What Pretty Girls Are Made Of Read Online Free PDF

two-hour prep time, Sally, Giuseppe, and the on-set crew would be at the “Q” basically all weekend. In preparation, I had to create a model lineup for each show (picking the models who would be on television for each product—like casting!), order products for the hosts to sample, coordinate logistics with the show producers at QVC, and pack everything Sally might need or want for the weekend (makeup, makeup wipes, her baby blanket, makeup remover, essie Mademoiselle nail polish for touchups, Q-tips, brush sets, matching lipsticks, etc.). Not a difficult job, but since I wouldn’t be there, I certainly didn’t want to leave out of the suitcase something that was valuable for making a “successful sell”—a term I was hearing a lot as I absorbed the new language daily.
    Add to the new language a different definition of the word “model”: spider veins, big pores, dark under-eye circles. Gotta love QVC—where being pretty but also plain with bad skin makes you a model.
    I had plenty of time to pack and was hoping to get Sally’s approval for new studio face charts: expensive paper stock with a black outline of a face and basic facial features for artists to use as makeup diagrams in lessons and event trials.
    Our face charts needed updating, and Sally knew that. I was excited to show her the proof I’d received earlier that day.
    “Thank you for taking on this project, my little Aligator,” Sally had said to me a week earlier.
    My little Aligator?
    I liked the informality of nicknames, but “little”? Perhaps little as compared to her size? Well, there wasn’t any animosity in the “Aligator,” so I didn’t let it bother me.
    “No problem, Sally. I’m going to stick with the same general idea as the old face chart but make it more current and use a prettier base face image. Are you okay with that?” I had asked.
    “Absolutely. Good initiative. So stick with your ideas and make sure that you include a few lines for the skin-care regimen for the day—face, cheeks, brows, lips, eyes—and a line for suggested nail color so that the customer can coordinate, if necessary.” I did like her compliments.
    I repeated Sally’s requests back to her so that we were on the same page and sent my requested design changes to the graphic designer that same day.
    When I downloaded the revised proof, it looked better than I had imagined it would. We planned to use a porous paper so that the makeup would really show and not fade or rub off over time, as it had on the old face charts.
    The day passed uneventfully, except for Jolie spilling her pesto pasta lunch on Helen’s white pants, causing an office family feud. I was learning that working in an office full of women had its advantages and disadvantages. When arguments happened, they were often catty and pointless (not unlike in the theater), resulting in sulking and taking sides.
    Growing up with only my younger brother, Damon, I had to assume that this female closeness was what having a sister must be like. The advantages being: never a shortage of tampons, makeup, nail polish for touch-ups, and extra sweaters when the studio was cold. And it was often cold, as Sally refused to raise the thermostat above sixty-four degrees in the summer or (I was told) the winter. The girls joked that it had to do with Sally being a hothead, but I didn’t yet have any idea what they meant.
    I was doing my best to remain safely in the middle of the pack and not gossip or ally with anyone. Staying neutral was difficult. I learned that Sally wasn’t often at the studio and that most of my communication with her would take place via email or over the phone. She seemed to know exactly what was going on, however.
    “Alison, you’ll be my spy now that you’re working at the studio,” she said one day, in a tone I hadn’t heard before. “I need to know what’s going on at all times: the work, the gossip, the drama. You have to report back and tell me everything.”
    “Sure,” I