Free Annihilate Me 2: Vol. 1 by Christina Ross Page B

evening, after Blackwell
and Bernie had had their way with my hair, makeup, jewelry, and dress, I looked
into the mirror of our makeshift dressing room outside of Barbara’s office,
turned my head from side to side, and smiled up at Bernie.
    “You’re a master,” I said.   “How in the hell did you get rid of
those dark circles beneath my eyes?”
    “I told you,” Blackwell said.   “He does it with voodoo.”
    “Actually, I do it with concealer,”
Bernie said.   “A very good
concealer.”
    “Don’t sell yourself short,
Bernie,” Blackwell said.   “It’s not
worth it.   Own the magic you
possess.   Turn away from your
self-doubt.”
    He lifted his head, and then he
dramatically turned away from her, which made me smile.   I loved them when they were like this.   I knew it was a show meant to ease my
nerves, and I adored them for it.
    “You do it with spells,” she
said.   “With smoke and mirrors.   With the supreme craft.   I’ve never seen anything like it.   Jennifer looked like shit when she sat
down in that chair.   And now look at
her—a vision!”
    “Oh, thank you, Barbara,” I said.
    “Shush!   You know you did.”
    “I haven’t been feeling well
today.”
    “Well, at least no one will know
that now.   Now listen—Bernie
is about to speak.   I can sense it!”
    Bernie put his hand to his
chest.   “I can’t tell you what all
of this means coming from you.   I
mean…look at her in that dress.   And
those jewels.   You did
that.   Not her, not me—you!”
    “It was a whim.   That’s all—a whim.”
    “You cast your talents so easily
into the trash.   Why?”
    “I don’t know.   I’ve never understood the depths of my
own creativity.   The bursts of it I
have—daily.   Sometimes
constantly, throughout the day.   It
can become too much.”
    “Then you must stare it down and
own it.”
    She looked critically at me and
then back at Bernie.   “It is a work
of art, isn’t it?”
    “It is.   And now I have to wonder—do you
have any limits?”
    “None that I can think of.   But there must be some.   I’m sure there are some.   There have to be some.   I just can’t think of any….”
    “Because you have none.”
    “ Mon dieu .   Others have whispered the same
thing.”
    “Whispered?   They should be shouting out your name!”
    “But people are cruel.   They won’t do it because they hate
me.   They’re jealous of me.   No one gives me credit.   Ils refusent ! ”
    “Most people are awful.   Remember the eighties?   Horrible creatures.   You know, out of modesty, I’ve never
told you this, but I made Madonna into the person she became.   And what did I get for it?   Nothing.   Not even a liner note.”
    “But how do mean?   Was it through makeup?   Hair?”
    “No,” he said.   “I gave her the crucifix.”
    Blackwell put the back of her hand
over her mouth.   “My God….   Her iconic crucifix.   And she gave you no credit for it?”
    “She didn’t—but at least her albums
no longer sell.”
    “So they don’t.   And it’s all because you no longer style
her.   You know it is!”
    “I don’t know.   I can only guess….”
    “You know,” Blackwell said.   “My daughters, Daniella and Alexa,
return from university tomorrow.   Maybe you could give them a cut and a color—and a crucifix.   They each need one, but for other
reasons.”
    “Anything to help.”
    “They need the demons cast out of
them, Bernie.   I’ve tried to do so,
but I’ve failed.   I love them
dearly, but they can be monsters, especially when they’re together.   But you—you could fix that.”
    “I can only try….”
    And at that point, I rolled my eyes
at both of them.   “OK, people,” I
said as I pushed back the chair I was sitting in and stood before them.   “Let’s end the lovefest .   Mama needs to get ready for her new
gig.”
    “You’re such a selfish girl,” Blackwell
said.
    “I appreciate all that