She was a makeup and wardrobe artist, working on the new Huey Lewis and The News video, being filmed on the island. She was a tall slender thirty-something year old, with long thick blonde hair, which she tossed out of her face nonstop, Her makeup and clothes were impeccable, and she had an air of confidence about her. She was a very attractive woman, until she opened her mouth.
“God, I hate cigarettes!” she said, wafting imaginary smoke from in front of her face.
The lady on third base looked at me as if to say “WTF?” She had been playing there for at least an hour, and was smoking when Blondie sat down. She could easily have chosen another table.
“There are no-smoking tables over there.” She pointed way across the other side of the casino. I smiled. It was the late eighties. I don’t think there was a no-smoking area on the whole island.
“Whatever.” Blondie said, without even looking in that general direction. She turned her attention toward me. “You know, all this cigarette smoke is so bad for your skin. You don’t have to smoke you know, you absorb it through your pores.It’s going to age you way before your time.” She smiled sweetly at the lady on third base, who defiantly took another drag. “You don’t smoke do you Shirley?”
Part of me wanted to deny my habit, but at the same time I felt a certain camaraderie with the lady on third base.
“Yeah, I do.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Oh my God.” she looked disgusted. “You have such fair skin too! I hope you don’t go out in the sun.” Was she nuts? It was the Bahamas! Of course I went out in the sun!
“I try not to.” I lied.
“Good, because you have the kind of skin that’s prone to wrinkling.” She was studying my face. “You’re not a natural redhead are you?”
“Er… yes I am.” I was always a little insulted when people asked me that, as though they were going to ask me to prove it!
“Its just your eyebrows are darker than your hair.” she stated.
“I use an eyebrow pencil.” I explained. The lady on third base rolled her eyes.
“Oh my God! That’s even worse. You’re a redhead with blue eyes. People with light eyes shouldn’t go in the sun. They tend to squint more. You’re going to have horrible crow’s feet!”
“Thanks.” I was starting to feel depressed about my impending doom. I was going to be a white, wrinkly, dried up, old prune.
“You need to exfoliate, and use a really rich cream at night.” She told me. “That will stop the dullness in your skin.”
Dullness? Are you shittin’ me? Where did this lady get off? She had managed, in ten minutes, to totally rip my face apart. I was used to players sometimes asking personal questions, but this lady was completely out of line. She was a very attractive woman, but she was no Aphrodite! Cheeky bitch! She had a few lines herself! She was no spring chicken!
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” I inquired with a smile.
“I’m thirty six!” she declared proudly. “I don’t look it though, huh?” She tossed her hair again. The lady on third base shook her head.
“Oh my God!” I mimicked her So-Cal accent, as well as I could. “You look amazing! I thought you were waaaay younger than me!”
“Why? How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-eight.” She stared at my face again. Despite my inevitable demise, I looked pretty damn good. There was not one line on my face, and I had a youthful glow, even with my dull patches. Maybe I could give her a few tips!
“Really?” she stared harder.
“Really.” I smiled back at her.
“No way!” she said in disbelief.
“Jeanette!” I called the floor person over. “Tell this lady I’m thirty-eight.” Jeanette looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and said,
Blondie, cooed a little about how young I looked for my age. She didn’t realize I was that old. She played another few hands and then left for the Baccarat room. The lady on third base sighed loudly.
“Thank God!” she leaned into the table. “Don’t listen to her, you look gorgeous. I can’t believe you’re thirty-eight!”
“That’s ’cause I’m twenty-five!” I confessed.
“Awesome! I love it!” She high-fived me.