Making Mistakes

Stranger in the Mirror

Wow. Is that really me?

    The make-up artist added a final sweep of blusher to my cheeks, then stepped back to admire my reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, apparently, she dialed a number on her phone and hurried off around a corner, leaving me to stare at my strange new image.

    Normally, I would leave the house feeling comfortable with just a gloss of Vaseline and maybe a sweep of mascara. My general day too day outfit consisted of faded blue skinny jeans - or as I liked to call them, skinnies - a white t-shirt, and a pair of  ballet pumps. Now, I looked like a completely different person.

    My hair, which was ordinarily tied up in a loose bun, now cascaded in golden waves past my shoulders and ended at my elbows; my eyes were outlined with liquid liner and mascara, I had the rosiest cheeks possible, a complexion so even I looked like I had come straight out of Vogue, and a stain of pink on my lips. The whole effect was dazzling, but it was nothing compared to the clothes. A royal blue empire dress fell to the floor in swaths of silky material with a beautiful pair of silver heels peeping out from underneath the skirt. I also had a dainty silver bangle on my right wrist which finished off the whole look.

    The make-up artist - Kim, I think her name was - suddenly rushed back into the room, her phone glued to her ear and a stressed expression on her face. She did some flapping motion with her hands which I guessed was the cue for me to get up, and she gently pushed me out of the door.

    A black limo was waiting just outside of the fire exit, and I ducked into the car just as a bright flash illuminated the dark night. Once in the car, there were a few muffled voices from outside, a tap on the window, and the car was moving. I leant back on the leather seat, careful not to mess up my hair which was somehow staying in place despite having no hairspray whatsoever.

    I knew I only had a few minutes before I arrived at the premiere for Big White Lies. Somehow, the film had been a great success in America where it had already aired, which, inevitably, made me a big success.

    I took three deep breaths, telling myself to calm down. Normal celebrities didn’t feel this nervous and excited about going to a premiere did they? But, I wasn’t an ordinary celebrity, and I didn’t want to be. I hated the idea of being followed around all of the time by a posse of cameras and reporters. I hated the idea of being the type of celebrity that would turn away when a little girl came up with a scrap of paper asking for an autograph. I hated the idea of being the type of celebrity that had no ordinary life, and spent all of her time hiding in a big house with seventeen different workers who went out and bought all the clothes and food. I hated the idea of being the type of celebrity who would give up her whole, wonderful life for a moment in the spotlight.

    Well, too late for that I suppose.

    The car was slowing down, and I smoothed down a stray hair, patted my dress lightly and prepared to alight from the car.

    “Hazel! Over here sweetheart!”

    “Give us a smile love! Come on, smile for the camera!”

    “Just a couple of pictures, Hazel!”

    “Show off that dazzling smile!”

    It went something like that. I plastered on my best Hollywood smile, and started sashaying up the red carpet. There was a massive poster outside of the London Cinema House with Jay Edwards, Hollywood’s hottest star, and me wearing a plain white dress, hair in two little plaits, and my index finger pressed against my pouted lips. The whole effect was supposed to be secretive and innocent, but to me it just looked like a strange porn film poster with my name, Hazel Martin, emblazoned in red writing.