Part 23 (1/2)

Dale had often worried that Warren loved her too much. She shouldn't have. Warren had made clear over and over again that he was happy to be with her in whatever kind of relations.h.i.+p she was ready for. He told her that she was the one he'd been waiting for.

He didn't make it.

Dale noticed that the conversations had stopped, and everyone was looking at her. Had someone asked her a question? She looked at Peter for guidance. He placed an arm on her shoulders and leaned closer to her.

”How are you doing?”

”I'm OK.”

”You know Violet, Charlotte's makeup artist?” Peter offered.

”Hiya, darlin', how are you doing?” Violet had a pleasant accent. It wasn't quite a Southern accent, but it definitely had a tw.a.n.g.

”I'm a mess,” Dale acknowledged.

”We're gonna fix you up, sugar.” Dale watched as Violet unpacked her makeup bag on the counter in the medical unit next to the bright orange box marked ”biohazard.”

”Sugar, can I put this cape on you so I don't get makeup on your pretty dress?”

Dale nodded. Violet worked methodically. First, she poured makeup remover onto a Q-tip and wiped it under Dale's eyes.

”We're gonna start with a clean slate,” Violet said, more to herself than to Dale. She opened a bottle of clear liquid and poured a quarter-sized dollop onto her palm. ”This serum is gonna calm your skin down so it looks nice again,” she soothed.

Next, Dale watched Violet open three different tubes of undereye concealer and examine them closely. She sc.r.a.ped off a chunk from each stick and mixed the chunks together on the back of her hand. With an egg-shaped sponge, Violet started working the makeup onto Dale's face. When she was done with the concealer, she moved on to foundation. She poured dime-sized dollops from two bottles onto a small mirror and mixed them with a fresh sponge. Then she dabbed the beige lotion onto Dale's face until her entire face was one color. Violet lined Dale's eyes with black liquid eyeliner and covered her eyelids with four different shades of brown. She brushed mascara onto Dale's upper and lower lashes and then stood back to admire her work.

”You have eyes again, my dear.”

Dale forced a smile. ”Thanks, Violet.”

”All you need now are cheeks and lips, and then you're good as new.”

Dale sat quietly and watched Violet apply several different shades of pink to her cheeks. She used a different brush to sweep bronzer under her cheekbones and above her brows.

”Smile for me, sugar.”

Dale forced the corners of her lips upward while Violet expertly applied lip liner.

She added a gooey drop of lip gloss in the center of her lower lip and ordered Dale to rub her lips together.

”You look gorgeous!” she exclaimed.

”Thank you, Violet,” Peter said.

”Thank you,” Dale said again.

”I'm just gonna blow out your hair a little bit, and then we're done.”

Dale sat silently while Violet folded sections of her hair over a round brush and blew hot and then cold air over them until her strands yielded to Violet's will.

”Just a touch of s.h.i.+ne, and you're set.”

”Thank you,” Dale repeated.

”My pleasure, sugar. Call me if you need a touch-up.”

While Violet was packing up her supplies, the president's physician sat down in a chair next to Dale.

”Do you feel like you can go back to the press office, or would you rather rest here a little longer?”

”I think it will be helpful to get back to work,” Dale said.

The doctor stared intently at Dale's now-made-up face. ”I'd like to suggest that you make contact with your parents and ask them to come here if that's possible so that you have an around-the-clock support network as the news sinks in,” he added.

Dale nodded. She had no plans to ask her parents to come stay with her. ”If I start to feel like it's more than I can handle to be out there, I'll come back here.”

The doctor's eyes took in her shaky hands. ”I think it's possible that you're still in shock. And what I'm concerned about is that the stress of your job could expedite the process of the shock wearing off. When it does, it's likely that it will be replaced by the sort of grief that most of us like to experience in the privacy of our own homes, surrounded by loved ones.”

He looked at Peter. Peter looked uncomfortable.

”I know what you're saying, but it's not like I'm going to be too far away from all of you. If I walk out there and start to lose it, you have my permission to remove me from the premises.” She tried to joke.

Peter didn't smile.

Dale was trying to show them that fragments of her sense of humor were still intact. It was almost eight P.M., and the press would be crawling the walls of the briefing room by now. She was sure Marguerite was at her wits' end.

”Do his parents know?” Dale asked Peter.

”Charlotte was calling them right after the press briefing, so I a.s.sume they know by now.”

Dale nodded.

”If you're up for it, I thought I'd invite Marguerite over, and she could bring you up to speed. The press has been told that you were tapped to work on a very small team to draft the president's speech for tonight,” Peter explained.

”Whose idea was that?”

”I think it was Melanie's.”

”Does Marguerite know about Warren?”

Peter nodded and dialed her number from the landline in the medical unit. ”She'll be right over,” he reported.

”Great.” Dale tried to smile.

”Do you want something to eat?” Peter asked.