Massie (8 page)

THE BLOCKS’ SOUTHAMPTON ESTATE

THE ETERNITY POOL

Sunday, June 21
1:11 P.M.

Massie felt like her iPod Classic—low on power and white.

The makeover party had been a major hit, but she was beyond exhausted and extremely tan-deprived thanks to her hectic jobby. An afternoon lounging on a water-resistant ivory chenille chaise and cooling off in the rose petal–infused infinity pool was exactly what she needed. There would be plenty of time to tabulate her sales when the sun went down. Not that she needed a calculator to know she’d broken every sales record in Be Pretty Cosmetics history. The countless follow-up text messages from her thirty-eight satisfied customers were proof enough.

Compared to the morning, the Block estate grounds were remarkably silent. The staff was on lunch break, William was playing golf, and Kendra was power-walking to town to buy Massie’s favorite low-fat crab cakes—a well-deserved treat for her hardworking daughter. The only sounds came from the tweeting birds, the neighbor’s humming lawn mower, and the waves lapping against the caramel-colored sand in the distance. Even Bean, who usually snored, was breathing easy next to Massie’s Be Soft–exfoliated feet.

She was about to text the Pretty Committee with an update on the day’s events when the whirring sound returned.

Bean scampered up the chaise and burrowed into Massie’s wavy summer hair.

“Yes!” Massie sat up and hugged Bean a little too hard. She lowered her white-framed MJ sunglasses, slipped on her mother’s black-and-white Chanel sarong, and thanked Gawd she was wearing the matching black bikini with the gold
C
’s at the cleavage.

The chopper was visible in the distance. It looked like the tadpole-shaped birthmark on the cheek of new customer number sixteen, Jenny Browning. Bean leapt off the lounge chair and darted nervously around the bluestone pool deck, barking at the sky.

The shimmering tadpole got bigger and the dicing propellers grew louder. “It’s back!” Massie shouted at the helicopter, her heart beating venti triple-shot Frappuccino style.

Massie immediately sat up and tossed her Glossip Girl SPF 30 into a rosebush.

Her skin cooled in the dark shadow of the Hamptons Bird as it descended. The grass blew flat. The pool water rippled. And the rose petals lifted into the air and swirled up like snow in reverse. Golden highlights whipped against her sun-kissed cheeks, and purple glitter rained down from the heavens for the second time that day.

The lack of a landing pad was of no concern to the pilot as the helicopter wobble-descended, then rested its silver blades in the middle of the lawn.

“Ehmagawd,”
Massie mouthed into the wind. The words
Be Pretty
were scrawled across the bronze door in purple glitter

script.

Only one person could be inside.

Massie scooped up her trembling puppy and hurried to greet her VIG (Very Important Guest).

The door opened and Anastasia Brees lifted goggles and a gold helmet off her head. With a single shake, her precise black bob fell right into place. She wore a breezy lavender draped-over-the-shoulder goddess gown, which could have passed for neon against her deep olive skin. It made Massie completely rethink her Juicy-sweats-when-flying rule.

The makeup mogul emerged barefoot, clutching her light gray dwarf pony, Muse. Her cotton-white mane and mini hoofs made Massie’s fingertips tingle. She wanted to grab the ah-dorable little thing, smother her in kisses, and take her shopping on Fifth Avenue.

Anastasia drew the dwarf pony closer to her ample chest, then paused to take in her surroundings. Her almond-shaped brown eyes darted between the house and the ocean. Finally they settled on Massie, who was now standing directly in front of her.

“I’m Anastasia Brees,” she stated, her voice low and soft and barely audible. She extended her supple hand. Massie took it, trying not to buckle under the weight of the giant amethyst on her middle finger.

“Massie Block,” she offered coolly, mimicking the VIG’s collected tone. “And this is Bean,” she told Muse.

Gently, Anastasia placed her calf-high pony on the grass.

“Be free,” Anastasia whispered to her. Muse fluttered her lips in response and pranced off with delight to wander the grounds.

Massie lowered Bean and whispered something in
her
ear, as if they too had a silent mode of communication. And luckily, off Bean went, run-yapping toward Muse.

“What an
ah
-dorable dog,” Anastasia said softly as she glided toward the pool, her dress billowing. She dipped a mauve-painted toe in the water. “Has she ever done any modeling?”

Muse and Bean lapped at the purified water with their tiny pink tongues.

“Bean would be perfect for my new ad campaign,” Anastasia offered, padding over to an ivory chaise. Her wet toe print left a trail Massie wished she could somehow save.

“I’m about to launch a line of—” She stopped herself and invited Massie to lean in with a flash of her mauve-polished nails. Massie got so close she could smell the sweet Be Fruity body oil warming Anastasia’s blemish-free skin.

“Pet nail polish,”
she finished in a low whisper. “I’ve been testing colors on Muse. She wears hot pink extremely well.”

“You can call it
neeeigh
-l polish.” Massie giggled.

“Cute.” Anastasia smiled, revealing perfect Dentyne-white teeth. “I’ll use that.”

“Of course.” Massie nodded. “Maybe you could use my horse Brownie as a model too. He’s so ah—”

“Is he a mini?” Anastasia crossed her toned legs.

“No, but he’s—”

“Minis only,” Anastasia insisted with a pity-laced grin. “Now, Massie . . .” Anastasia sat up straight in her lounge chair and slipped on a pair of gold aviators with purple lenses. “I’m not in the habit of paying personal visits to salesgirls.”

Massie quickly searched the desolate grounds.
Why wasn’t anyone around to witness this?

“I’m here,” she continued, “because in less than a week you’ve become the highest seller in Be Pretty
history
.” She casually tucked some hair behind her right ear.

And there it was. Peeking out at Massie. Framed in silky blackness.

The legendary purple streak.

Massie’s skin prickled. She felt like she was looking onto the eyes of Gawd. And He was looking back. Blessing her with a lifetime supply of fabulous.

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.

“Say you’re free this Saturday at one o’clock.” Anastasia let her hair fall back into place. “I want to throw a BPC luncheon in your honor at the Southampton Country Club.”

Massie nearly rolled off her lounge chair. “I’m in.” She twirled a lock of soon-to-be-purple hair around her index finger and yanked it tight.

Anastasia clapped her hands together firmly. “Then it’s all set.” She stood in one elegant, flowing movement and smoothed her dress. “Just e-mail your client list and we’ll take care of the rest.”

“Client list?”

“Don’t worry—no one is going to poach your customers.

We need it for the video tribute.” She snapped her fingers

once and Muse galloped over.

Bean followed, yapping frantically at Anastasia’s feet.

“Video tribute?” Massie asked, her mind racing. Was this the kind of video tribute they had at the Oscars to honor a dead alpha actor? Or the kind they had on VH1 where makeup artists and C-list comedians talked about someone famous as if they were total besties? Not that it mattered. Both were beyond acceptable.

Anastasia scooped up Muse and began walking toward the helicopter. Massie followed. “I want to get a few quotes from some of your clients talking about how you used our feel-good philosophy to help promote the line. If done right, it can be a real tearjerker. When a POTO helps a POTI, it can be life altering.”

“Potto and a potty?” Massie’s Be Plucky brows furrowed.

“Pretty On The Outside,” Anastasia explained, pointing to Massie. “And Pretty On The Inside—your clients. You’ve helped so many girls fall in love with themselves despite their imperfections, and that’s a very special thing. You’ve built up their self-esteem by using kindness. It’s really quite moving.” Anastasia stepped inside the bronze helicopter and slid on her goggles. “So get me that list and prepare to be honored for your compassion.”

Anastasia pulled the door shut, started the engine, and bid farewell by making a
B
with her fingers.

Massie stood firm against the blasting winds and deafening staccato of the revving propeller. Seconds later, the chopper lift-hovered above the lawn, tilted left, and then zoomed away. Another flurry of purple glitter fell from the sky.

As the shimmering flecks gathered on her scalp, Massie started to wonder if maybe her sales technique wasn’t
exactly
what Anastasia had envisioned.

But she was too elated to stress about it. After all, Anastasia had called her a POTO! And for now, that was the only thing that mattered.

*A2A=According to Anastasia—nawt Massie. Yet Massie would pretend to believe in POTI until she had her purple streak. But not a single minute more.

SOUTHAMPTON

MAIN STREET

Friday, June 26
11:32 A.M.

Southampton’s picturesque Main Street was bustling with stylish women swinging tissue-stuffed shopping bags from one chic boutique to the next. Luxury SUVs stood parked along the curb and clogged the narrow roads. The morning gloom had cleared to another flawless day, and, thanks to Massie’s recent success, Kendra had arranged a three-hour visit with Massie’s old friend Visa so they could buy an outfit for the luncheon.

Confidence oozed from Massie’s tiny pores as she strolled beside her mother wearing a blousy peach Halston kimono top from the vintage closet over last year’s gray Marc by Marc Jacobs short shorts. Even in old clothes she owned this town.

They brushed past a college-aged brunette wearing high-waisted dungaree jean shorts. “What a
waist
.” Massie giggled.

“Sweetie!” Kendra giggle-nudged her daughter with a mix of amusement and disgrace. “What if she hears you?”

“She’d thank me,” Massie muttered. “Just like everyone else I helped.”

“I have a feeling that the Be Pretty philosophy does not involve making fun of people.”

Massie rummaged through her pewter Botkier tote searching for a distraction. Ever since Anastasia had told this POTO about being kind to POTIs, Massie had felt slightly on edge. Did Anastasia really think people with bad style were pretty on the inside? Or was it just
her
way of selling makeup to the masses? Because if she did believe it, she’d probably take issue with Massie’s unorthodox sales technique. And that might affect Massie’s BPC alpha status and her video tribute and her purple streak and—
STOP!

After a quick hair toss, Massie managed to erase these stressful thoughts from her head. Worrying wouldn’t solve anything. It would only put a damper on Visa Day and her sunny complexion—two things she wanted to enjoy for as long as possible.

Kendra checked her gold Cartier timepiece “I just want to stop in on Horst Fishbeck at the gallery. I ordered six garden sculptures weeks ago and they haven’t arrived—unless he sold them to someone else, which is exactly what I’m going to find out.” She picked up her pace. “It won’t take long. And then we can spend the rest of the day on you.”

Massie sighed. She had to get to Intermix before her Chanel No. 19 faded and her blush was absorbed. It was crucial for her self-esteem that she shop while she looked and felt her best. And right now she was a nine. But by the time her mother got through with Horst, her blood sugar would have dropped to unsalvageable levels and her daily beauty high would dip dangerously low.

“How about I meet you for lunch.” Massie checked her reflection in the window of Agnes B. as they passed. The Halston she’d borrowed from her mother was flattering on her tiny frame, but come
awn
! Her exfoliated skin was itching to be wrapped in something designed
after
she was born.

“I don’t want you shopping alone.” Kendra pushed past a woman whose face was stretched so tight, she looked shocked just to be walking down the street. “Trini’s neighbor’s sister-in-law had her wallet stolen right out of her bag while she was lunching at Savory’s.”

“But I
won’t
be alone.” Massie hurried to keep up with her mother as she
click-clack
ed toward the gallery in her Choo slides. “I’ll have Visa.”

“That’s not—”

“Heyyyy, you!” Lindsey Kearns called from her silver beach cruiser. She slammed on the brakes, hopped off, and lifted the bike onto the sidewalk. Her frizz was completely gone and her green eyes were lined in gray, just like Massie taught her. She had even abandoned the masculine surf trunks for a pink Roxy tank dress covered in hearts.

A feeling of pride pricked the bottoms of Massie’s feet. She stomped her BCBG wood wedges against the pavement for relief.

“Lindsey, you look great,” Kendra gushed, motioning for her to walk with them because she was late.

“Thanks.” Lindsey rolled the silver bike beside Massie. “Your daughter did it.”

Kendra stopped for a second. She covered her heart with her jeweled hand and admired Massie as if
she
were one of Horst Fishbeck’s precious works of art. Then she started walking again.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your beauty.” Massie beamed.

“I am, and don’t worry—that’s
exactly
what I told the film crew yesterday.”

“Film crew?” Kendra asked, sliding a diamond peace-sign pendant across the platinum chain around her neck.

“Yeah, Be Pretty is interviewing my clients about their makeover experience,” Massie said, as if that kind of thing happened to her twice a day. “It’s for the luncheon.”

“What did you tell them?” Kendra asked outside the gallery, where she paused to tighten the thin gold belt on her RL navy shirtdress.

“I told them how honest Massie was.” Lindsey threw a leg back over her bike seat and lifted herself up to sit. “They seemed a little shocked when I told them you said I needed a humidifier because my hair was sucking the moisture out of the room but—”

“You
told
them that?” Massie snapped at Lindsey.

“You
said
that?” Kendra snapped at Massie.

“It’s okay, we’re not upset.” Lindsey absentmindedly rang her bell. “Anymore.”

“We’re?”
Massie screeched, avoiding her mother’s questioning eyes. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“All the other girls you helped.” Lindsey smacked a deep-conditioned blond tendril away from her glistening lips. “Don’t worry, after we told the camera crew what you said about us, we made sure to let them know how grateful we were for your honesty. And for promising that Be Cosmetics would make us pretty, even though God couldn’t.”

Kendra turned to her daughter, her proud smile fading faster than Massie’s Chanel No. 19.