Chapter 43 Cynthia #2
Dolores waved her hand. “At the end of every season, the staff is allowed to take whatever is left by the guests. Otherwise, it would all be thrown away.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t. I’ll even help you to put it on properly.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Cynthia said.
A shiver of trepidation ran through her.
She really wasn’t much for wearing a lot of makeup.
On the rare occasion she had gone to a dance or a special event on campus, Pauline had always helped her with her face.
Besides, Dolores would likely have a better idea of what to do with all the products than she would.
“But if you really want to, I’d be very grateful. ”
“I’d love to. What I wouldn’t give to work in the spa side of the resort instead of as a maid,” she said as she twisted the lid off a jar of Feather-light Foundation and began dabbing it over Cynthia’s face. The cream was cool on her skin and not as unpleasant as she had anticipated.
“Why can’t you?” Cynthia asked.
Dolores lowered her hand. “The girls who work in the spa are brought in from Red Door salons or from Miss Arden’s other resort out in Arizona. She doesn’t hire local girls for skilled work like facials and wax treatments.”
Even though makeup was not Cynthia’s strong suit, even she was aware of the prestige associated with the Red Door salons.
Found in cities like Paris, Milan, Melbourne, London, Hong Kong, and even Honolulu, the salons were synonymous with luxury and sophistication.
In large part because of the fame of the Red Door salons, it was said that Miss Arden’s was one of the three most well-known American brands around the world, along with Singer sewing machines and Coca-Cola.
After the weeks she had spent learning the ropes and still feeling a bit behind all the other staff, Cynthia had learned maid work was anything but unskilled. It didn’t sound like Dolores would agree, though.
“The women who work in the spa may not be from here, but they are local somewhere.”
Delores shrugged. “So?”
“It seems to me there is nothing inherently good or bad about being a local. The spa employees have specialized skills, but not because they are from somewhere else. They must have gone to school for it or worked as an apprentice at a beauty salon.”
Dolores expertly smoothed another cool blob of foundation across her cheeks and across her nose. “The nearest beauty school is in Augusta. That’s at least half an hour from home.”
“That’s not that far—at least, not for something you would love to do. My college is over three hours from my parents’ house.”
“That’s easy enough for a girl like you.” Dolores returned the pot of foundation to the dresser and selected a palette filled with pale-colored eyeshadows. “Close your eyes.”
Cynthia exhaled slowly, attempting not to wriggle as Dolores swiped layer after layer of color over her eyelids. “We aren’t really all that different,” she said. “I love economics. You love cosmetics. Working in either requires education.”
“It can’t be as simple as that. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Dolores reached under her chin, and tilting her head upwards with her free hand, she swiped mascara across Cynthia’s eyelashes.
The wand felt damp and feathery. She remembered how overwhelmed she had felt when she had first toyed with the idea of going to college.
If it hadn’t been for the influence of an older girl down the street who had graduated from Wellesley, she might have given up on the idea even before she had started.
Sometimes all it took was an example and a bit of encouragement.
“Why don’t you knock on the door of one of the spa worker’s rooms and ask how they got their job? If anyone would know where to start, it would be one of them.”
“They wouldn’t want to talk to someone like me. Anyhow, I don’t know anywhere near as much as they all do about Miss Arden’s exclusive treatments.”
“Like which ones?” Cynthia thought it likely Dolores knew a lot more than she gave herself credit for.
Dolores selected a tube of lipstick from atop her vanity table and removed the lid.
She swiveled it upward and held the color close to Cynthia’s face.
She returned it to the table and chose another, repeating the sequence.
This one she seemed to think the best and commanded Cynthia to open her mouth slightly.
“Well, there’s the Firmo-Lift Treatment for tightening facial slackness, the Velva Cream Masque for dryness, the Muscle Strapping Treatment to reduce jowls, and of course, the Anti-Brown Treatment to remove fading tan lines. That’s just a tiny bit of what they all know.”
“It sounds like you are already more than familiar with many of the techniques the spa employees use. How did you learn so much?”
Dolores lowered her voice. “Promise you won’t tell?”
“Of course I won’t.”
Dolores glanced at the door as if to assure herself there was no one in the hallway eavesdropping.
She crossed the room to her dresser and opened the top drawer.
She pulled out a thick well-thumbed booklet from beneath a pile of stockings and girdles and handed it to Cynthia.
“I found this at the reception desk last summer. One of the spa girls must have left it. I’ve been studying it ever since. ”
Cynthia read aloud: “How I Sell My Preparations by Elizabeth Arden.” She leafed through it quickly.
Page after page listed recommendations for different treatments based on the complaints or symptoms expressed by potential clients.
From the way Dolores had reeled off some of them, Cynthia could tell she had made herself quite an expert.
“If you’ve been reading this, it seems to me you could hold your own in a conversation with the girls who work at the spa. ”
“Even if I do know what I am talking about, they might snub me for being just a maid.”
“If getting the cold shoulder could actually hurt someone, I’d be dead by now,” Cynthia said.
“Most of my classmates—and even my professors—don’t think a woman has any business studying economics.
Even the ones who pretend otherwise show their true feelings eventually.
At least beauty school is a place where women are welcome. ”
A crinkle appeared between Dolores’s eyebrows. “Then why are you working so hard to earn your tuition if no one wants you there?”
“Because I want me there, and my opinion matters more to me than theirs.”
Dolores lifted a pad from a compact of Invisible Veil pressed powder and began patting it carefully over Cynthia’s face.
“There, have a look in the mirror,” she said as she passed the compact with its mirror to Cynthia to view her work. “What’s your opinion on that?”
Cynthia couldn’t quite believe her eyes.
While she certainly appeared more sophisticated than her day-to-day self, she was in no way overly made up.
She doubted even her father would complain at her appearance.
Somehow Dolores had managed to bring out the green flecks in her eyes, and her lips looked dewy like a summer-morning rose rather than the scarlet-red siren look that Dolores wore.
It was remarkable and yet not overdone. She couldn’t imagine how her friend had pulled it off.
“I’d say that if you are this good already, any salon would be clamoring to have you once you’ve completed beauty school.”
Two bright spots of color appeared on Dolores’s cheeks that had nothing to do with Miss Arden’s Pink Perfection Rouge.
“Do you really think so?”
“I do. As soon as I change my clothes, why don’t I go with you to find one of those spa girls, and we can show off your handiwork? That should break the ice.”