Yvette Laurent approached with the same calm certainty she seemed to bring to everything she did. Where Claudette moved through the dressing room like a storm, Yvette arrived like a reassuring hand on a shoulder.
She smiled warmly at Karyn before gently guiding her toward one of the illuminated mirrors.
“Assieds-toi.” (Sit.) Yvette pointed toward the stool in front of the mirror.
Karyn understood the gesture immediately and lowered herself onto it.
For a moment, Yvette simply studied her.
Then she got to work.
The next several minutes passed beneath a steady assault of brushes, powder puffs, hairpins, and cosmetics.
Every time Karyn tried to ask a question, Yvette gently shushed her.
Every time she attempted to look into the mirror, Yvette turned her face away again.
Powder.
Brushes.
A touch of colour.
More powder.
A careful adjustment to the headdress while she rearranged Karyn's hair.
Lipstick.
Another adjustment.
The entire process felt strangely familiar despite the fact that Karyn had never experienced anything remotely like it before.
Around them, the dressing room continued operating with well-practised efficiency.
Dancers moved between costume rails.
Someone laughed.
Someone else complained loudly about a missing glove.
Claudette shouted at three different people in the span of ten seconds.
Nobody seemed particularly concerned about the confused young woman currently having her makeup applied like any other Parisian chorus dancer.
That worried Karyn almost as much as the costume itself.
At some point, Lucienne wandered over to inspect Yvette's progress.
The two women exchanged a brief conversation in French.
Karyn understood none of it.
Unfortunately, both women seemed pleased.
That could not possibly be a good sign.
Yvette made one final adjustment to the headdress.
Then she stepped back.
Lucienne folded her arms.
For several seconds, both women studied Karyn critically.
Neither spoke.
Karyn's nervousness grew.
Finally, Yvette nodded.
Lucienne nodded as well.
Whatever examination had just taken place, she appeared to have passed.
Yvette turned the stool slightly toward the mirror.
For the first time since sitting down, Karyn was allowed to look.
For several seconds she simply stared.
The blonde hair remained.
The face staring back at her was still hers, and yet somehow it did not look entirely like the woman she remembered seeing in the mirror that morning.
The makeup softened her features.
The costume transformed her silhouette.
The feathers framed her from behind.
Even her posture seemed different.
She looked older somehow. More confident. More glamorous.
More like she belonged in this room.
That final thought struck her harder than anything else.
Lucienne appeared beside the mirror and studied the reflection critically.
Yvette did the same.
The two women exchanged a brief glance before nodding in quiet satisfaction.
To them, the result seemed perfectly ordinary.
To Karyn, it was anything but.
The young woman staring back from the mirror no longer looked like someone who had wandered into a Paris theatre by accident.
She looked like one of the ensemble dancers preparing to take the stage.
And that realization frightened her more than anything else.
What would Jon think?
That was one of the two thoughts running through her mind at that moment.
The other was far simpler.
Why me?
