8. Emily
8
EMILY
I find Charlotte at the latrines, doing the daily maintenance, which is her assigned chore within the tribe. Fresh, pine-scented zimzee branches—earthy and damp—are the only things I smell, so she must be almost done.
While it’s doubtful I’ll ever get used to taking care of business by squatting over a hole in the ground and wiping with leaves, at least the zimzee does an excellent job of neutralizing the odor.
Charlotte is hanging fresh towels made from animal hide next to the hand-washing bowls. She moves with practiced efficiency, grumbling to herself as she replenishes the supplies. Her white-blonde hair is piled high on her head in an intentionally messy bun, while her Earth Gov–issued clothes cling to her curves like a second skin.
A twinge of jealousy stabs between my shoulders. Maybe if I were more attractive, curvy like Charlotte instead of slender and leggy, Stromm wouldn’t have had the strength to push me away.
“Hey, Charlotte,” I say as I approach, not wanting to startle her.
She doesn’t bother looking at me. “What do you want, Emily? I’m busy.” Her tone is sharp, almost mean.
I clear my throat. “I need your help.”
With a heavy sigh, she turns toward me, squinting at me with suspicion. “With what?”
I hesitate, then blurt out my request before I lose my nerve. “I need a makeover.”
Charlotte stares at me like I told her the half-dozen latrines she just freshened up need another round of maintenance.
“Did you hear me? I said I need a makeover.”
“Finally.” Her satisfied smile says she’s been waiting for someone to make this request ever since we crashed here. “Need help getting your man back?”
“You know Stromm and I broke up?”
“It’s all anyone talked about last night at the community firepit. So, do you?”
“No. Well, sort of. Maybe.” I exhale, then try again. “I need help getting Stromm’s attention.”
“I can see why. That’s…” she says, waving her hand up and down my body, “…totally not cutting it.”
Frowning, I say, “I’m wearing the same shirt, leggings, and booties you are.”
“It’s not what you’re wearing, but how you’re wearing it that counts.” She strikes a sexy pose that emphasizes her assets while grinning like a vengeful goddess. “Although I do have something else in mind for catching the barbarian’s eye.”
She shoves a pile of used towels into my arms. “We need to drop these off at the laundry station, then we can get started.”
I follow her toward the river, then upstream, carrying the soiled towels. Out of the corner of my eye I see Stromm in the river a little further upstream, fishing. Quickly, I look away. It’s too hard on my heart to see him just yet.
Once the towels are dropped in the to-be-washed pile, we head to the North Caves. The Terran sleeping quarters are deserted when we arrive; everyone must be out working or doing something useful. I’m relieved there won’t be an audience for my makeover.
Charlotte immediately takes charge, directing me toward her bedroll in the far back corner of the cave. Against the stone wall, she has a wooden box filled with leather pouches, wooden bowls, velvety leaves, bits of moss, and a handful of short sticks.
“Sit.” She gestures impatiently to her bed, and I plop down, cross-legged.
Kneeling behind me, she releases my ponytail by removing the leather tie and runs her fingers through my hair. “First things first. We need to do something with this brown mop on your head.”
“What’s wrong with a ponytail?”
Charlotte snorts. “It’s practical, I’ll give you that, but we’re not going for the Nurse Nancy look. We want practical and pretty, something that makes Stromm do a double take when you walk by.”
“Um, okay.” I have no idea what that means since I’ve only ever worn my hair two ways: pulled back in a ponytail and hanging straight down. “But my hair is kind of limp, with very little natural texture.”
“I have something to help with that,” Charlotte says, reaching into her box and pulling out a spray bottle.
“Where did you get that?” I ask, incredulous.
“Found it on a salvage walk. I filled it with water and salt to create beachy waves.” Charlotte’s smile is smug. “Cool, huh?”
The few times I’ve been to the beach, the salty air gave my hair much-needed body. “Yeah, sure.”
She dampens sections of my hair with her spray then uses her fingers to scrunch the strands. “Step one is complete: replace the limpness with a little life. Now I’ll twist the locks at the sides away from your face like this for practicality…and secure them together in the back with the tie.”
Charlotte hands me a broken piece of mirror; she must have salvaged that, too. She works in silence for a few minutes while I watch. “There. Now your hair is out of your face, but the length falls over your shoulders and down your back in nice waves. Pretty, see?”
I have to admit it does look pretty. Softer, stylish, more feminine. “I like it!”
“Of course you do.” Charlotte rummages around in the box, pulling several items out. “On to makeup.”
I watch as she carefully opens several pouches and puts a pinch of this and that in a few bowls. The colors are a mix of earthy reds, deep browns, and soft golds.
“Everything here is natural and Yola-approved for application to the skin.” Charlotte is all business as she uses a velvety leaf to apply some sort of powder to my face. Her version of foundation, if I had to guess.
Next, with a piece of charred wood, she lines the outer corner of my eyes, softening the edges with her finger. Then, she applies what must be eye shadow to my lids with a puffy piece of moss shoved onto the end of a stick.
After squishing a red berry into a bowl, she dabs a little of the pigment on my lips, then follows that with a swish of something slippery that smells a little gamey.
I wrinkle my nose. “What is that?”
“ Kerboo fat,” she responds, and I gag a little. “I’d rather use a fatty fruit that Yola told me about. It sounds similar to coconut, but it only grows high in the mountains. Now that it’s the rainy season and the kerboo are scarce, Kam says a cooba hunting party will head out soon, and they always bring some fruit back.”
Kerboo are kind of like deer; they head for drier ground when the rains come. The great white cooba live in the high ice caves. Near as we can tell, they’re a cross between a polar bear and a wooly mammoth. A good source of meat with thick, useful hides.
“You made all these cosmetics?” I ask, sincerely impressed.
“Of course.” She shrugs. “Living on a primitive planet doesn’t mean I can’t look put together and polished. If the Rakuis can make spears from salvaged steel and spoons from pieces of bone, why can’t I make beauty products?”
Her question is rhetorical, so I don’t bother answering. Charlotte may be obsessed with her looks, but she’s also resourceful. In a very short time, she’s figured out how to adapt here.
“Look at yourself,” she says, tapping the broken mirror. “With a little enhancement, you’ve gone from practically invisible to almost stunning.”
“Thanks, I guess.” I’m not sure whether to be grateful or offended…until I look in the mirror, and see a different person looking back. “Wow.”
“I know, right? You have good bone structure and nice eyes, but you don’t highlight them. It’s a crime against humanity, if you ask me.”
That might be pushing it, but the results of my makeover are fantastic. “Thanks, Charlotte. I really appreciate your help. I have no doubt my new look will get Stromm’s attention.”
“Oh, honey,” she says. “We’re not done yet. I have one more trick up my sleeve. Something that will transform you from a well-groomed survivalist into a forest nymph who inspires Rakui wet dreams.”
“Ugh, Charlotte.” I groan. “Do you have to be crude?”
She arches a brow. “The barbarians call our lady parts cunts . And I’m the crude one?”
Damn. She has a point. “Fine. What’s your trick?”
She rummages through a pile of smooth leather next to the box and holds up a patchwork of soft, worn animal hide in the shape of an A-line tank top.
“I made it for myself. But, since I’m incredibly generous and clearly the only one around here with any sense of style, you can have it.”
“And what is it, exactly?” I feel like an idiot, but I’m a little confused.
“The Rakui women would call it a tunic. But it’s actually a mini dress—a Charlotte Original.”
So, not only is she curvy, gorgeous, and resourceful. She’s also a budding clothing designer.
Who knew Charlotte was more than a platinum blonde bimbo with a mean streak?
I reach out, running my fingers over the soft leather, examining the careful craftsmanship. “This is really beautiful, Charlotte. Maybe on you it’d be a mini dress, but you’re a lot shorter than me.”
She drops it in my lap. “Try it on.”
I hesitate, glancing at my perfectly comfortable leggings and long-sleeved tee. “I think I’m good with what I’m wearing.”
Charlotte glares at me, one hand on her hip. “Clothes have power, Emily. The right outfit can change your entire look. This was hand-stitched by me. The least you can do is try it on.”
I sigh, knowing resistance is futile. I peel off my clothes, and she helps me slip the dress over my head without messing up my hair and makeup.
The moment it settles into place, I realize three things at once.
One: The dress is really, really short, reaching high-thigh on me.
Two: The vee neckline is extremely low-cut, revealing both my Rakuium pendant and my sports bra.
Three: Showing this much skin is way out of my comfort zone. Tugging at the hem, then adjusting the neckline does nothing to help that.
“Oh, god,” I say. “I can’t wear this.”
“The hell you can’t.” Charlotte looks at me like a project well-completed. “With your long legs and lean figure, it almost looks as good on you as it does on me. You’ll need to lose the sports bra, of course, but Stromm won’t know what hit him.”
I make a strangled sound and cover my comparatively flatter chest with my arms, mortified. “You’re insane.”
“No, I’m not. The leather will give you all the coverage you need.” She pushes my hands down, and holds up the makeshift mirror. “Own it, Emily. You look amazing. The booties aren’t great, but since I haven’t tried to make shoes yet, they’ll have to do.”
When I peer at myself in the mirror, taking in the hair, the makeup, and the extra-mini mini dress, I grin. “I look so different.”
My gaze lands on the Rakuium pendant, nestled perfectly between my breasts, and my grin fades. Swallowing hard and blinking back tears, I fight the urge to yank it from my neck.
Charlotte notices. Her expression shifts, just slightly. “I swear to God, Emily. If you mess up your makeup by crying, I’ll kick your ass.”
Her words, spoken without her usual nasty bite, make me smile. “Thanks, Charlotte. I really appreciate your help.”