Walter Kist & the Seven Whorls Chapter 11

While Irma concentrated on makeup removal I worked my dad’s tie behind the chair. I feared that once she got a good look at me sans whiteface, Kist’s photo of the silver queen would materialize before her eyes and then it would turn into a double whammy revenge mission.

But when she’d wiped my face clean she merely sighed and shook her head. Diving into her bag once more, she produced a makeup case that folded out to reveal a plethora of tools and tubes and vials and bottles. Irma’s tote was like Mary Poppins’ bottomless carpetbag by way of Mary Quant’s cosmetic valise.

“I’m giving you a makeover. Free of charge,” she said, chirpily.

Gently, she massaged creams and serums into my skin. Except for my tied hands and the pistol sitting next to the lip gloss, it was like any professional facial.

She applied foundation with a great deal of dabbing and smoothing. Following a quick dusting of powder, she took a step back to survey her work. Squinting her eyes, she walked slowly around the chair.

“You look…familiar,” she said. I braced myself. “Ever been on the stage? I mean, the legitimate stage?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Yeah. I thought so. Theatre Under the Stars?”

“Yeah.”

“What was the show?”

“Uh…”


“Don’t tell me. Fame, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember your glossy on the board. You had on something silvery. I did box office for that show. But, I played the lead in Annie Get Your Gun. Did you see that?”

“I’m afraid I missed it.”

“That’s how I learned to handle a weapon so good.” She picked up the pistol and twirled it around a few times. It occurred to me then that her weapon might be a mere prop. But if push came to shove, it was not an assumption I’d be willing to bet on.

While patiently applying eye shadow, Irma regaled me with the backstage intrigues and onstage mishaps of Annie Get Your Gun. This theatre chat led to her opinions on the make up of Hollywood stars and international celebrities.

“Princess Diana could’ve used a more vibrant colour of lipstick on her wedding day but her dress was fabulous. Such a lucky lady, marrying a Prince!”

“Are you married?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“Look up,” she snapped, vigorously pumping a mascara wand in its tube. “I was married but he was cheating on me.”

“I myself went through a difficult divorce,” I gulped, thinking a little Cincinnati Six might soften Irma. Suddenly, I missed the relative sanity of Miss Deermont and her crew.

“I hired Walter to tail my husband and he found out the truth. When I confronted Errol, he swore he loved me and only me. Then he bought me a diamond bracelet and took me on a world cruise. While I showed off my diamonds on deck he showed off his sexual prowess in the cabins below. I jumped ship in Singapore, flew back home, sold the bracelet and went looking for Walter. Hold still.”

She applied two strokes of mascara to my lashes then stood back and stared at me. Was she finally figuring out where she’d really seen me before?

“Walter’s in love with you, isn’t he?” she said at last.

“No, we’re just friends.”

“Ha! I’ve heard that before.”

“He really hurt you, didn’t he? Errol, I mean.”

She scrambled around in her case and brought out an eyelash curler. It glinted silver in her trembling hand. I blinked my defenseless eyes as she leaned over me, curler poised mid-air. Her eyes glistened and I knew I had to move in for the kill, regardless of lash peril.

“Errol should have treated you better. He should have treated you like a princess...”

“You need to keep quiet.” She grasped my lashes with the curler and I held my breath. The squeeze seemed to last an eternity then a tear splashed onto my nose from above.

Releasing her hold, she turned away. “I must visit the powder room.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes (and my nose) then withdrew a stream of red ribbon from her bag. Binding my ankles with it, she made a fancy-looking gift of my lower legs, finishing with a flourish and a bow. Then she used some wide yellow ribbon as a gag. Wrapping it around and around, her movements slowed as if the circular repetition had mesmerized her. She looked me in the eye with something that I thought might be compassion.

“In another life,” she said, leaning in close, “I might have found you just as attractive as Walter does.” Her breath was hot and minty and her lips looked kind of inviting despite some caked lipstick in the corners. I thought she might kiss my beribboned mouth when suddenly she reared back and reached for her gun.

“No funny business,” she said, as she swept up a small makeup case and headed for the door.

*

Thank you to my excellent models/actors: Aaron Schwartz, Tony Dunn, Lynn Fairweather, Shirley Connell and Anna May Henry.

And thank you for reading!