Miss Beautiful

Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine

A pair of pale lips fluttered together in front of the mirror. They belonged to Miss Beautiful, an ageless woman sitting in front of her vanity, wrapped in a creamy silk dressing gown. This was, in her opinion, the most important place to sit. And she did so always with an air of decorum, an opening ceremony to the facial Olympics about to take place.

Here, in the city of Reno, Miss Beautiful was known for leaving a trail of adoring men and women, and even dogs and cats and birds, in her wake. She’d go to the diner for lunch and patrons would forget their hunger as they stared at the living masterpiece. At the movie theater, the films were often interrupted by the tittering of voices all around, pointing out how incredible that beloved head looked in the soft light of the projector. And even though Miss Beautiful was getting up there in age, for she’d been a local treasure for over six decades, it hardly mattered. She still looked a picture of perfection from the neck up.

Miss Beautiful was putting the finishing touches on her face before gracing the outside world. A careful moisturization, followed by the setting of foundations the contouring of angles, lining of eyes, and buffering of powders had all been accomplished. The application of the lipstick was to come, and it was her favorite part. A series of exercises preceded the color. Scrunching, stretching, massaging. “Priming the pucker palette,” she called it. Then, when she felt them sufficiently warmed-up, she took out a tube of Revlon Lipstick in her signature shade: Fire and Ice.

“Live. Laugh. Love. Lipstick!” She shrieked.

Her hand shook with anticipation as it removed the cap and twisted the base. She loved to see the color rise, like the sun in the East or a time-lapse of tulips. Up, up, up it came. Miss Beautiful let out a small gasp. It was quite near to a religious experience, for her.
But then, somewhere in between the loving journey from the vanity to her mouth, the barrel of the lipstick broke into pieces.

On what seemed to be instinct, she reached out and caught one chunk of luscious red against her chest.

Another tumbled down to her lap.

Miss Beautiful leapt up, as if burned by embers.

The lipstick pieces tumbled to the floor.

“My Revlon!” Her voice shook the glass in the mirror. She lunged down on all fours, in a mad fury, trying to recover what was broken. In her haste, she failed to realize the lipstick was now underneath her, smushing into her gown with every movement, staining the silk with disaster. Unable to rescue her beloved, she let herself go completely, sinking to the floor with tiny, sharp sobs. Turning onto her back, she let out a wail that put the whole neighborhood on alert.

One after another, man, woman, and beast rushed to her window and peered in. But all that could be seen was a rather plain, older woman whose hands, chest, and legs were covered in red.