dangerously low. âThey called me this morning, Annalise.â
âOh,â Annalise felt her mouth go dry. âAnd?â
âThe clip went viral. Susan Lynsey posted it on social media and it seems she made it look even worse than it was. Youâre on repeat saying the same thing over and over, and then thereâs that dreadful empty-headed pout at the end.â
âWell, didnât you say that all publicity is good publicity?â Maybe they werenât exactly the words, but it was the gist.
âThis makes you look silly, and the pageant people feel, by extension, it makes them look ridiculous.â She shook her head; the only sentiment here was annoyance. Annalise had messed up and Gail wasnât going to make her feel good about it. âThey want the crown back and they are giving you the opportunity to do it quietly or else they will make an example of you.â
âThatâs not fair.â Annalise knew she sounded no better than a teenager â worse, she sounded like a pre-schooler. âThey wouldnât.â It was all she could manage. She caught sight of herself in the mirror behind Gail. For a moment, all she could see was a disappointed little girl. She felt as though all the blood in her body was travelling fast from her head to the tips of her new Gucci stilettos. âDonât they understand what this means to me? To my family? God, my dad will be devastated.â She whispered the words, hardly aware of Gail anymore. These days, Annalise, with her false hair, nails and permatan rarely looked vulnerable, but now she knew she was disintegrating into a horrible caricature of the carefully created image. And she was far too upset to do anything about it.
âYouâll have to hand the crown back,â Gail was speaking quickly, the shock of red hair that she clung on to, despite its obvious thinness, a thorny crest threatening to degenerate on her creamy scalp at any moment. It moved manically about her pate as though controlled by some power even greater than Gailâs. âI donât want to be associated with this kind of publicity â mud sticks,â she bellowed across the desk at the distraught Annalise.
âOkay, so, what do I do?â She hadnât missed the implication, this was bigger than just giving the crown back.
âKeep a low profile, talk to the pageant people, see if you can win them around, see if they have anything else to offer, but I doubt it.â Gail lit one of her long filtered cigarettes belligerently; she still smoked at her desk. There was no smoking ban for Gail, she made the rules and everyone stuck by them.
*
It was with a heavy heart that Annalise handed her crown onto the runner-up and made her way to the Liffey Medical Clinic. She cried the whole way. It felt as if sheâd lost the one thing worth having. She went straight to the bathrooms on arrival. There was no fixing the mess her make-up had jellied into; she washed off what remained of it. Afterwards, staring at her bare face in the muted lights, she didnât even try to convince herself that things would get better. It was as if the sparkle had fallen from the glitterball of life. Still, she might as well keep the appointment. She wasnât sure if bigger boobs were the way to go, but anything had to be better than wallowing in the loss of her big chance.
*
Paul Starr wasnât the first man to tell Annalise Connolly that she was beautiful. The difference was, when he said it, she had a feeling he was telling her not to get anything from her, but rather to give her something for herself. That was just Paul. Theyâd met, quite by accident. Sheâd been hoping to get a little work done, discreet enhancement, just a little pick-me-up for her self-esteem as much as for her B-cups. David Rayner was the best surgeon in the business. Rumour had it that heâd done work on Katie Price, in her Jordan days â not that
âOh,â Annalise felt her mouth go dry. âAnd?â
âThe clip went viral. Susan Lynsey posted it on social media and it seems she made it look even worse than it was. Youâre on repeat saying the same thing over and over, and then thereâs that dreadful empty-headed pout at the end.â
âWell, didnât you say that all publicity is good publicity?â Maybe they werenât exactly the words, but it was the gist.
âThis makes you look silly, and the pageant people feel, by extension, it makes them look ridiculous.â She shook her head; the only sentiment here was annoyance. Annalise had messed up and Gail wasnât going to make her feel good about it. âThey want the crown back and they are giving you the opportunity to do it quietly or else they will make an example of you.â
âThatâs not fair.â Annalise knew she sounded no better than a teenager â worse, she sounded like a pre-schooler. âThey wouldnât.â It was all she could manage. She caught sight of herself in the mirror behind Gail. For a moment, all she could see was a disappointed little girl. She felt as though all the blood in her body was travelling fast from her head to the tips of her new Gucci stilettos. âDonât they understand what this means to me? To my family? God, my dad will be devastated.â She whispered the words, hardly aware of Gail anymore. These days, Annalise, with her false hair, nails and permatan rarely looked vulnerable, but now she knew she was disintegrating into a horrible caricature of the carefully created image. And she was far too upset to do anything about it.
âYouâll have to hand the crown back,â Gail was speaking quickly, the shock of red hair that she clung on to, despite its obvious thinness, a thorny crest threatening to degenerate on her creamy scalp at any moment. It moved manically about her pate as though controlled by some power even greater than Gailâs. âI donât want to be associated with this kind of publicity â mud sticks,â she bellowed across the desk at the distraught Annalise.
âOkay, so, what do I do?â She hadnât missed the implication, this was bigger than just giving the crown back.
âKeep a low profile, talk to the pageant people, see if you can win them around, see if they have anything else to offer, but I doubt it.â Gail lit one of her long filtered cigarettes belligerently; she still smoked at her desk. There was no smoking ban for Gail, she made the rules and everyone stuck by them.
*
It was with a heavy heart that Annalise handed her crown onto the runner-up and made her way to the Liffey Medical Clinic. She cried the whole way. It felt as if sheâd lost the one thing worth having. She went straight to the bathrooms on arrival. There was no fixing the mess her make-up had jellied into; she washed off what remained of it. Afterwards, staring at her bare face in the muted lights, she didnât even try to convince herself that things would get better. It was as if the sparkle had fallen from the glitterball of life. Still, she might as well keep the appointment. She wasnât sure if bigger boobs were the way to go, but anything had to be better than wallowing in the loss of her big chance.
*
Paul Starr wasnât the first man to tell Annalise Connolly that she was beautiful. The difference was, when he said it, she had a feeling he was telling her not to get anything from her, but rather to give her something for herself. That was just Paul. Theyâd met, quite by accident. Sheâd been hoping to get a little work done, discreet enhancement, just a little pick-me-up for her self-esteem as much as for her B-cups. David Rayner was the best surgeon in the business. Rumour had it that heâd done work on Katie Price, in her Jordan days â not that
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