeks felt like an aeon.
Still, there was nothing she could do about that other than wait, so wait she did.
***
After the testing fortnight had taken its time to come and go, the day was finally upon the excited
chief
make-up artist. Zoe had packed up her car with her make-up equipment and set off slightly earlier than she likely needed to, wanting to make sure that she wasn't late but likewise not wanting to be too early. Besides, she had her own make-up to apply, hair to style, and clothes to don before she left, wanting to impress Señor Castellanos when she met him. Her outfit itself had been chosen after almost two weeks of careful consideration, opting for one of her favourite and cosiest dresses, one that was eye-catching and leggy enough to hopefully attract a positive response from her idol.
Both the traffic and the weather on this day could not have been more ideal, though perhaps that was to be expected as spring slowly ticked over into summer - but you never knew in England - and the almost overexcited make-up artist arrived at the location about 15 minutes earlier than the time listed in the e-mail she had received and read over time and time again. She parked up, checked her face in the visor mirror one final time, then gathered her belongings and made her way into the studio.
Spotting some crew members gathered around a coffee machine, Zoe walked up to them and introduced herself. "Hello!" she cheered, "I'm Zoe Page, the chief make-up artist."
"Ah, Zoe, you're here," one of them - a production member - greeted her, "You're needed in Tom's trailer."
"Already?" she queried, "Is Señor Castellanos about?". If she could, she wanted to meet one of her heroes and, effectively, her employer before she got to work.
"He is, but he's busy right now - you can see him later," the person replied, "We're running a bit behind, so the sooner make-up can be taken care of the better."
"Oh, okay," she said, keeping a cheery demeanour but feeling somewhat dejected on the inside about being ushered straight into work, but understood that she would get to meet him after the exhibition. Still, she was over the moon to be here, and meeting one of her inspirations would surely just be a matter of time. "Where's his trailer?"
"Just head out of that door there which will take you outside, and it'll be on your left - you can't miss it."
"Thanks," said Zoe, then she made her way toward and out of the door that was pointed out to her in search of Tom's trailer. "Tom?" she thought to herself, it only just now occurring to her that she didn't know who else was taking part in this project as much of the detail had been omitted in the e-mail she was sent, such was the secrecy surrounding it. Other than the general subject of the project, her role, the date, and the location, there wasn't much else to go on. No matter, because if they had also been hired by Señor Castellanos then they must be talented.
Pushing open the door and turning to her left, Zoe indeed didn't miss the trailer, though it was situated a little bit of a walk away from the building, which she assumed was for privacy reasons. So, she waltzed over toward the trailer, and as she got closer she heard the initially faint sound of music get louder with every step she took, and she thought she recognised it.
Reaching the door, Zoe leant her ear against it, and while the music was still muffled, she believed she could make out what it was, and gave raised her eyebrows approvingly. Though she was not here to listen to music, she had a job to do. So, she knocked on the door.
*Knock, knock*
She planted two quick but sufficient knocks on the door, and a couple of seconds later the music came to a stop. Footsteps could then be heard approaching the door, and then it opened.
"Hello," a man in a dressing gown addressed her, "Can I help you?"
