The Accidental Diva

by Williams, Tia

• ISBN13: 9780399152016
• ISBN10: 0399152016
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2004-04-26
• Publisher: Putnam Adult

Summary

A vivacious, hilarious, and genuinely universal new voice bursts onto the scene with Tia Williams's fiction debut about love, work, and friendship. Billie Burke is a twenty-six-year-old beauty editor at the world's leading fashion magazine, Du Jour. A black woman in a traditionally white industry, Billie has worked hard to rise to the frothy top of her trade, where paying tribute to the perfect pink lip gloss is serious business. But the crazy days and long nights are about to pay off, as Billie finds herself poised to make a plum career move. Enter Jay Lane, a charismatic performance artist from the projects of Fort Greene, Brooklyn, a man who has seen a darker half of the world than suburban-born Billie. When the two meet, the chemistry is instant and a side of Billie is awakened that she didn't know existed. But as well matched as they are, Jay and Billie come from different worlds, and the closer they become, the more their past lives threaten to tear them apart. The Accidental Divais an irresistible read that marks the debut of a major new voice in women's fiction.

Author Biography

Tia Williams is the beauty director of TeenPeople magazine and has been a beauty writer and editor at YM, Elle, Glamour, and Lucky. She appears regularly on MTV, CNN, Fox News, and other stations to discuss beauty trends.

Excerpts

1. so media-genic There's nothing new to say about mascara," announced Billie Burke to the adjoining cubicles that made up the beauty department of Du Jour magazine. She needed a headline for her mascara caption and was utterly tapped out. "Read it out loud," suggested Sandy Fuller, Du Jour's associate beauty writer. She was one of those pink-skinned strawberry blondes who always looked on the verge of tears. " 'The newest must-have mascaras plumpen, elongate, and sex-ify lackluster lashes. The result? Sinfully sultry bedroom eyes fit to make Ava Gardner wail with envy.' " "Cute!" said Mary DeCosta, the plucky beauty assistant. "But I'm not sure 'plumpen' is a word," Billie said, unconvinced. "Plump up?" offered Sandy. "Hmmm. That's so good," Billie said, quickly typing in the change. She could barely suppress a grin. She knew there was more to life than lashes, but honestly, she lived for this stuff. Billie had almost forgotten how not to speak in hyperbolic, insanely descriptive beauty editor rhetoric. When her friends asked her for makeup and hair advice for parties or first dates, she'd wax on about "burnished blush, copper-kissed lids, dewy, sunlit skin-think Iman on safari," or "disheveled, devil-may-care hair, and lips drenched in diva-red, Heart of Glass gloss . . . you know, a red so deeply divine you'll want to bathe in it." Billie was as moved by James Baldwin, nineteenth-century gothic lit, and "Ode on a Grecian Urn" as much as the next English major, but something in her just delighted in the whole beauty thing. It was so entertaining and campy and intrinsically girly. Like Regis Philbin. "Okay, now I need a headline," continued Billie, on the cusp of panic. "The Azucena lunch starts in two seconds, and it's way downtown. I can't think, I can't think!" Azucena del Sol, like all major beauty companies, launched new products with lavish events that it was Billie's job to attend. The events were always themed. Recently, for example, a line of wine-colored lipsticks had been launched with a wine-tasting. The same week, a more ill-received event had been a breakfast introducing a line of punky-bright hair dyes. It involved fluorescent dry ice and Day-Glo ribbon dancers who, at the climax of their performance, pelted the bleary-eyed editors with multicolored Styrofoam popcorn. It was 8:30 in the morning. "How about 'Lash-Out'?" asked Mary. "No, that's the name of a L'Oreal mascara, shit. Hmm, 'Bat Your Lashes' . . . 'Batter Up'?" Mary, who was from Staten Island, said batcha lashes and batta up. " 'Batter Up' is a little abstract, but not uncute," said Billie. " 'Lashes to Lashes'?" suggested Sandy. "Morbid." Billie stood up and yelled over the partition in the direction of the clothes-strewn fashion cubicles. "Somebody help me! I need a headline for a mascara caption, quick." "Ummm . . . 'Lash Gordon'?" a lanky fashion editor offered. "How about 'Lash in the Pan'?" Mary suggested, giggling. "Why don't you kiss my lash?" Billie said saucily. "Oh, wait, no, I got it, I got it. 'Lash of the Titans.' 'Lash of the Titans'? Is that stupid or cute?" "That's so cute," said Mary. "Yeah, and it just screams major lashes," said Sandy. Billie crowned her caption "Lash of the Titans," printed it out and dropped it in the in box of the oft-absent executive fashion and beauty director. Paige "Beige" Merchant was heavily tanned and heavily peroxided in a way that made her skin and hair color look indistinguishable, hence the nickname. Despite her eerie coloring, Paige was a ravishing beauty whose face and supermodel figure were frequently splashed all over society pages. She was old money, as a result of the chain of office supply stores her great-grandfather had started 150 years ago. After fifteen years in the industry, Paige was over the whole "working" thing, so she was always on vacation-at the moment, in