“Well, a little,” Mary replied. “Not much.”
“That’s because you’re not a professional,” Alison said. “If you ever become one—just watch. You’re not nervous at first, but the more you work, the more nervous you get.”
“I think that’s because in the beginning we all think we’re just wonderful,” Peggy said, “but after a while, we realize how much we have still to learn.”
“Zip me up, please?” Alison asked Peggy. She looked perfectly beautiful, Peggy thought, in her pretty two-piece dress, and marvelous make-up. Alison sat down again and took a little black candle out of her make-up kit. She lit it and tilted it over a small tin cup.
“Is that some kind of a ritual?” Peggy asked in amazement. “What on earth are you doing, Alison?”
“Eyelashes,” Alison replied, dipping a brush in the cup and carefully lifting it to her eyes. “I always do this last.”
“Eyelashes!” Peggy exclaimed—and looked into the little cup. It held black wax melted by the flame, which thickened when Alison applied it, making her lashes look thick and long.
“I don’t like to wear false lashes,” Alison explained, “and this works just as well if not better.”
“If you’ll put a little white at the outer corner of your eyelid, Peggy,” Rita offered, “it will give you a young effect—and a dot of red in the inner corner helps, too.”
Peggy tried it and it worked.