Faces of Fear (11 page)

But how long was her makeup going to take? And what on earth was Scott doing to her? With every new pencil, brush, or pot of color he used, her fears increased. All she ever used was maybe a stroke of blush on her cheeks and a little lip gloss, and even that only occasionally—most of the time she didn't bother with anything at all. But Scott had started at least an hour ago with all kinds of things she sort of knew about but had never tried before.

Exfoliating, moisturizing, applying a foundation…

And even though he'd kept up a running commentary about what he was doing, all she could think was that she would end up looking like some kind of gargoyle.

And for her mother's wedding, for God's sake!

As if reading her mind, her father, who was lounging in a chair watching Scott work, winked at her. "Stop worrying about what he's doing and just be glad you don't have to pay him. Last time he worked on Sandra Bullock, he got five hundred an hour, plus expenses."

"Which were at least twice my fees," Scott said through the handle of the brush he was clenching between his teeth.

Alison tried to focus her eyes on him and failed. "Really?"

"Actually, she was easy," Scott went on, taking the brush out of his mouth and eyeing her carefully. "You'd be surprised how many hours I've spent right here in this suite, turning some very strange-looking women into the beauties you see in the magazines." He stood back to gauge the overall effect of his work. "I even worked on Clint Eastwood."

"
He
wears makeup?" Alison gasped.

"For a movie!" Scott retorted. "All that blood and all those scars and wounds don't come naturally, you know. And just in case you're still worrying, I'm doing my best not to put any scars on you."

"Relax, honey," Michael said. "Scott's been doing this for a lot of years."

"More years than I'll admit in public," Scott said. "Now close your eyes."

Alison took a deep breath, praying she wouldn't look like she was wearing stage makeup. "Just…just don't overdo it," she said as he touched her eyelashes with the brush.

"Overdo it?" Scott said, standing back to appraise her one last time. "This is Hollywood, honey. Nobody holds back on anything." He rummaged through the suitcase that served as his makeup kit and came up with an eyebrow pencil. "Besides, my job is to make people look how they want to look, and I always know what they want a lot better than they do. More to the point, I also know how to do it so it doesn't look like anyone's wearing anything at all." He sharpened the pencil and stroked it lightly across her eyebrows. "You need to have your brows arched, Alison. Not much—just a little. I'll do it another time. We can't have pluck marks today."

"I like my eyebrows," she protested.

"Everybody likes caterpillars," Scott said, "but they like butterflies better. And wait until you meet the kids at Wilson Academy. You'll want to know every trick I can teach you." He brushed her eyebrows to blend the strokes. "If they're anything like their mothers—and you can bet they are—half of those girls have already had work done by your new stepfather, and the other half are planning some." He looked her square in the eyes. "All you have to do is keep in mind that those girls are as phony on the inside as they are on the outside, and you'll be fine."

"I don't even worry that much how I—" Alison began, when her father interrupted.

"Why would you worry?" he asked. "You look spectacular."

"Ready?" Scott asked.

Alison nodded, though she wasn't quite sure she was.

Scott turned the chair so she faced the mirror. For a strange, surreal instant she thought there was a mistake, that she was looking at someone else. But a moment later she realized that the young woman in the mirror looked familiar.

Familiar, but different.

Not at all like the person she had always before seen in her own reflection. This girl looked like a mature young woman—exactly the kind of young career woman she had always admired but was sure she could never emulate. "Oh. My. God," she breathed, coming to a full stop after each word. "Is that really me?"

"It sure is, sweetheart," Michael said. "And what a beautiful young lady you are."

Alison gazed at her reflection in utter silence for almost a full minute, coming to realize that Scott was right: what she was seeing was exactly how she'd always wanted to look. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't see the makeup.

It was, just as he'd promised, utterly invisible.

"I—I—" she began, her voice choking as she tried to find words to express what she was feeling. "I never thought—" She fell silent again as Scott snatched a Kleenex from the box on the vanity table and caught the tear about to overflow her right eye.

"Don't you dare start crying," he told her. "If I have to do repairs, I'm going to charge you, and believe me, even Michael can't afford my reconstruction fees!"

By the sheer force of her own will, Alison forced the tears back, then grinned at him. "Why don't both of you change your minds and come to the wedding? You've been invited. Please? For me?"

Michael shook his head. "This is your mother's day. The last thing she needs is to have to explain to everyone why her ex and his boyfriend are here. And starting tomorrow, we'll get to have you for a whole week while your mother and Conrad are partying in Paris."

There was a soft knock on the door to the suite's living room. "Just a moment!" Scott called, and turned Alison around to inspect her one last time. He feathered on just a little more color with a lipstick brush, then pulled the cape from around her shoulders.

Her father took her hand and helped her to her feet, and then Scott circled her, checking the drape of the floor-length, silk lavender sheath dress that had seemed too old for her when she put it on an hour and a half ago but exactly right now that Scott had worked his magic.

"Stand over here," he said, positioning her in front of the bedroom's set of French doors, so the light played softly over her hair and face. "Okay," he called toward the door. "Come see your maid of honor!"

The door opened and Risa stepped inside, her breath catching when she saw Alison.

Alison smiled at her mother, who was more beautiful than she'd ever seen her, in a gray strapless wedding gown with a mermaid silhouette and a spray of tiny flowers in her hair. "Mom, you look fabulous," she breathed.

"Not compared to you," Risa replied, her voice trembling. "This is the only wedding in history where the maid of honor is going to outshine the bride."

"No crying!" Scott ordered. "Control yourselves—both of you."

Risa stepped over to Scott and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'm not going to cry, and neither is Alison. But I am certainly going to thank you for everything." Keeping one arm around Scott, she pulled Michael close with the other and kissed him, too. Then she glanced at Alison. "There's a bottle of champagne in the living room. Why don't you bring it in, and we'll have a little toast." As Alison left the room, Risa squeezed the arms of the two men flanking her. "Sure you won't change your minds?" she asked. "I should think you'd both
want
to give me away, considering the way I acted a year ago." Alison reappeared at the door and stopped uncertainly, but Risa dropped Michael's arm and motioned her in. "It's all right—I was just trying to get them to change their minds."

"They won't," Alison said. "I already tried."

When they all had glasses in their hands, Risa raised hers high. "To us," she said. "First, to Scott, not for just finding Henrik and doing everything he could to make this day perfect, but for taking such good care of Michael, too. And to Michael, for still being my best friend." She turned to Alison. "And most of all, to you, sweetheart, for putting up with your father and me while we sorted things out." They all took a sip, then Risa stepped over next to Alison and raised her glass once more, this time to Michael and Scott. "May Conrad and I be half as happy as you two."

"Now I really
do
want to give you away," Scott grumbled, though the slight tremble in his voice belied the sarcastic tone he'd aimed for. "Aren't we all just the image of the perfect American family?" Giving Risa and Alison each a careful peck on the cheek, he ushered them to the front door. "Now get out of here, both of you—you don't want to be late for your own wedding."

Risa followed Alison through the courtyard and gardens of the hotel, reveling not only in the perfect spring afternoon, but in everything else as well.

She was getting married.

She was going down to the edge of the swan lake, to be married to Dr. Conrad Dunn.

And it all felt right.

* * *

ALISON WATCHED Conrad kiss her mother after the judge pronounced them husband and wife, barely able to believe it had all happened. Even as she stood behind her mother under the bower next to the swan lake, the afternoon sun warming the air to a perfect temperature, the air itself perfumed by the profusion of flowers that filled the hotel grounds, it was still almost impossible to believe it was all real. And yet it was—the next words she heard brought the reality home with enough force that she almost cried.

Almost, but not quite.

"It is now my great pleasure to present Dr. and Mrs. Conrad Dunn," Judge Rousseau said, and everybody who had been sitting in the white satin-covered folding chairs rose and began to applaud.

Alison handed her mother's bouquet back to her and prepared to take the best man's arm, to follow the bride and groom out from under the bower and down the aisle toward the lawn on which the reception would be held. But before she knew what was happening, Conrad smiled at her, put his arm around her, and drew her up so she and her mother were both beside him.

Not even close to what they had done at the rehearsal, and as Conrad's hand tightened around her waist, Alison resisted an urge to pull away from him.

This was her mother's wedding day, and she would do whatever it took to not let anything spoil it. Her mother loved Conrad, and she would learn to like him. Or at least she would find a way to tolerate him for a couple of years until she went to college. But even as she forced herself not to pull away, her skin crawled at his touch.
Stop it,
she told herself.
Mom loves him, and he loves her, so just deal with it.

Still, relief flowed through her as she moved next to her mother in the receiving line while Conrad stayed on the other side with his best man, someone named Alex Fox, who hadn't even bothered to show up for the rehearsal yesterday. For the next twenty minutes she stood almost mute as her mother met one after another of Conrad's friends, colleagues, associates, and clients, and then introduced them to her.

Her mother, she knew, would remember every one of their names from now on. She herself couldn't remember a name the second after she'd heard it, and the twenty minutes in the receiving line seemed to go on for hours.

When the last of the well-wishers had finally filed by, Alison heard her mother tell Conrad she was going to the ladies' room to repair her makeup, and she felt a new wave of relief at the prospect of getting away from the mass of people, even if only for a couple of minutes.

"Don't be long, Mrs. Dunn," Conrad said, kissing the tips of his wife's fingers. "And while you're gone, I'll introduce Alison to some of her new classmates."

Alison's relief ebbed as quickly as it had flowed over her a moment ago as Conrad took her arm to steer her through the throng of people on the lawn, some of them already picking at the tables laden with food, but far more of them edging toward the bar. They passed the head table, adorned with an exquisite centerpiece of white orchids so perfectly arranged that they wouldn't interfere with anyone's sightlines even when the table was full. Alex Fox was already sitting there, two drinks in front of him, and for a moment Alison had a horrible feeling that Conrad was about to abandon her to the nearly empty table. Instead, though, he steered her over to a table where five kids about her own age were chattering together, at least a dozen empty champagne glasses in front of them.

"Hey, guys," Conrad said. The group at the table fell silent, a couple of them glancing guiltily at the empty glasses, but Conrad paid no attention to them. "This is Alison Shaw. She'll be joining you at Wilson after spring break."

Alison flushed as one of the girls eyed her appraisingly. "Love your dress," the girl finally said.

Unsure if she meant it or was being sarcastic, Alison decided she didn't care. At least it was an opportunity to escape from Conrad, and she seized it in an instant.

"Thanks," she said, dropping into one of the empty chairs at the table, but not relaxing until Conrad headed back to the head table to join his best man.

"I'm Tasha," a deeply tanned girl with thick brown hair said. She nodded toward the small blonde sitting next to her, the one who had commented on Alison's dress. "This is Dawn, and these guys"—Tasha swept the three boys with a look of mock scorn—"think they're far hotter than they are. We only put up with them because so far nothing better's come along."

"Plus," one of the boys put in, "almost all our parents have been married to each other at one point or another, which means dating each other would be incestuous." He leered at Dawn. "Not that I'm always opposed to incest. Just as long as we don't have any two-headed babies." He grinned at Alison. "I'm Trip, and these two are Cooper and Budge."

"Budge?" Alison echoed without thinking, then wished she could take it back when she saw the boy, who was shorter than the other two boys and looked a lot younger, blush.

"His real name's even worse," the lanky boy, Cooper, said. "That's why we call him Budge. Back when we were all in first grade, we thought it was cool. So now he's stuck with it. Right, Budgie-poo?" he added, grinning maliciously at the shorter boy, who responded by punching Cooper in the arm, hard enough to make it hurt. "All right, all right," Cooper cried. "Budge! I'll never call you Budgie-poo again!"

"Right," Budge replied. "And you'll also invite me to wherever you're going for spring break. And you'll go liberate some more champagne for us."