Introduction
It happened again, my nightmare.
I’m a circus performer balanced on a tightrope above a lion’s pen. I lose my footing and fall until I’m face to face with the lion, and I’m mauled. As my limbs are eaten, my body jolts and shoots me straight out of my skin...and my bed.
I don’t need to consult a dream expert to interpret what the dream meant. You see, I ran away from a circus—the chaos of my child- hood—and ran to join another circus: the movie business. I learned to balance parenthood with a demanding career, and the lion... well...that was the “Harvey Weinsteins” and other toothy challenges I encountered along the way.
I’ve been journaling my experiences since my first job in Hollywood.
I remember it all like it was yesterday.
I was desperately in need of employment, being a college dropout and single mama with two babies and no family to lean on. Every other job had been a bust, including the time I was hired by a company to untangle their books. I figured out they were in the red and couldn’t afford to pay me. That’s when I started my own company.
Working for myself was the ticket.
I couldn’t afford the day care I’d need to work for someone else, and I could be my own bookkeeper, even though that wasn’t necessary. I had 20 bucks to manage and it was tucked in my wallet. I sought out people with money, like lawyers and doctors, and did their grocery shopping, bought birthday gifts plus whatever else they needed, like clothing.
I was a personal Amazon.
I shopped while Lindsey was in school, and Taci I had in tow with me all the time. My last shopping spree ended with a hysterical emergency call: Taci went missing. She had been following me around the umpteenth clothing store and, in an instant, she was gone. She checked out before we went through the checkout.
Well, not really.
She was hiding inside the center of a circular clothing rack; her way of telling me she was done shopping. Forever. So we went home to our dumpy trailer, with a sleeping mattress on the floor and very little food in our mini fridge. As a distraction from our hunger, I introduced my daughters to our first lessons in art.
We colored on the trailer walls.
My next jobs involved dabbling in different entertainment departments, including casting, but nothing resonated. When I landed in makeup—a big step up from my creative crayon lessons—I knew I’d found my home: cleaning brushes, self-teaching, learning the ropes, acquiring technique, watching, practicing, and immersing myself in total gratitude because every day was Take Your Daughter to Work Day.
It didn’t happen overnight, but it happened. Fast-forward three years. Day one as an official makeup artist, my hands were shaking and my heart was racing. I had my powder brush loaded. I was holding my breath waiting for production to shout the magic words, my prompt to do my thing. A big part of me was hoping they would forget I was there. Would I rather the actress have a shiny nose? Yes, yes I would. Walking in front of the camera and crew members was unnerving...everyone would have their jobs finished. I was the last to complete mine, so all eyes would be on me.
The AD, which stands for assistant director, announced, “Stand by, quiet please.”
The lights were set.
The camera was ready to roll.
The actress was ready to deliver her lines.
And I was still waiting.
I paced, shuffled, anxious for my cue.
Finally, it was show time. “Last looks!”
Oh, dear...oh, no...I’m up.
I ran in, literally. However, unknowingly, I’d wrapped a power cord around my foot while pacing. So, as I rushed at Mach 4 speed onto the set, the lights, stands, flags, monitor...well, everything fell like a line of dominos. It started with me and ended with the last light setup.
Yep, I took it all down.
Omen?
You could call it that, the shaky start of a career that took me on one hell of a roller-coaster ride.
Since that first day 20 years ago, I’ve worked on over 50 feature films, dozens of television shows, zillions of commercials, and music videos, most notably the 2015 Macklemore hit “Downtown,” which has been watched over 144 million times on YouTube.
Other highlights?
Of course, I’m a makeup and hair stylist—we love highlights!
I’ve worked with thousands of celebrities, been accused of killing one, and mourned the deaths of a few. I’ve also been racially profiled for being white, played in the World Series of Poker, and partied with people like Leonardo DiCaprio. I’ve been involved in criminal activity, staged a murder, and solved a few mysteries. I even “cheated on” my gay hairstylist and put makeup on Mozart. If that’s not enough, I’ve put beach wave hair extensions on a horse, given a dog sutures, and pulled a few rabbits out of hats.
And that’s just the beginning.
Everything in this book is true and, when possible, I’ve used real names. In some instances, I used fake names to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent—and to protect myself because I don’t relish the idea of being in a lawsuit.
Ethics are important.
An interesting fact of my world is the silent makeup artist code of ethics. It states, “What goes on inside the makeup trailer, stays in the makeup trailer.”
But I ask, is it a cardinal sin to confess the treacherous land mines among which my profession dances?
I think not.
It’s time to stand up and speak out.
Everyone else is doing it.
Why not me, too?
Student
At the beginning of my career I was blinded by the bright lights, the glitz, and the glam. I became a student of the business and I was anxious to do well and prove myself, or at the very least just fit in and not get fired.