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I felt like I was being treated like a princess, or a socialite at a spa. She made my hair a little more structured than I ever did. I usually towel dried it and ran my fingers through and was off and running. This was a little more sophisticated and elegant look. She had a very light touch with the make up. She used lusher tones than I used, but more sparingly. I was unsure at first, but the mirror didn’t lie. I still looked like me, just…more. We talked as she worked quickly the brush lightly stroking my face and neck. She had a way of making me feel at ease that I realized was probably half of their success. I knew that I was getting in of the ground floor. Soon word of these two would skyrocket and I would never be able to afford them as the demand for them would be through the roof. I would count my blessings. I hoped that Mike would as well. Throughout the day, I changed outfits and went from room to room. Frederick snapped away and Michelle adjusted my hair, makeup, and the. Just tell Mr. Trombley you have to wait inside. I shouldn't be more than twenty... thirty minutes late." He doesn't like us to wait inside," I said."Nonsense," my mom said, "He just doesn't want the parents there. You tell him that you have to wait. I'm sure it'll be all right."Did I say that I was shy? I was very shy. The idea of asking Mr. Trombley about waiting in his hallway after the lesson threw me into a catatonic panic. I couldn't do it. I tried. But I couldn't. What if he said no? What would I do then? Boy was I stupid, right? I mean, how hard should it be to blurt out something like, "My mom's going to be late picking me up, so can I wait out in your hall after the lesson?"Instead of concentrating on my lesson, I spent the whole time worrying... that and praying that the weather would clear up, that the rain would stop and I could just wait outside until my mother got there. Strangely, my playing wasn't any worse than usual. Maybe it was better. Mr. Trombley seemed to think.
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