Steam

The PA breezed through the corridor, past film cameras and over thick black cables, as though any obstruction would disappear as soon as she approached. Grace tried to focus on the woman’s words while keeping up with the fast walking.

“And here’s the green room. Wardrobe’s on lunch but they’ll be over soon. How tall are you, five seven?”

“Five six?” said Grace as she straightened her pinafore. Her hair was in a wholesome half-up style, her light brown ringlets the same shade as the freckles across her nose.

“Huh,” said the PA as she let them into the room. On the door it said AMAZON LIVE in debossed letters.

It felt like a party inside, the air hot with gossip and harsh laughter. Everywhere women in different states of undress were getting ready at separate lighted vanities. There had to be at least ten girls in there, each so worldly and glamorous in their own way.

Grace smelled something from when she was little: blowdryers and beauty products, the scent of walking by the salon at the mall. Her hand high above her head as she was led past and away from it, back home to a preacher’s house where looks meant nothing because pride did no good.

She was shown a chair and left to her own devices. Realizing no one was going to shoo her away, Grace set her old-fashioned suitcase on the table. Then she sat down and began loosening the dusty rose bandana around her neck.

“Oh shoot,” she said, not seeing any cotton rounds in her luggage. She needed one to take off her makeup with cold cream.

“Looking for this, hon?”

It was a girl with blunt, icy-blonde hair, holding out a makeup wipe by her long white nails. The number 1999 was tattooed on her forearm.

“These ones use micellar water.” She said it low, with a wink in her voice. A best kept secret.

Grace nodded gratefully and accepted it in her hand, taking a second to actually use it because it wasn’t the cream.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said another girl, never breaking eye contact with herself as she filled in her brows. “Probably catch a disease.” Her taunt was more directed at 1999 than Grace, a show of tough female fondness.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AMBER,” said Grace’s neighbor before turning to her and saying sweetly yet huskily: “I’m so sorry. I’m Faith.” When she smiled Grace could see she had imperfect teeth, which made her even more beautiful somehow.

The new friends shook hands and took in each other’s differences. Faith’s eyes twinkled perceptively, like she could tell they were alike in ways Grace couldn’t yet see.

“So,” Faith said, picking up powder with her brush aggressively. “What’re you in for?”

“Pardon?”

Faith laughed. “God I love you! You kill me. I mean what do they have ya hocking today?”

Love me? Grace felt wonderful when Faith said that, but she also knew it was just something people said in the city—like “how are you” to mean “hello.”

“Oh! I’m doing the…” She read carefully from a card in her pocket: “Ionic ProStunning 2000.”

“Well damn! Okay!” Faith made an impressed “stank” face in the mirror.

“Look at you, young blood,” said someone swanning by, fully dressed from the waist up with only a lace boyshort on bottom.

The Ionic ProStunning 2000 was a curler/straightener that used steam—not just heat—to protect hair as it styled. Gentler than ordinary hot tools, it resulted in an incomparable texture and shine. The product had been around for a while, but public interest had recently surged following a viral video where someone tried it out for the first time.

It was Amazon’s #1 best seller in Beauty & Personal Care for the last two weeks—and Grace, fresh off a bus from Simplicity, Kansas, was about to be the new face of it.

Grace made a funny expression of her own as she applied her mascara—she did it every time, couldn’t help it. To her left and right women did things they knew from mothers and sisters and friends, casting spells with doe feet and mink fur. Homeschooled and traditional, she’d had to learn makeup from TikTok. She recalled evenings watching Vine compilations with her family, an amazed child sitting on the floor extra close to the smart TV. Liza Koshy, Lele Pons—how elegant they were! Everyone watched in silence like it was golf, her mom sometimes commenting reproachfully on someone’s hubris. But class was in session for Grace. Her dinner-plate eyes stayed on the energetic scenes unfolding on screen. She knew that was where she belonged: on apps and Lives, where the stars were.

The sound of wheels on linoleum snapped her back to the present. It was a rack of clothes from wardrobe, pushed by a different but basically identical staffer.

“Chanel? Gigi? Jinx? Dawn? Lola?” The wardrobe lady called the names procedurally while she plucked the labeled hangers with one hand. Clothes flew by her head as the girls came and collected their ensembles.

“Grace?” she said with some skepticism.

The outfit they’d picked for her was very beautiful: a white sweatshirt and black leggings. She tried to act natural as she got down to her underthings and put them on. The top was so comfortable. The leggings, buttery soft. The hem of the pullover hit just where you wanted it these days, loose and casual but not excessively flowy. There were little intentional flaws in the weave, flecks of black thread dotting it like stracciatella ice cream she’d seen on foodtok.

She knew observation wasn’t a godly thing to do, but Grace couldn’t help but notice how much everyone’s makeover had brought them closer to her level of modesty. What had felt like the beginning of a stripper movie, all midriff and body mist, was now a promenade of ochre dresses and sensible jeans. Everyone looked so wonderful—like they could go from errands to date night at any time.

Faith, wearing a chenille sweater in Sea Mist, gave her now beach-waved hair a final primp in the mirror. “Showtime,” she said, making a face like Well, this is as good as it’s gonna get. Grace watched with admiration, then fluffed her own hair the same way as practice.

Someone started playing music, a song she knew from Reels. I’m good, yeah, I’m feelin’ alright…

“Okay! Okay!” A woman with aubergine hair was egging on another to wine against her lucite chair.

“Come on,” Faith said, offering her hand. She had that kind smile again, one that Grace imagined she didn’t always get to use with these girls. Grace took Faith’s invitation and joined the party in the center of the room.

“This was only eighty-nine dollars on Prime Day!” said the chair-twerking one to no one in particular.

The set was made up like a bedroom. There was a false window with drawn curtains, a white armoire and matching white bed. On the bed was a lush comforter and a teak tray with a book, a candle, and a remote for the mounted TV. Besides the wood accent, anything that wasn’t white was ecru. Grace marveled as she imagined what it would be like to sleep there. She’d always shared a room growing up (and technically still did, living with three roommates in a one-bedroom place). It was much smaller than it looked on the computer, the vast majority of the soundstage devoted to equipment and Amazon boxes.

Someone mic’ed her while another passed her the product. This was happening.

“Okay sweetheart, on three,” said the man behind the camera, his ponytail brushing the collar of his lambskin jacket.

3…2…1. With the crack of a film slate, the world met Gracelyn Nicole Carpenter.

“Happy Friday! My name is Grace and I’m so excited to tell you about my favorite styling tool in this season of my life, the Ionic ProStunning 2000.” She clapped the alligator mouth of the straightener in a satisfying way. “So come hang out ’cause we’re gonna be talking all about this must-have, and it’s gonna be so good…”

Everyone on set stood in awe. She was brilliant.

A little Grace sparkled on the viewfinder, her hands moving decisively in support of each word. The same thing was replicating on phones, laptops and tablets across the country.

“I’m like, addicted to this,” Grace said. She was doing her own hair expertly, going section by section and flipping the tool like a spatula. As the fake room had no power source, it was plugged into a hazardous power strip off-camera.

“Is that weird?” She laughed and smiled at the camera like a lady saying Oh heck, let’s get the nachos. I’m feeling bad.

In other situations Grace was shy, which people mistook for naivété. But she was clear on what her real job was here. She wasn’t selling curling irons: she was selling herself. She knew from experience that everything she did up there—from the way she shook the heat protectant spray to the way she tapped her foot—was something special for the people watching alone under their covers. It was exciting, soothing, even enchanting. At least it’d always been for her.

To be on the other side of it was unreal. She wanted to bottle the feeling, to be this confident in real life, too. She wanted to keep the same composure with new people and old people alike, to show everyone back home what she was made of.

The closest thing she’d felt to it was shopping for a new coat in eighth grade. Her mom had taken her to Francesca’s, clutching her purse like the modernity might rub off on her, while Grace perused the selections. Then she saw it: a mauve pink peacoat with a gathered waist like a dress. Grace held the coat to her heart, picturing all the places she’d wear it.

That was what shopping was, she decided: an adventure. A treasure map. It was the promise of who you could be. Could she be Faith if she straightened her hair, then re-curled it into those unnatural waves?

As she entered hour two of three of her live, Grace began believing her own marketing speak. Of course, how hadn’t she realized it before! All that she needed was right in her hands! Something that would help her shine as she made her way through the world—and pay for itself in terms of cost-per-use.

This was why late that night, nestled into her couch-bed as her roommates clopped around in heels, Grace hit Buy Now. It was going for fifty-nine dollars, exactly what she’d made that day in commission. She knew she didn’t have money for frivolous things. She could hear her parents now: her mother irate, her father silently disapproving.

But it was on sale, and how could she pass up such a bargain?