albeit an odd one.
‘Mak! Darling!’ Loulou declared as she burst through the glass doors. Everyone in the café looked up, as did several people on the street. ‘Oh my gawd! I read that you were going to be back here soon!’
‘Would that be the “Serial Killer Slayer” headline or “Model Witness”?’ Mak wondered, rolling her eyes and accepting Loulou’s generous hug.
‘“Supermodel Stiletto Survivor”,’ Loulou replied with apparent seriousness.
‘Yeah, great, I get abducted and finally I get to be a supermodel. Why the hell didn’t I think of that before?’ quipped Mak.
‘…But I like the “Serial Killer Slayer” thing,’ Loulou went on. ‘That’s cool. Very catchy. I read that you would be back for the Sydney trial any day now. Doesn’t the trial start like…tomorrow?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Sorry about the Starbucks thing.’ It had been Loulou’s choice of meeting place. ‘I am like, a totally pathetic addict. There must be nicotine in this stuff, or something. Or there ought to be for the price.’
Mak laughed.
They settled into their plush leather chairs, nursing frothy oversized coffees and smiling excitedly. Loulou crossed and uncrossed her legs like a nylon cricket. She had changed her hairstyle completely, probably several hundred times since Mak had seen her last. At the moment it was styled into a kind of trendy mullet, blonde and orange through the front, and black down the back. It was hard to resist staring at it.
‘It’s so great to see you, Mak! It’s been like…’
‘A year and a half,’ Mak said.
‘A year and a half!’ Loulou exclaimed. ‘Well, I’m so glad you called.’ She examined Mak’s face. ‘You look good. The layered hair works.’
When Loulou had seen her last, Mak was still recovering from the injuries inflicted by Ed Brown, including broken ribs and jaw and the now infamous severed toe. She had also suffered a subdural haematoma, or brain haemorrhage, courtesy of the large workman’s hammer, wielded by Brown, that forensics discovered with her blood and hair on it. A small part of her scalp had been shaved for the surgery that drained the internal bleeding. Loulou would know perfectly well that Mak’s hairstyle was a stylish improvisation to cover the uneven growth, not a fashion choice. The evidence of the wound was now invisible under masses of thick mane. Much like the rest of her wounds—invisible unless you knew where to look.
‘How’s the toe?’
Mak frowned. ‘The toe irritates the crap out of me. Sometimes I wish they’d left it at the scene.’
‘Ewww! Don’t say that!’ Loulou covered her ears.
‘Well I guess if they’d left it, it would make a few things more difficult…minor issues like mobility, balance…’
‘Shoe shopping.’
‘Oh yes, that too.’ Mak laughed and stirred some more sugar into her latte. ‘Hmm, do they make prosthetic toes? I bet they do. That would be something wouldn’t it? I could paint it differently for each photo shoot…red polish or natural? French manicure? Fake tan or no fake tan?’
‘Mak, you are gross!’
Makedde was smiling from ear to ear. Loulou was one of the few ‘Darling!’ people she liked, and her high spirits were contagious. The unsinkable, unstoppable make-up artist was a rare gem, brimming with genuine enthusiasm and possessing an undeniably good heart.
‘Have you lost weight?’
‘Spoken like a true make-up artist, Loulou. Yes, it’s called the “Stress Diet”. I don’t recommend it.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘And truth is, I look rather gaunt. But I love you for being polite. How’s work at the moment? Busy?’
‘Well, as you know, Paris sucked for me, unlike some people …so I’ve been keeping it pretty local, but I’ve had some good money work with DJs and some celeb pieces for Who magazine. Dannii Minogue. Sophie Monk. Sarah O’Hare.’
‘Good for you. That’s great.’
‘And by the way, you don’t look as bad as youthink you do.
‘Mak! Darling!’ Loulou declared as she burst through the glass doors. Everyone in the café looked up, as did several people on the street. ‘Oh my gawd! I read that you were going to be back here soon!’
‘Would that be the “Serial Killer Slayer” headline or “Model Witness”?’ Mak wondered, rolling her eyes and accepting Loulou’s generous hug.
‘“Supermodel Stiletto Survivor”,’ Loulou replied with apparent seriousness.
‘Yeah, great, I get abducted and finally I get to be a supermodel. Why the hell didn’t I think of that before?’ quipped Mak.
‘…But I like the “Serial Killer Slayer” thing,’ Loulou went on. ‘That’s cool. Very catchy. I read that you would be back for the Sydney trial any day now. Doesn’t the trial start like…tomorrow?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Sorry about the Starbucks thing.’ It had been Loulou’s choice of meeting place. ‘I am like, a totally pathetic addict. There must be nicotine in this stuff, or something. Or there ought to be for the price.’
Mak laughed.
They settled into their plush leather chairs, nursing frothy oversized coffees and smiling excitedly. Loulou crossed and uncrossed her legs like a nylon cricket. She had changed her hairstyle completely, probably several hundred times since Mak had seen her last. At the moment it was styled into a kind of trendy mullet, blonde and orange through the front, and black down the back. It was hard to resist staring at it.
‘It’s so great to see you, Mak! It’s been like…’
‘A year and a half,’ Mak said.
‘A year and a half!’ Loulou exclaimed. ‘Well, I’m so glad you called.’ She examined Mak’s face. ‘You look good. The layered hair works.’
When Loulou had seen her last, Mak was still recovering from the injuries inflicted by Ed Brown, including broken ribs and jaw and the now infamous severed toe. She had also suffered a subdural haematoma, or brain haemorrhage, courtesy of the large workman’s hammer, wielded by Brown, that forensics discovered with her blood and hair on it. A small part of her scalp had been shaved for the surgery that drained the internal bleeding. Loulou would know perfectly well that Mak’s hairstyle was a stylish improvisation to cover the uneven growth, not a fashion choice. The evidence of the wound was now invisible under masses of thick mane. Much like the rest of her wounds—invisible unless you knew where to look.
‘How’s the toe?’
Mak frowned. ‘The toe irritates the crap out of me. Sometimes I wish they’d left it at the scene.’
‘Ewww! Don’t say that!’ Loulou covered her ears.
‘Well I guess if they’d left it, it would make a few things more difficult…minor issues like mobility, balance…’
‘Shoe shopping.’
‘Oh yes, that too.’ Mak laughed and stirred some more sugar into her latte. ‘Hmm, do they make prosthetic toes? I bet they do. That would be something wouldn’t it? I could paint it differently for each photo shoot…red polish or natural? French manicure? Fake tan or no fake tan?’
‘Mak, you are gross!’
Makedde was smiling from ear to ear. Loulou was one of the few ‘Darling!’ people she liked, and her high spirits were contagious. The unsinkable, unstoppable make-up artist was a rare gem, brimming with genuine enthusiasm and possessing an undeniably good heart.
‘Have you lost weight?’
‘Spoken like a true make-up artist, Loulou. Yes, it’s called the “Stress Diet”. I don’t recommend it.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘And truth is, I look rather gaunt. But I love you for being polite. How’s work at the moment? Busy?’
‘Well, as you know, Paris sucked for me, unlike some people …so I’ve been keeping it pretty local, but I’ve had some good money work with DJs and some celeb pieces for Who magazine. Dannii Minogue. Sophie Monk. Sarah O’Hare.’
‘Good for you. That’s great.’
‘And by the way, you don’t look as bad as youthink you do.