The heat inside her intensified. “Okay.” She grabbed hold of Charity’s shoulders and studied her face, hyperaware of how long she inspected each feature. “What color are you wearing tonight?”
“Blue. Suit.”
“Then let’s do a winged eye.”
“Will that look okay on me?” Charity ran her finger along her hooded eye. “It won’t get all smudged?”
“Nah. You have to make it tight and curve it a little more. Close your eyes.” Charity closed her eyes, and Linda leaned into the canvas. Charity’s skin was smooth and pale. Linda picked up Charity’s hand by the wrist and studied the veins. As she traced her finger along a deep blue one, it pulsed under her touch.
“What are you doing?” Charity whispered.
“You have cool undertones,” Linda said. “I have the shade of eyeshadow for you.”
Linda opened her berry palette and grabbed a new brush, swiping it through the color. She added dark at the outer edge, light at the inner edge, with a brief shadow of rose. Then she took a black liner that matched Charity’s hair and ran it a couple of times along her eyebrows. She uncapped the liquid liner and held it at the edge of Charity’s eyes.
“Stay very still,” she said even as her own hands trembled.
As she worked to give Charity her wings, she felt Charity’s hot breath along the edge of her hand. Linda had missed out on middle school makeup sessions, on the giggling overnights her sister never invited her to. There had been no time for them by the time Linda was old enough, her mother too frail, her father already gone. Linda had spied on her sister and her friends, how they snuck to the liquor cabinet and took tiny sips of vodka, then rolled around on the floor, leaving lipstick stains on the carpet. Their father scolded them when he woke from his permanent place on their couch. One time, Linda’s sister and her friends held a cut-out of a jack-o-lantern over his face and took photographs of him with his tongue lolling out. The whole house reverberated with his snoring. Once, Linda snuck in for a sip of her father’s liquor, but the taste hurt her throat, and for the whole next day, she smelled it rising from inside her.
Charity’s breath smelled like coffee and chocolate.
“All done.” Linda finished the points of the wings.
Charity opened her eyes and peered into the mirror. “Wow.” She ran a hand along her lips. “What about lipstick?”
“Right.” Linda grabbed a deep pink, her favorite color. She would have to go with red on her own lips tonight, but it was worth it for the hint of smile on Charity’s face. She uncapped the lipstick and ran it along Charity’s mouth. When she finished, she wiped at an uneven line, slowly, letting her finger pull Charity’s lip, revealing the smallest hint of the deep pink insides of her mouth.
On the toilet seat, Sabrina blew her nose. “Hate to interrupt,” she said, and when she stood, she stood tall, resolve hardening her features. “You’re hogging the mirror.”
Sheepishly, Linda stepped back from Charity, and Linda noted from the corner of her eye the movement reflected, a loss as the two women separated, their shadows uncrossing from one another. She imagined them moving toward one another instead. Her chest blazed between the ribs, like the kiss of fire on an icy day. Then, she turned and left the bathroom to dress for the evening ahead.
• • •
Deja waited on the other side, her shoulders stiff as she tapped her foot. She waved a hand at Charity’s face and shook her head.
“Nope,” she said. “Take that shit off.”
“I just put it on…” Charity said.
“Doesn’t matter.” Deja held up a clipboard like it explained something integral about the situation. “Marion isn’t feeling well, so we can’t do the elimination until later. We’re going to do some reshoots instead, ladies, so get out your old clothes and your old looks.” She mimed scrubbing her face. “That means no makeup for you, tomboy.”
Charity rolled her eyes, but Deja ignored it.
“I need all three of you downstairs to reshoot the first-night dinner scene. Crew didn’t get a single shot of any of y’all freaking out on the floor under the table.” She shook her head. “And I want it. I want it badly.”
No one moved.
“Go! I don’t care how smelly your dirty dresses are. Pull them out, iron them out, and get down to your fake dinner. Now, ladies!”
Linda’s heart picked up speed, and together, the remaining contestants rushed off to their separate rooms, scurrying like frightened rats.
• • •
Becca waited for Linda in the dining room, where Linda was supposed to crawl under the table and look terrified. Becca gnawed at her bubble gum as she pointed to the spot where Linda should sprawl.
“Right there,” she confirmed, snapping, as Linda crawled under. “We don’t have all day here.” Then Becca knelt and aimed the camera at Linda. “Fix your lapel mic. Your levels are low.”
As Linda fiddled with her lapel, Becca blew a bubble and let it pop over her mouth. “Any day now!” she finally let out as she picked at the skin of bubblegum on her lips.
Linda paused. “What is wrong with you?”
“Listen, we’re in a fucking haunted-house horror, and everyone knows the slutty ones and the Black ones and the gay ones die first.” Becca made a circular motion with her hand, like the movement of a clock. “Let’s get this finished already.”
“I have so many questions,” Linda said, but a brief reminder of the flexing floor that first night whispered through her. “First, you believe in the haunted thing?”
Becca shrugged. “I’m not the only one who keeps hearing the walls cry.”
Linda lay on the ground like she had that first night, positioning herself to face Becca and the camera. “You did, too?” She fiddled with an old green bean under the table.
“Now, look freaked,” Becca said.
Linda didn’t have to try too hard. Becca was one of the producers, the Oz behind the curtain. If she was scared, then there was something to be scared of. She widened her eyes and tried to call up every noise-with-no-cause she’d heard over the past few days. As her hands shook, she forced the tremor to move through her until her whole body vibrated. Becca ordered her to make a few adjustments as she shot, then leaned back. “You’re all great at this lying shit, you know. A bunch of actors.”
“I’m not an actor.” Linda scowled. These shows always hired an actor or two, in case the real-life contestants were duds for drama, but Linda never imagined someone might accuse her of being hired. Then again, Becca had to know who the real actors had been. It wouldn’t have made sense for Deja to keep her in the dark. But a lot of things about Deja didn’t make sense.
“We’re done here,” Becca said.
“Wait.” Linda crawled out from beneath the table. “Are you the slutty one or the gay one?”
