Going to the Chapel by Janet Tronstad Read Free Book Online Page A

back into a crooked bun that she keeps clipped down with a black plastic barrette.
    “We know all you young girls really want to be in the mov-i-es,” Miss Billings whispers to me as she pulls a tape measure out of her pocket. She doesn’t say movies like an ordinary person. She draws the word out and she has a proud smile on her face when she says it. “That’s why I told Mr. Z he needed to rewrite that Help Wanted ad to make it sound more exciting. Not everyone realizes the potential of working here. We are the Hollywood & Vine Mortuary, you know. The Paramount studios are just down the street. The relatives of some big stars are buried here.”
    I don’t want to know what she means by here. I need a change in the conversation. “I don’t want to be a movie star.”
    “Of course, we don’t blame anyone for wanting to be in the movies. We always let any of the girls rearrange their schedule if they have an audition or something. I used to be a makeup girl for the movies myself.” Miss Billings just keeps on talking.
    Doesn’t anyone listen around here? “I want to be a bridal consultant.”
    Miss Billings puts the tape measure across my shoulders. “I’ve done the makeup for many a bride in my day—on and off screen.” Miss Billings measures my arm from elbow to wrist. “Now I’m in charge of the final picture of repose.”
    “Huh?” I look up for this one.
    “You know, the final resting pose.”
    Yikes. “You mean in the casket?”
    Miss Billings nods as she measures my shoulder to my elbow. “You’d be surprised how a good hairstyle and a little makeup can make a difference. There’s this certain shade of blush that, I swear, makes a dead person come to life—for the viewing that is. It’s called Pearly Pink—isn’t that lovely? I’ve always wondered if the manufacturer of that blush had dead people in mind when they made it—you know, sort of a heavenly reference with the pearly gates and all.”
    I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. Would somebody actually develop a makeup for dead people? Maybe they would. I don’t know anything about this business of working with the dead.
    “Do you have to touch them?” I finally ask.
    Miss Billings lets go of the end of her tape measure and the thing spins back into its little box. “Not everyone likes to be touched.”
    This is even getting creepier. “But how—”
    Miss Billings looks at me and just smiles. “We have a form that people and their families can fill out before they need our services. Some people prefer the natural look and don’t want to have makeup.” She walks over to the receptionist desk and writes something on a piece of paper before looking up at me again. “That’s always a mistake in my opinion. People wear makeup when they’re alive. They need it even more when they’re dead. I mean, just because you’re dead that’s no excuse to look bad. It’s your big day—you’ve got the final viewing, then the funeral. People might want pictures. No, you need to look good.”
    I nod. I could probably use some of that makeup about now myself.
    “I won’t have to?” I swallow.
    “Oh, dear me, no,” Miss Billings says. “You would need to have experience before you could do that.”
    That’s not totally reassuring, but I’m not going to press my luck.
    Mr. Z decides I can start even without the suit as long as I stay in the back and don’t interact with the customers. That is just fine with me.
    “I’m a size ten,” I tell Miss Billings as I head toward the back room where Mr. Z is leading me. “I bet you get lots of size ten women coming in to look for work.”
    Miss Billings nods and I feel relieved. I mean, just in case my temporary is even more temporary than I suspect, I wouldn’t want them to have a suit made up that no one else could wear later.
    Now that I think of it, isn’t it kind of odd that Mr. Z makes suits for everyone? What kind of an employer makes suits for his employees? I know