With a fresh perspective and a much more upbeat attitude, part of which could be attributed to finishing off that second margarita, I paid my bill and went to freshen up a bit in the bathroom before finding a seat at my gate so that I could await boarding.
Although I wore sweats, I made an effort this morning, feeling the need to look as pretty as possible in the hopes that it would lift my spirits. That, and the aforesaid margaritas, seemed to do the trick, pleasing me with what I saw in the mirror. Apparently though, the woman standing next to me didn’t agree.
I saw her out of the corner of my eye, in skin tight cheetah print pants, high heels, and a deep v-cut that I couldn’t have pulled off in my wildest dreams. She busied herself by applying at least half a case of blush onto her already blushed cheeks. The oddest part of her ensemble were the cowboy boots that went halfway up her calf and the bright blue cowboy hat that balanced perilously on top of her rolling carry-on. She very much resembled a drag-queen that I saw once in a Las Vegas show, with the top of her hair pulled into a poof at least three inches high. I wasn’t altogether sure that she wasn’t and found myself glancing in between her legs in the mirror to see if the she/he had a special package tucked up and away.
I could tell nothing, the fabric too busy to reveal anything. I turned away to grab some paper towels before exiting the bathroom. I knew I should’ve felt guilty, or at the very least ashamed for staring at the woman’s crotch, but alcohol had blurred the edges slightly of what I felt appropriate. Then again, what did she expect from dressing that way?
I’d just finished drying my hands when her voice behind me caused me to jump out of my skin. Exceedingly female, very fake, and drenched in a thick Texas accent, I smiled at the wall. He was definitely a woman minus the “wo.” I’d lived in Texas all my life and had only heard a Texas accent that pronounced in the movies.
“Wait just a minute, sugar. I’d like to offer you some assistance.”
I spun slowly, my brows knitted together in confusion. “Assistance? I wasn’t aware that I needed any.” The words came out a little sharp, but I really felt that second drink and the little filter I had left the building.
The she/he, I wasn’t sure how to think of him, reared back with wide eyes. “Oh, what a feisty thing you are, but yes, you do need assistance. You are far too gorgeous for me to let you go back out there like that. You have the darkest circles under your eyes, you look as if you haven’t slept in days.”
I remained facing the same direction but cast a sideways glance into the mirror. Although I hadn’t noticed it before, deep, dark circles shaded the skin beneath my eyes. Not that it was any wonder, I suffered from sleep deprivation. “I’m afraid you’re right, but there’s not much I can do about it. My makeup is in my checked bag.”
She/he smiled wide and reached down to grab a bag sitting next to the rolling carry-on. “Not to worry, sugar, I’ve got just the thing.”
Before I could protest, the stranger unwrapped a fresh sponge and slathered violet-colored cream underneath my eyes. I glanced down to see a boarding pass hanging out of the bag. I smiled, my suspicion completely confirmed. “Umm…Tom, I appreciate your help, but can I ask you what you’re doing in the women’s restroom?”
His hand froze on my face, and he instantly lost the female voice and Texas accent as he grinned guiltily. “Dammit. I should’ve zipped that up. Okay, don’t freak out, I’m not some weirdo. I’m an actor on my way to L.A. to audition for a movie. I have to go straight from the plane to the audition so I had to go ahead and get in character. I couldn’t very well go into the men’s restroom looking like this. There. See?” He stepped away so that I could turn to examine his work.
I looked much better, certainly more awake and sober than I felt. “Thank you. I don’t easily freak out.” What was I saying? I definitely did freak out easily, but I felt especially chill. “Let me guess, the part you’re auditioning for…drag queen?”
He laughed hard, and the deep voice sounded extremely odd coming from the female-ish face. “One would think, but no actually. Well, not exactly. Think Mrs. Doubtfire, except more cops and less children, and..” he hesitated and reached up to scratch his head. “Actually, it’s nothing like that.”
I grinned and laughed. “Alright, well that sounds just great. I do look much better. I appreciate it. Let me return the favor.” Before he could respond, I turned to grab another paper towel, wetting it beneath the running faucet. Wringing it out, I reached up to dab it over his cheeks, rinsing away some of the excess blush. “Don’t take offense, but it seems that you’re much better at doing someone else’s make-up than your own.”