Painted Faces (Short Story)

Darian Elizabeth Lillian Kensington pulls her hair behind her ear and smiles. It’s a quiet smile, and it says everything you should know. Her hazel eyes blink ferociously underneath heavy lashes and a thick bold line of liner. The sharp knock on the door makes her jump but she remains calm and collected, she’s used to this - she knows the routine perfectly.
“Four minutes to stage, I said four minutes to stage, do you hear me?” A voice cuts through her thought pattern, causing her to lose focus. She jolts, throwing her freebie M.A.C Quartz Lip Pencil into the sink. Still, she remains collected, and simply rubs the damp onto a towel and carefully places the pencil back into her make up box and clips the lid firmly shut. Lips pursed, she blots repeatedly onto a paper towel until she is confident her pout will pass. Her petite eyes narrow as she nears the door and, to let out the only real emotion she will be allowed to show all night, she sighs and rolls her pupils from left to right, right to left, then back.
“Three minutes to stage, I said three minutes to stage, do you hear me?” Despite the question, Darian gives no answer. She simply paints a smile neatly on her face, leans down, takes a final deep breath and opens the door.

Her waiting audience is only minutes away. Despite the racing heart and shaking hands, Darian steps with an air of grace. She tenderly accepts the bouquet of flowers thrust towards her by an excitable fan waiting nervously for her backstage and kisses him briefly on the cheek. To her, he is a young, excited fan. To him, she is every dream he has ever had coming true. The irony however, is not lost on Darian, who stops for a quick picture and autograph with the young boy before continuing on her journey towards the stage.
“Ms Kensington, so good to see you, air kisses.” She responds to the command, kissing the stage manager on both cheeks and flashing a dazzling grin.
“I’m very excited to be here,” She confirms, watching the stage manager’s heart almost jump through her chest with restless, glassy eyes. A small, wry smile creeps across her face. “I’m sure we’re in for quite the evening.”

“One minute to stage, I said one minute to stage, do you hear me?”
“I hear you. I have heard you all night and you are starting to get on my nerves.” She whispers, not letting the poor stagehand who has spent his evening bowing to her every need catch on to her ever increasing irritability and lack of interest in being remotely near the stage at all. Darian watches as her enthusiastic young fan skips round the curtain and bumps into her fellow presenter, Oliver Pharoah. She can’t help wondering if he would make a better presenter as, after all, he would much rather prefer to be in the building than she would, let alone on the actual stage.
“Dari!” Oliver exclaims, rushing towards her with his arms outstretched. She does not mirror his emotions. Instead, she quickly embraces him, patting his upper arms delicately before retreating back to the corner she has been hovering in. This move is more tactical than true and, as Darian knows all too well, will be repeated hundreds of times in her future.
“Wonderful to see you darling, absolutely wonderful.” He confirms, watching her with wide eyes.
“I’m sure it is.” She smiles graciously but a fading twinkle in her eye catches the attention of a stray member of the camera crew, causing her to falter. She squints her eyes ever so slightly as she takes her first few steps onto the actual stage, aware of the striking glare of the beam coming towards her from the vast ceiling above. Blinking as she adjusts to the light, she once again paints a neat, trim smile upon her faux face. Dari, she laughs, is a stupid nickname, but the man who named her it is definitely every bit as stupid. As she has realised, Darian would most likely have gone insane a long time ago if she didn’t have herself to keep her company. She follows instruction and stays hidden just behind the curtain, ready to make her grand entrance. Mr Pharoah comes up behind her and places a steady arm round her midsection. Darian grimaces and wriggles free, giving him a stern look.
“And, we’re live.” The stage hand glows with pride as he instructs camera one to swing into action and catch the ‘golden couple’ walking onto stage. Darian takes Oliver’s hand and smiles once again. Her patent black show-stopping heels catch in the spectacular beam of the stage lights and gleam as she strides towards her post with the confidence and grace of a true professional. The paparazzi in the front row snap their pictures with haste then quickly make an exit. It’s likely, she knows, that they will wait outside for any potential new talent - like a predator with its prey. A former child actress, Darian knows more than anyone how quickly a person can be made, and how quickly a person can be broken.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the fifty-second annual National Comedy Awards. I’m your host, Darian Kensington…”
“And I’m her trusty but ever dopey sidekick, Oliver Pharoah,” He pauses, adamant that the audience will laugh at his poorly thought out joke. “And we’re just so excited to be here, tonight, with all you fantastic people. How about a round of applause for the audience?” He’s just stolen my line, Darian thinks, watching him with eagle eyes. But again she does not react, she simply smiles at Oliver, putting him at ease. For you see, Darian, knows that no one - not even Oliver - in this business, could possibly be as obnoxious at heart.

Ms Kensington watches as the nomination videos play through, each contender trying their utmost to reach the point in their career that they’ve waited for. They deserve it. They know they do.
“And now to present the first award, please welcome two people you all know and love…. Dari and Myself.” Oliver howls at his own joke as Darian hands him the envelope. He mock-agonizes over opening the golden fold before pausing the full recommended thirty seconds. She waits, tapping her foot under the podium in what she believes is either sheer boredom, or pure hatred.
“And the winner is… Georgia Caddick for her work on the children’s show Sketch!” He screeches this, causing both Darian and the audience to flinch. Mr Pharoah has everything - the looks, the charm, all he’s missing is that he clearly is not human, and Darian has always believed this. She kisses Georgia on the cheek and hands her the award. A thin line on her forehead widens as Georgia launches into a speech about everybody she needs to thank - her mother; her father; her brother and three sisters; her cousin, Leah and her boyfriend, Steve; her vocal coach, Lisa; her acting coach, Marianne; the entire staff and students of Westbrook High; her hometown; her loyal, loving, crazy drunken friends; her slightly more sane friends and, finally, her dog, Buster. Although, as Darian has thought time and time again, it would have been quicker for her to say “thank you world” and then leave with her pride, and breath, still intact.
“We’re going to take a short break now, but join us again in just a few minutes.” She explains, turning on her heel and watching the NCA logo projected onto the wall just as instruction told her.
“And, we’re out.” The stage hand grins, brandishing a clipboard at Darian and Oliver as they leave the stage and perch on wobbling wooden chairs behind the curtain.
“Right, brilliant guys, they loved you.” The stage manager enthuses, storming towards the pair. Darian sits still. Her mind is ticking as she digests each word.
“I do have to say, Dari darling, we were fabulous out there.” Oliver shrieks, giving a little hop and walking into the dressing room.
“Quickly, quickly, time for press photos, Darian, time for press photos, we’re working to a deadline here.” A short woman dressed head-to-toe in black crashes past the camera crew, wobbling on her spindly heels with each step. Darian straightens herself up and quickly follows this woman, smiling blankly at each human she passes.
“’Ere, love, lighten up - it might never ‘appen.” One shouts after her, bellowing to himself as he fades into her background.
“It already has,” She silently screams. “It already has.”

Rachel (Webmistress)
PS: This was sort of for my English work but I posted it for a friend to view and the general feedback is that it's good so I'm leaving it up :P