I love Charles. He is an ebony Adonis with the body of a dancer. He’s thin where a man should be thin and built where a man should be built. He’s so damn sexy, it’s scary. Charles is an old soul, like I am. He doesn’t let on to what he has seen in his native Jamaica but I can read his eyes and he knows mine very well. We are on very intimate terms.

Charles touches my face regularly. He is a head makeup artist for Bobbi Brown cosmetics.

When Charles greets me I light up. He embraces me with those strong
Aaron Neville tattooed arms. He helps me up onto the stool, calls over his trainee to take notes on the face schematic, like she is assisting a surgeon.

My visit to Charles yesterday began very differently. Yesterday there was a charity event at the department store where I see him every so often. It’s bedlam at these functions and I was early. I let him know I was his 1:00 appointment and his white toothed grin grabbed my heart.
He was making a woman look beautiful, applying the perfect makeup to her canvas of a face. Then it would be my turn; Spring would recolor me.

I moved away from the crowd of shoppers. There were several salesladies poised for action, waiting at attention in their Bobbi Brown black uniforms with nothing to do as Charles and his entourage brushed and buffed their charges.

“I can get you started and ready for Charles,” said perfect makeup lady #1. She was joined by two other ladies who were ready and willing to get me. Charles called me over and told me to wait for him. I returned to my spot. The ladies in black rushed me with the following words: “We can get you started, we can prep you.”

With the word “prep” a scalpel advanced towards me. My knee-jerk reaction was to throw my hands in front of my mouth and say, “Don’t use the word PREP!”

At that point I must have had NO color in my face and was totally in need of makeup. All I could offer to the two women in black standing in front of me and looking at me curiously was this. “I had five surgeries for breast cancer. You can’t imagine what the word PREP means.”The two women looked stricken, apologetic, saddened. All I could think of was, “I will NOT cry in the middle of the makeup department in Lord & Taylor on a bright, sunny day, when I am already standing here sans makeup.

My face was the reflection of my soul: naked, raw and vulnerable. I had been hiding behind my own makeup for the last five years, pushing down the post traumatic stress, denying my fragility. I did everything I could to swallow hard and suppress the embarrassment of wanting to erupt into a full blown sobbing cry. Right there, in front of the multi- hued palettes of eye shadows. In front of the pink, red and coral sticks that promised that my lips would forever be soft and supple. In front of the creams that offered me eternally youthful skin.

I had lost my right breast and though it had been reconstructed, it was only makeup, an illusion that everything was back to normal.

I wanted to take my potentially youthful and pre-glowing face and hide under the makeup brushes. Then came my Charles.

The last time I had seen him was in the Fall, and while he was putting autumn on my face, we talked about cancer and how is aunt was undergoing chemo and how his grandmother died of it. Charles knew some of my story. He put me on the tall stool and looked deeply through my eyes into the part of me that needed to be soothed and brightened. He pushed the craziness away from me and silenced the what if’s by massaging the oils and foundations into my skin with his warm black hands until my being relaxed into a sigh and I could breathe again. Layer by layer he put the color back into my face, my eyes, my lips. And not with makeup, but with the warmth and generosity of human kindness.

About thirty minutes later he was done reconstructing me. I was another beautiful canvas that was put on his wall, a picture of how my spirit looks inside: fresh, renewed, vibrant, confident. Intact. When I saw my dewy self in the mirror, I was twenty years younger (or so I imagined.) But the reality was for the brief time of my melt down, I allowed intense fear and pain to claim me and age me beyond recognition. I can’t allow that to happen to my essence again.

Until I see Charles for my Autumn face, I will take his quiet kindness with me and try to remember that being “prepped” can also mean applying the foundation for all good things to stick.

I became manic and bought myself a pair of cool sandals and an expensive pair of earrings. I am not going to die tomorrow.

And then I went home and cried.

On to Part 19

greenwytch wrote on May 7, ’10 amazing, poignant and very, very human.  thank you.

mindsnomad wrote on May 7, ’10 I have nothing to say though I feel a lot. Thank you.

forgetmenot525 wrote on May 7, ’10 see you’ve not lost your touch while you.ve been away………………missed this 🙂

sousonne wrote on May 7, ’10 Well done, my friend!  (I could go for a new pair of neat sandals and an expensive pair of earrings, myself!)

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 7, ’10 greenwytch said amazing, poignant and very, very human.  thank you. Thanks, Deb. Very much!

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 7, ’10 mindsnomad said I have nothing to say though I feel a lot. Thank you. Good to see you, Rashmi. Thank you.

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 7, ’10 forgetmenot525 said see you’ve not lost your touch while you.ve been away………………missed this 🙂 Ahhh, made my day, Loretta. I think I am on to a new phase. Thank you!

sweetpotatoqueen wrote on May 7, ’10 sanssouciblogs said Until I see Charles  for my Autumn face, I will take his quiet kindness with me and try to remember that being “prepped” can also mean applying the foundation for all good things to stick. I became manic and bought myself a pair of cool sandals and an expensive pair of earrings. I am not going to die tomorrow. And then I went home and cried. Life! Such moments of kindness are such a blessing as we face enormous challenges in everyday life…and I have also thought that a good cry is just the thing for a soul that needs cleansing!:>) Loved this,my talented friend! MWAH!

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 7, ’10 sousonne said Well done, my friend!  (I could go for a new pair of neat sandals and an expensive pair of earrings, myself!) Thanks dear Sou! And to Gus, too. Get those sandals and earrings, indeed.

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 7, ’10 My sweet tater friend has arrived. What would I do without ya?? I’m with you on a good cry now and then.

forgetmenot525 wrote on May 7, ’10 sanssouciblogs said Ahhh, made my day, Loretta. I think I am on to a new phase. Thank you! as you made mine…………….so very nice to have you and your words back here, new phase looking good so far   🙂

shoppingdreams wrote on May 7, ’10 sanssouciblogs said Until I see Charles  for my Autumn face, I will take his quiet kindness with me and try to remember that being “prepped” can also mean applying the foundation for all good things to stick. Sue, this blog touched me so much. I think I told you that I have a very dear friend who is fighting cancer now. She reminds me of you, in terms of her personality, so funny and brave and upbeat. I worry sometimes that she is so concerned with reassuring all of us that she doesn’t always take care of herself. She just got good news, they told her she is cancer free. Now, she gets tested regularly. I don’t understand why terrible things happen to good people. I do know, though, that I’m so thankful that both of you have defeated that monster. And Charles, we love him. I’m happy you had somebody so wonderful there when you needed him. Much love my friend.

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 7, ’10 shoppingdreams said Sue, this blog touched me so much. I think I told you that I have a very dear friend who is fighting cancer now. She reminds me of you, in terms of her personality, so funny and brave and upbeat. I worry sometimes that she is so concerned with reassuring all of us that she doesn’t always take care of herself. She just got good news, they told her she is cancer free. Now, she gets tested regularly. I don’t understand why terrible things happen to good people. I do know, though, that I’m so thankful that both of you have defeated that monster. And Charles, we love him. I’m happy you had somebody so wonderful there when you needed him. Much love my friend. Thanks for your beautiful comment, a blog is not a blog without a visit from you!

lauritasita wrote on May 9, ’10 This  was so moving beyond words. Thanks for sending me the link, and Happy Mother’s Day to you, too!

gilesy01 wrote on May 10, ’10 Quite a skill.

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 10, ’10 Hey, Giles, I’ve missed you! Thank you. I hope to see more of ya!

fluffyj wrote on May 11, ’10 You are so awesome…. I’ve missed you.  I’m sorry you had a difficult visit, but I’m glad he was there to help you through.  -j

josfreshlybrewedmood wrote on May 11, ’10 sanssouciblogs said being “prepped” can also mean applying the foundation for all good things to stick. Indeed.  Big ole’ southern bear hug to you, Sue.  I am going to share this with my mom.  I bet she can relate.  Wow, just wow!!!  Such an intimate and honest piece of writing.  I am honored you chose to share it with us.

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 11, ’10 Janeen!!! I’ve missed you! Welcome home! and thanks!

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 11, ’10 Been thinking about you, too, Jo, yes do share. It’s like something hits from out of the blue, she would understand.

exukbritbrat wrote on May 19, ’10 I have missed you! Just when we think we’ve got it all together, someone says something or something will happen to jolt us and take us back to another time – a time when all was not as it should have been in our lives. The rawness, hurt and all the other emotions of that time come rushing to the surface when we least expect it and send us into a downward spiral. If we are lucky/blessed, there is a Charles to catch us just before we hit the bottom. Oh i do thank God for your Charles and for the new spring in your step my friend.

sanssouciblogs wrote on May 19, ’10 Charles and YOU!