The Make-Up Artist: Part 2

Chapter Twenty One: An Unexpected Encounter

Once you've arrived at the airport, you check in and are luckily able to get an earlier flight that leaves in an hour. After you've gotten through security, you find a quiet coffee shop to sit and sip at a tasteless latte. You just know that Taron will probably be calling at any moment, demanding to know the meaning of the note, and why you've left in such a hurry. You really have no idea what you'll say to him when he does. But a call doesn't come. It still hasn't come by the time you've finished your coffee and are heading for the gate. And it still hasn't come when you've gotten settled onto the plane and pulled your phone out one last time to turn it to airplane mode. Assuming he's probably still asleep, you rest your head against the pillow the flight attendant brings you, and are thankful that the seat next to you is empty as you'd really like to try and get some shut-eye yourself.

Several hours and many failed attempts at sleep later, there is still no phone call when you land in L.A. and turn your phone back on. Odd. Maybe he's just busy? You disembark the plane and after collecting your bag at baggage claim, you wait impatiently for the Uber to arrive and drive you home, already tired of traveling. How in the world does Taron do it?

Once you have unlocked the door to your apartment, stepped inside and dropped your bags on the floor, you are more than a little surprised and admittedly disappointed that Taron hasn't called. Does he not care that you left without saying goodbye? Did he see the note? If not, doesn't he wonder if you're ok? These are all questions that unfortunately you won't be getting the answers to since you were the one who left, and would feel pretty foolish calling him now. Oh well, it doesn't really matter anyway. You've made your proverbial bed and now you have to sleep in it. At least that's what you're going to have to convince yourself of. Finally accepting the fact that he obviously isn't going to call, you start to unpack your things. In the midst of unpacking, you discover his jacket still draped across the couch where you deposited it the other night. Grabbing it quickly, you shove it onto a hanger and into the back of your closet again. You can't afford to have any Taron reminders lying around at the moment. When you are done with unpacking in under thirty minutes, you sit on your bed and stare at the wall. Having picked a little at the in-flight meal, you're not terribly hungry and aren't really in the mood for anything anyway. Considering you've now gained four hours by traveling back home, the day is still young and you realize you have nothing to do but sit and dwell on your thoughts. Still too restless to sleep, you quickly decide that you need to get out of the confined space of these four walls. You need a distraction and you know just where to get it.

Thirty minutes later you are pulling into the television studio parking lot. You figure you might as well finish up the few remaining chores that you didn't have a chance to do before Taron arrived to collect you the other day. As you make your way across the pavement to the glass lobby doors, you barely register that there's another car in the parking lot. Must be a janitor or security guard seeing as how the studio is now closed for the summer. Slipping your key card into the slot, the door clicks and you pull it open. Finding the lobby void of anyone, you think nothing of it and continue on to your destination. It's strangely quiet in the small hallways that now somehow feel vast and wide. Your footsteps are the only thing that can be heard throughout the empty space, and you watch as the motion sensing lights click on with every few steps you take down the never-ending maze of halls. Finally reaching your small make-up room, you step inside, wait for the lights to click on, then shut the door softly behind you. You look around the room to assess what still needs to be done, then pull out your phone to play some music as you get to work.

You end up working a lot more and longer than you intended. The clearing out and throwing away of items that are no longer needed is calming, therapeutic even. You had taken over this space from the previous make-up artist and there were loads of supplies that were either expired or no longer of any use. You've managed to fill two large trash bags of debris, cleaned every hard surface with disinfectant and labeled anything that is sitting upright. Putting your hands on your hips and surveying your work, you feel pretty good about what you've accomplished if you do say so yourself. Now you are free to completely enjoy your time away without worrying about coming back to mayhem. Dusting your hands together, you are just going over to your phone to turn off the music when you hear the distinct sound of the door opening, then closing. Needless to say, your heart is in your throat and your pulse is racing when you whip around to see whoever it is that has invaded your space. Especially because you had thought the building was empty.