Confident || Changbin

Big Break?

The train is especially cold. I shiver and tighten my wool cardigan around my body. Today would have been a good day to wear that new jacket Mom sent you, I think to myself. I think about all the times Mom fussed when I skipped out on a jacket or a coat that I really needed because I didn't want my outfit to look too bulky. And then because I thought about Mom and the jacket, I start thinking about home.

10 months ago, I left my small town in Virginia and moved to New York City to pursue my career in makeup artistry. After all, the only thing my hometown had to offer me after college was doing bridal makeup for acquaintances and coworkers. Through all this I struggled with barely getting paid because people always expect a deal when they know you. I always told myself that I was just being nice and reasonable. The truth is, I didn't know how to stand up for myself. I still don't.

At 22 years old, I have nothing to show for my skills. There was no real demand in a rural area for my talent, and there sure as hell wasn't anything else that interested me there. If it wasn't for the bravery of my older sister, Mila, who left to make something of herself, I would probably still be stuck there, living with Mom and painting faces for next to nothing.

I call Mila when I get off the train.

"You're calling early," she answers, "Are you finished with work?"

"They sent me home early again."

"What?! Sage, you have to do something about this. I can't keep paying for your half of the rent just because they're not letting you work."

"I know, I know. But what am I supposed to do when they won't give me a chance? They always give the clients to the more experienced artists."

"Figure it out, that's what you do. Stand up for yourself because you deserve better. Because I deserve better. Now, don't come home without pizza. I'm starving." She hangs up.

She's right. She can't keep covering for me. I moved in with her to force myself out of my comfort zone and to finally take care of myself. Yet in New York I'm struggling differently than I did back home. The pay is amazing and the clients don't hesitate to tip well too, that is, if I can even get a client to work with me. They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. But I'm struggling to make a name for myself so I guess I'm still waiting for my big break.

I'm leaving Corner Slice, Mila's favorite pizza place, when my phone rings. It's my boss. Maybe she's calling me back in to work, I think. I shift the pizza box to my left hip so I can answer the phone.

"Hey, Elizabeth."

"Sage, I have a client for you." Finally. "We got a call from a music entertainment company. One of their stylists is sick and they need someone quickly. They didn't ask for anyone specific so I'm sending you. I need my senior artists with me tomorrow for the Broadway actors."

I do my best to swallow her disguised insult and focus on the fact that I'm actually being given work.

"That's great. What's the job?"

"So here's the thing. There are eight musicians that need hair and makeup done for a music video. It's my understanding that they already have one artist secured, so you will likely be working on at least half of them."

"Elizabeth," My heart sinks. "I don't know how to do hair."

The walk from Corner Slice back to my apartment doesn't take me long. Mila must have sensed my disappointment because she gives me a puzzled look when I walk through the door. I hand her the pizza and walk into the kitchen to continue the conversation.

"I know. But I couldn't say no. They're paying extra since it's so last minute. This will be a good paying job for you. Plus, the members are all men so it can't be that hard to pull off, right?"

How can she be so dense? Gender aside, I don't know the first thing about styling hair. I don't even do anything with my own hair. It's long and wavy enough that I usually just leave it down. It's been the same, boring, dark brown color since high school, when I dyed it back to my natural color after experimenting with bright red. Yeah, I'm the least qualified person for this job.

"You're throwing me to the wolves here." I beg.

"You can do this, Sage. You have to. I can't keep paying you a makeup artist's salary when you perform like an assistant."

She's not giving me any other option. I sigh. "What time do I have to be there?"

"7am. I'll text you the address." Click.

I toss my phone onto the kitchen counter out of frustration.

"Who was that?" Mila asks, mouth full of pizza.

"Elizabeth. I have a client tomorrow, but I have to do makeup and hair. On four people."

"But you don't do hair."

"Exactly."

But if I want to keep my job, then I have to do this. I can't let Mila down. I can't let myself down.