“Wine, Miss Tawon?” a finely dressed train attendant, holding an expensive-looking bottle of wine with a name I can’t pronounce offers with a pressed smile and I stare back at her for a few seconds before fumbling my next words.
“Umm… no thank you.”
“It's non-alcoholic, Madame, the best blend of blackberry and Swedish grapes.” She says the word as though I'd know what any of it means, I suppose people who ride first class of the express train do, yet another reason for me to feel like an imposter today.
Her plastic smile is now a little bit terrifying, making me feel as though not accepting her wine will get me impaled to this seat by icicles.
“I’d love some, thank you.”
She leans over and places the rather long wine glass on the table and very gently begins to pour the wine. All done, she passes me a little bow and continues down the passageway. I reach for the glass and take a sip. Almost instantly a million fireworks explode in my brain as the rich taste travels down my lungs. I don’t I have ever tasted anything this vibrant, and to think it’s being served on the train like some sort of soft drink.
Instantly I pull out my phone and text Pete: Bro, they just served me wine on the train. This shit tastes like fucking heaven. I don’t know what the name is but the attendant says there like fancy fruit inside. Bro WTF!
It's only a few seconds before Pete texts back: You’re having wine on your way to an interview???? Are you trying to ruin this for us?
For us he says? A smile graces my lips when I text back: There is no us, I’m the one who is about to get grilled for a job are most likely won’t get. And also the wine is alcohol-free.
I take another sip of the heaven in a glass and stare eagerly at the three dots on my phone screen, he’s taking longer than usual to reply, and when he does, I grin sheepishly: I know you love the word ‘no’, but don’t be such a pessimist today. And there is an us, I want you to get this job, if you win I win.”
My insides squirm a little as I turn to the window for a few seconds, and exhale. Replying with a smirk, I text back: Whatever you say, bro. Once again thank you for the tickets. I owe you.
He is typing again and it feels like I have to wait a millennium though it’s only a few seconds before his reply comes: I will hold you to that. And also can you do me a favor?
Already cashing in on my debt? I reply
No, that is reserved for something else, this is different. Can you? He texts back.
Depends on what the favor is.
Stop calling me bro.
I laugh a little before texting back: What's wrong with bro?
Can you stop?
But bro is very chill. I argue, taking a sip of my wine. I call all my friends bro.
He’s typing and I wait eagerly, staring at the three dots. My brows furrow when it takes more than a few minutes for his reply to arrive, and when it does, it's a simple: Okay.
Okay?
Don’t be nervous, the job is already yours. Got to go. He texts back and it feels like the energy between us has shifted for some reason.
Yeah sure, have a good day. I reply almost instantly and wait for his reply, but it never comes.
Releasing a soft breath, I lean back into my seat and sip my wine. There isn’t much of a view outside the window, we are traveling underground, but it still feels good to stare at the vast underground green land the city uses to suck away toxic air.
The express train to Greenwood town is the least place I expected to be spending my Monday morning. People like me don’t ride the express train, it’s expensive and reserved for the most elite, but also because I prefer the freedom motorcycles provide. Regardless, from the moment I arrived at the train station with my heart in my stomach, scared of being found out and embarrassed, it has been nothing short of an amazing experience.
At first, I kept waiting for someone to yank my wig off and scream, ‘Look it’s a boy!’ I have probably imagined the same exact scenario a million different ways in the fifteen minutes since we departed the train station. Pa and Minnie took my styling too far, to the point that I could barely recognize my own reflection in the mirror. It was not my plan to wear the red lipstick or the fake beauty dot on the left side of my face, but I live with crazy people.
It all began on Sunday morning. I almost had a heart attack when I woke up to Pa and Minnie hovering over me with a measuring tape.
“What are you doing?” I asked, blinking awake.
“Shhh… go back to sleep,” Minnie whispered, putting her palm over my eyes and I swatted it away.
“Stay still,” Pa cautioned, pulling the tape across my chest. “I’m having your all mother's suits resized for your interview tomorrow,” Pa said, fixing his glasses over his nose, his forehead scrunched in focus.
“Pa!” I sprung up and he smacked me on the shoulder.
“I said stay still!” Pa warned.
“I never agreed to do it! It's identity fraud!”
“I checked, it's just a small fine if you’re caught. We can pay it,” Pa said, like we were casual lawbreakers.
“By then we'll have a lot of money from your salary.” Minnie grinned.
“I also have a plan that will make it near impossible for you to be caught,” Pa continued.
“What’s the plan?” I asked out of mere curiosity.
Minnie lept from the bed and hurried to my wooden table, returning with a big box she immediately pulled open. My jaw dropped, it was Ma’s old make-up box, filled with beauty products of all caliber. Foundations, lipsticks, powders, eyeliners, and many other things of which I did not know the name.
“Make-up?”
“And…” Pa bent over and lifted the laptop into his lap. He clicked on a button before turning the screen to me
“There are four places you must contour on your face. Forehead, nose, cheek, and jaw,” the female announcer on the screen explained, pointing at a diagram behind her, and my curiosity slightly peaked.
“Pa… I’m still deciding.”
“I spoke with Kla and got all the details. The interview is tomorrow, there isn’t that much time. Luke, don’t you want to at least try?” Pa asked softly.
A few minutes after watching the woman on the screen explain how to properly contour the face I nodded a little and this implored them into action. Pa went on to finish taking my measurements and later, while he sat down by the manual tailoring machine to fix Ma’s old suits, Minnie and I continued to figure out how to properly apply make-up for my face type.
It’d be easier to say it was not exciting and the most fun I have had with my family in the longest time but that'd be a selfish lie. Make-up and the applicant of it is a beautiful adventure, and I don't understand why this adventure is reserved for women.
Minnie turned my face into a canvas, and Pa constantly screaming about how terrible she was at make-up did nothing to deter her from trying. We spent the whole day in the sitting room, trying out make-up hacks and clothes, it wasn’t until the sun was setting I went to make noodles, food had completely escaped our mind.
Amidst all the chaos, with make-up and clothes littered in every direction, we had dinner, watched our favorite TV show, the ongoing game, and went right back to our little affair. The whole neighborhood had gone to sleep by the time I figured out how to get the foundation and contour to look decent enough.
In the end, it was just Pa and I left to figure out what I’d wear as Minnie fell asleep behind the sofa. It’s a good thing I clean both under and behind the sofa every other day, Minnie could fall asleep under a train. Once I covered her up with a blanket, I busied myself with packing up the make-up box when my phone chimed.
Naiguso, the text message from an unsaved number read.
I furrowed my brow at the screen before deciding to text back. Naiguso. Who is this? Without giving much thought to it, I went back to arranging the box and my phone chimed again.
“Your least favorite leech.”
A second passed, then another, it was as though my brain had shut down and had to be rebooted. I snagged my phone off the floor and sprinted up the steps, dashing into my bedroom and jumping under the covers, my heart racing from excitement or fear. Pete was texting me. ME. Like we were friends or something. Pete, my idol was texting me!
I gawked at the screen, my fingers were frozen as I stared at the words. A few minutes later, when I hadn’t yet replied, the three buttons on my screen began to move.
It’s Pete I meant to say. Another text message arrived.
I swallowed, the jitters exploding everywhere I could feel on my body. I rolled around to lie on my back and texted back: Hei.
How are you?
Gud.
U’re up late.
I grinned so hard, my cheeks hurt. This was happening for real. I was not being delulu, Pete was texting me in the middle of the night. So are you?
I’m at work. We are filming all night.
I had just typed out: You’ve been filming a lot lately, when I recalled I wasn't supposed to know that. Heck, I wasn't even supposed to know who he was! Filming? I texted back instead.
Yeah, for a commercial. Y r u up late?
I pondered which commercial, I have his entire schedule, his management company releases one every other week so fans can send gifts and such. He isn’t supposed to be filming today.
Prepping for a job interview I have tomorrow, I texted back before checking his schedule again.
Another job?
Yup, if I get this, I can quit one of my part-time jobs. I text back.
How many jobs do you have?
Two.
The three dots lingered on the screen a bit before his next reply came: Can I call you?
With a gasp, I sprang up from my bed and sat upright, the blanket hovering over my head like a veil. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I was so nervous about a phone call, it's not like we hadn’t spoken a few times prior. It’s still strange to think he has my number, and I have his, and its just supposed to be normal?
Okay, I texted back.
I held my breath and a few seconds later, my phone rang. I sprang up and then it was another round of internal wreck. I took a big breath and adjusted the skirt I was wearing to allow me kneel properly, then after a few seconds, picked the call.
“Hei,” I answered quietly, my voice too damn shaky.
“Two jobs is a lot,” Pete’s kind voice came through the phone and my entire body relaxed his voice was some sort of massager.
“There are people who work four jobs.”
“That's absurd! What kind of people?” He laughed softly and slurped on something.
I chuckled and let myself fall forward into the bed, the realization of how different our worlds were hitting me. He sounded so clueless about what life was like for the majority of people who lived in Bisari. “The economy is shit, bro, people are just trying to survive.”
“That can’t be healthy, it shouldn’t be glorified or normalized. You sound like its just normal.” He slurped again.
I wanted to tell him it is normal for many people like me, no one glorifies it, everyone knows how difficult it is but that’s how we survive. Instead, I asked, “What are you drinking?”
“O negative,” he sang back and slurped.
“Huh?”
“It’s my favorite.”
It took me a minute to realize he was actually referring to his favorite blood type. “Right.”
“Are you nervous about the interview tomorrow?”
Nodding, I replied, “A little. The chances of me getting the job are very slim.”
“A little nerve is fine, but don’t be intimidated by it. You deserve to be there just like every other applicant.”
I made a face and glanced down at my skirt. He didn’t know the full story and I definitely was not going to tell him about the fraud my family was forcing me to commit or the fact I was beginning to enjoy the process of committing said fraud. “Well—”
“Should I come drive you to the interview tomorrow?”
My brows shot up, “No, bro, I’m good.”
“I could come cheer you up.”
“I don’t need cheering.”
“Where is the location? Should I'll pick you up after?"
“No!” We both echoed at the same time and Pete laughed.
“You love that word,” he added.
“Camera rolling in fifteen minutes!” someone called from his side of the call and Pete groaned, making me smile.
“Looks like the camera is ready to roll.” Pete sighed. “I want to stay, I like this, Luke,” he said softly. “I like this very much.”
“Like what?”
“Talking to you in the middle of the night.”
I swallowed and pressed my lips together, holding myself back from saying how much I didn’t want him to go, too. It felt nice to talk on the phone, under the blanket, like it was a secret---our secret.
“Promise me you won’t go on your motorbike, it’ll mess up your hair for the interview. Take the express train.”
I chuckled again. He said it like taking the express train was something people just did—maybe some people, but definitely not me. “I don’t have a pass for that.”
There was clicking over the phone and then a text message arrived on my phone. Swiping open I blinked at the VIP pass Pete had just texted, astounded. I had never in my life seen an express train ticket, let alone a VIP one.
“What the–”
“Use the train okay?”
“I can’t accept this, Pete.” I began sitting up, still shaken up by the sight of the ticket.
“I never use the train, but I have several passes spanning years. I didn’t even pay for those, it was gifted to me by the government.”
“What?” My brows scrunched. Was it really that easy for rich people? Did they snap their fingers and all of a sudden doors opened?
“Just use the train. Promise me.”
“I–”
“Great! Call me once you leave the interview, I want to hear all about it, Naiguso."
“Pete—”
“Night!” He hung up before I could say anything else and I continued to gawk at the screen in disbelief, slowly sliding the blanket off my head, and then the wig.
I fell on my back, staring at the ceiling, it felt as though I was floating. like everything was possible and impossible at the same time. I can’t recall when sleep took me as I watched the fan turn and by morning, Pa had set up everything I needed to wear to the interview, including my new identity card, using Ma’s passport photo and details from when she was my age.
No one will think twice about it if they saw the photo and then me. In my black suit and black bangs wig, Ma and I are practically twins. I stood in front of the mirror after getting dressed and marveled at my own appearance. Underneath all the makeup, the hair, and the suit, I felt as though I was morphing into someone new, or perhaps a familiar piece of myself I was beginning to rediscover.
And then the doubts came, what if someone recognizes me? What if the interviewer sees right through the fascade and more importantly, what if I still don't get the job? All this time, I had blamed my lack of opportunity on my femininity and race, but what if it's none of those, what if it's just me? What if this just proves I’m not as qualified as Pa and Minnie think me to be?
“One last thing,” Pa said, appearing by the doorway. He walked over and held out two folded palms. “Pick one.” He grinned. I picked the left one and he opened his palm.
“A lipstick, pa?”
“Not just any lipstick, a red lipstick. Your mother used to say a red lipstick is the easiest camouflage a woman can ever wear.” He offered it to me. “Go on, let's see if she is right.”
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