"We are losing time! Sponges! I need damp beauty blenders, people, not dry rocks!" Coco shrieked, his neon Balenciaga track jacket swishing as he circled Aria's makeup chair.
Brushes, setting powders, and industrial-strength hairspray flew through the air like shrapnel. Four different sets of hands were on Aria at once. One stylist was violently backcombing her rose-gold hair for volume, while another was speed-blending a flawless, sharp contour into her cheekbones.
"Don't blink!" a makeup artist commanded, hovering an eyelash curler dangerously close to Aria's cornea.
"I'm trying!" Aria wheezed through the cloud of aerosol hairspray.
Down at the floor level, things were significantly more chaotic.
A production assistant named Tyler had been tasked with the important mission of scrubbing the New York City asphalt and dirt off the soles of Aria's bare feet. He was armed with a pack of antibacterial wet wipes, a bowl of warm water, and a pumice stone.
