Though having messed-up parents seemed irrelevant. After all, I didn’t want to be judged by my dysfunctional family.
Eager to change the subject, I said, “I was wondering if you had a face mask I could use.”
“Of course.” She dropped the empty marshmallow bag on the counter and rubbed her palms together. “What kind do you want?”
“Uh...something to clarify tone and improve texture?”
She nodded sharply. “I’ve got just the thing. GlimmerGlam makes this colloidal silver mask with algae plasma. Let me go grab it for you.”
After Vanessa disappeared into her bedroom, I leaned in for a closer look at the tray she was putting together. The marshmallows were on the top level of a three-tier stand. The second tier held an artfully arranged stack of graham crackers, while squares of chocolate took up the bottom. A hand-lettered sign beside it read S’mores Station.
Super cute, but it’s not like we could have a campfire on the roof. Could we?
A knock came at the door. I gently kicked the tin cans aside, clearing a pathway to answer it. I flung it open to see Ray standing in the hallway, a ladder slung over one of his burly shoulders.
He smiled politely. “Hi, Melanie, how you doin’?”
Oh, shit.
My first instinct was to shove him forward and close the door, hiding the evidence of the forthcoming crime from his view. But the man was twice my size. I could lean all my body weight against his broad, brawny chest and he wouldn’t budge an inch.
Instead, I shimmied to my right, forming a human shield between his eyes and the catastrophe going on behind me. Of course, as I did that, I completely forgot about the tin can collection on the floor. Pretending not to hear them crash and clatter around my feet, I said, “I’m great! Totally great. How can I help you?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but fell silent when his gaze drifted over my shoulder to see inside.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I panicked, grasping for a plausible lie that would explain away the existence of a S’mores Station in the middle of our apartment. Then his face broke out in a goofy grin. “Hey, Vee.”
Vee?
I spun around and saw Vanessa strolling toward us, entirely untroubled, jar of GlimmerGlam in hand. “Hi, Ray.”
“You ready for me to hang up those lights?”
She nodded, grabbing a tangle of wires from the couch and foisting them into his arms. “If you can string them diagonally from the chimney to the access door in a symmetrical crosshatch pattern, that’d be great.”
“I remember the pictures you showed me.” He looked at me and said, “You believe this girl’s got me surfin’ Pinterest?”
So that’s why Vanessa wasn’t worried about getting in trouble with the landlord. Ray had a thing for her. If anyone complained about the party, he wouldn’t turn her in. Not with that lovestruck look on his face.
“Hurry up,” she said. “The party starts in two hours. When you’re done, I need you to set up the tables and bring the rest of this stuff upstairs.”
“All right, all right. I’m on it, boss.”
With that, he lugged his ladder and the lights down the hall and disappeared into the stairwell.
Vanessa closed the door and saw my mouth hanging open. “What?”
“Are you dating Ray?”
She scowled, scandalized by my question. “Of course not!”
“Well, he’s obviously in love with you.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Yeah, he is. Why else would he be helping you with all of this?”
“Because it’s his job.”
“It’s not his job to string up fairy lights for your illicit rooftop party. In fact, I’m pretty sure this could be putting his job at risk.”
She flinched, like she hadn’t yet considered this possibility. But the concern quickly faded from her face. “You worry too much.”
This coming from the woman who conducted an investigative report on every guy she’d ever considered dating.
“Here.” She handed me the cosmetic jar. “Apply a thin coat, leave it on for fifteen minutes, and your face will be taut as a drum skin.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Vanessa returned to her spot behind the kitchen counter, and I retreated to my room to resume my groom-athon. Kneeling in front of the mirror, I smeared the pearly white gel onto my face, which promptly hardened into a shiny, silver mask. When it was done, I looked like one of those living statue street performers that hung out at the Seaport.
I replaced the lid and inspected the label. GlimmerGlam made some bold claims about the efficacy of their product. Was this truly going to “infuse my cells with energy and empower my skin”? Not likely.
Turning the jar over in my hands, my eyeballs nearly popped out of my skull when I read the price tag on the bottom: a hundred and nineteen dollars. How could Vanessa afford this stuff? And she was so quick to share it with me. This single serving of face mask must’ve cost at least twenty bucks, probably more. I’d have to throw in a little more toward our grocery bill next month to make up for it.
While waiting for the mask to do its magic, I signed into the JerkAlert dashboard to check up on the current stats. Ever since Whit sent the upgraded link to “a few more people,” hundreds of new records had been added to the database. The site had even found an audience beyond New York City. As I scrolled through the latest additions, I found a ghoster from LA, a con man from Austin, and a guy from Washington, DC, who liked to call women he matched with on Fluttr “whores.”
JerkAlert was rapidly turning into a nationwide directory of douchebags.
I got so wrapped up in reading profiles that I lost track of time and left the mask on for a full half hour. It didn’t seem to matter, though. After I peeled it off, my skin looked fine. Holding my face close to the mirror, I searched for signs of empowerment or energy infusion, but came up empty. I looked pretty much the same as I always did. This mask was a rip-off.
After that, I lost steam on the whole beauty checklist thing. I wanted to look good—jaw-dropping, even—but the truth was, there was no hiding who I really was from Alex. He’d already seen me in the office, with my drab business attire and disempowered skin and, despite that, he was still interested. Besides, did I really want to run through this checklist every time we had a date?
So rather than squeeze into Spanx and stilettos, I plucked my favorite maxi dress from the closet. It was flowing and gauzy, with a flattering empire waist and a plunging back. I slipped on some comfy flats and let my hair fall over my shoulders in natural waves. My only makeup consisted of smudged eyeliner and a sheer shimmery lip gloss.