The Lipstick’s Lament
A little story of redemption
This story is a fictional entry to the January contest on Hope, Healing and Humour. It feels great to get creative with a different part of myself!
She left me on the sink. Right beside the cold tap that still dripped from the night before; the space now empty of loud chatter and gossip, which had eventually dwindled to silence.
The overhead light had been extinguished at around 11.30 pm, and as I heard the faint click of the key in the street door, I knew She wasn’t coming back for me.
The warmth from the nearby radiator had long since dissipated — a blessing in some ways, as last night, it was so hot in here I felt as though I could melt. But now it was cold — too cold and I felt myself hardening in response. At least my cap had been replaced. That was something.
Last night it had been a different story. The evening had begun with much chatter and excitement around Her bedroom mirror. I was a relative newcomer to the scene — only purchased the week before. There was barely room for me in Her makeup box and I realised that far from being unique, I was one of a crowd.
‘Hello girls!’ I’d said, on first introduction.
‘I’m Plum Frost — it’s great to meet you all!’
A glossy redhead seemed to be in charge. She introduced herself as Scarlett Secret, but there was nothing covert about her loud and bossy demeanour. She rattled off a few names, but I found it hard to remember who was who among the various other tubes of coral, magenta, black and gold.
A tiny, circular pot turned to observe me.
‘Peachy Pout.’ she proffered, in a pitying tone.
She looked depleted, world weary and had clearly seen better days. I got the impression that she knew something that I didn’t know.
I felt uneasy.
I understood that there was a pecking order in that box. We were a class apart from the mascara, eyeliners, foundation and blushers. We were the finishing touch to Her makeup routine — the ones that made Her smile at Herself in the mirror before heading off to various social events.
Last night, it was my turn. I was the one selected to perform the final act of magical transformation of a face that had an hour ago, been pale and nondescript.
The others watched — variously encouraging, envious or cynical depending on their age, as She uncapped me, wound me upwards and applied me to Her peculiarly, stretched lips.
I applied myself most conscientiously, aware that this was my chance to shine. I liked the warmth of Her lips and willingly spread myself upon them. My pride at being chosen to accompany Her knew no bounds as She dropped me into Her small, leather handbag.
We were going out!
I found myself sharing a pocket of Her bag with a half used packet of gum. He tried to be friendly, but talk about in my face! He was one of the bold, menthol kind, and truthfully, his conversational tone made my eyes water.
The evening was all downhill from there.
I had believed that I was Hers alone, and the feeling of betrayal was bruising.
She brought me to this pub where She met several friends. There was much drinking — mostly a generic white wine, and I grew used to the cloying taste on Her lips as it slowly wore me down.
My final demise came in the form of several shots of tequila, which were shared with other women who became louder with each sip. There was much laughter and loss of inhibitions. Amusing to begin with and then tedious, as I understood that malicious gossip was happening, and that another woman was beginning to look unwell.
As I peeked out from the half open zip of the handbag, I observed a woman stagger slightly, as the colour drained from her face.
‘Louise, are you okay?’ Then,
‘Oh shit, let’s get you to the bathroom!’
I found myself listening to very unpleasant sounds, then someone weeping and a toilet flushing. There was even louder chatter around me.
After a few minutes I was brought out into the fluorescent glare of the Ladies room, where several women were now standing before a wide mirror; adjusting bra straps, spraying perfume, and combing their hair.
She was helping Her friend Louise wash her face and straighten up her dress. Other women looked on with a curious mixture of sympathy and disgust.
‘I look terrible…’ moaned Louise.
‘You’re fine,’ She said,
‘You just need a bit of lippy — here use mine.’
I was frankly, gobsmacked, as She handed me to Louise, who removed my cap and pressed me to her parched lips. I had believed that I was Hers alone, and the feeling of betrayal was bruising.
Besides, I hate to say this, but Louise’s breath smelled terrible. Where was that gum when he was needed? Too late the hero. Needless to say, I felt disrespected and used. Dirty.
Louise put me down on the sink while she wiped her smudgy eyes. My betrayer had turned to borrow a brush from a stranger. It was all drunken camaraderie in here now, and I could see what was going to happen.
I had hoped She would realise that I’d been left behind and come back for me, but as the hubbub diminished and the lights went out, I knew I’d been abandoned.
Wondering what my fate would be, I longed for the cosy safety of the makeup box. I felt sad and lost, realising for the first time that the others had known all along known how fickle She was. I had allowed my pride to trick me into believing that I was special, and now this was my reward for foolishness.
Eventually, as daylight began to glow through the frosted window, the door opened, and a young man walked in carrying a mop and various cleaning items. He emptied the overflowing bin of its damp and pink smudged tissues and I could predict where I was likely to end my days.
As He edged closer to me with a damp cloth, I braced myself for my certain demise, but then instead I found myself in His hand and brought closer to His face.
I could see that it was an interested and open face. Dare I hope, kind? He uncapped me and wound me up — eyebrows raised and a slight smile appearing. Looking quickly over His shoulder towards the door, He put me into His pocket, and carried on with His work.
After a long morning of being jiggled around in a warm pocket with a few grubby bits of fluff, I found myself brought out into the light of a strange bedroom. Where was I and why had He brought me here?
Music began to play, and while He stepped out of his jeans and t shirt, and took a shower, I listened with increasing hope to the sounds of George Michael, Prince and Madonna.
He dried himself and went to the wardrobe. Instead of getting out clean jeans and a shirt, He selected a lace thong and a fabulous, silvery, sheath dress, which He stepped into, smoothing it out across His slim hips. He added a long, dark wig and and began to shimmy across the room.
Finally, to the sound of ‘Kiss’ by Prince, He took me in his warm hand, uncapped me and with great reverence brought me to His lips. I found myself applied with utmost tenderness, as I slowly glided across His soft mouth, colouring His lips with a delicate layer of the frosted plum that was my name.
They pressed Their lips together and blew a kiss at Their reflection in the mirror.
They smiled at Themselves, and uttered words I will never forget.
‘You are beautiful, and I love You!’
In that moment I knew that I was redeemed. I had found somebody who would treat me with the respect I deserved.
We were both reborn.
May I also recommend the very impactful stories of Chantal Christie Weiss:
