‘And you’re not?’
‘Of course I’m not.’
‘This is what in psychological circles we call a breakthrough,’ said Precious.
‘A what?’
Precious squirted foundation on to the back of her hand, then began dabbing it on to Layla’s face. ‘A breakthrough,’ she said, squinting as she worked. ‘Don’t frown – those lines’ll get stuck in there. A breakthrough is when you get to the nub of the problem. And that’s what we’ve just done.’
‘So what is the nub of the problem?’ Layla was curious.
‘Your mother.’
‘My mother’s the problem?’ Layla tried to think without frowning. ‘Well, we don’t get along that well, but she’s my mother, for God’s sake and she’s-’
‘Stunningly beautiful,’ finished Precious. ‘Shut your eyes, that’s right. And because she is so beautiful, you’ve never felt able to compete. So you haven’t. Instead you’ve retired from the contest. Refused to participate. Hence the no make-up, the pulled-back hair, the sexless clothes.’
Was Precious on to something here? Was it because of her mother’s looks that she’d hidden herself away? Layla was so preoccupied by the thought she abandoned all resistance and allowed Precious to proceed with the transformation unhindered.
Aside from her mother, Layla had never come across anyone so confident in her femininity as Precious. She was intrigued, fascinated by this woman who could dance naked in front of strangers and think nothing of it. Layla couldn’t imagine what that was like. She longed to know how it felt.
By popping in and out of her room of an evening on the pretext of using the kitchen, Layla had discovered that the security guy on duty in the monitor room always took a fifteen-minute break at eleven. During that time one of the barmen was supposed to cover the monitors, to ensure the girls’ safety while they were alone in one of the private dancing rooms with a punter. This week it was Junior who was providing the cover while the security guy took his break, and she’d noticed that he wasn’t too diligent about it. Usually he’d leave the monitor room unattended while he loitered in the kitchen, making tea, or he’d be hanging around the dressing room, chatting up the girls. Tonight, she was planning to take advantage of his absence.
‘Open your eyes.’ Precious was screwing the cap back on the tube of foundation. Now she picked up a tub of translucent powder, opened it, and swirled a big brush around in there. ‘Close your eyes again…’
The brush was applied to Layla’s face. Layla sneezed.
‘I’m making this nice and easy so you can do it yourself next time,’ explained Precious, picking up a smaller brush and loading it with pink powder. ‘Blusher,’ she said, sweeping it along Layla’s cheeks. Next she took out a black pencil, outlined Layla’s newly defined brows. Then, using a fine brush, she applied eyeliner, sticking close to the lashes, flicking out and up at the end. When that was done she clamped Layla’s lashes into a little silver instrument of torture, held them there for thirty seconds on each eye. Then applied mascara. Dusted powder over that. Then another coat of mascara.