“Everyone’s positively juiced to extreme about tonight’s premiere. Nadine’s about the biggest thing in media right now, and the station’s totally gone that she opted to stay with us and do this show. And having you as the first guest is beyond mag. I mean, the two of you are, like, so extremely scorching.”
Mercy had pink hair tailed up in little butterfly pins, with what seemed to be their tiny progeny flying out of the arch of her left eyebrow.
It was disconcerting.
“You need to meet the producer and the director and the exec tech, then we’re going to head straight to makeup and wardrobe. I can get you anything you want. I’m totally yours for the show—coffee, tea, water—we got flat and fizzy—soft drinks. Nadine says you go for coffee. We’re going to pop in on the director, real quick.”
“I don’t want to—”
But she was almost shoved into an office, had her hand pumped, before she was corralled into another office, with another hand pump.
The air was vibrating so fast it made her head ache.
Then, with Mercy still yapping like a Pomeranian on Zeus, Eve was dragged into makeup where the brightly lit mirrors gleamed over the long, long counter crowded with a dizzying array of pots and tubes and brushes and strange instruments that looked like some wicked tools designed for torture.
Worse—worse than the idea she was pressured by the brass and by friendship to appear on screen, worse than the yapping in her ear, worse than the knowledge that some or all of those instruments and pots and tubes would be used on her—was the woman who stood behind a high-backed black chair grinning a toothy grin.
“Oh, Mother of God.”
“You two know each other, right?” Mercy babbled on. “Trina, I’m going to leave Lieutenant Dallas in your magic hands, go get her coffee. Nadine stocked some special for her. Anything you want?”
Trina, her hair a black-and-white fountain on top of her head, her eyes an unearthly green, whipped a bright blue cape from a hook. “Water’d be good. Flat.”
“Be right back!”
“You look like dog shit, Dallas,” Trina commented.
“This is a recurring nightmare. I’m just going to punch myself in the face until I wake up.”
“You’ve got enough bruising under your eyes, you look like you’ve already been decked a few times today. I’ll fix it.”
“Why are you here? Why is it you?”
“First, because I’m the best and Nadine knows it. She can get the best. Second, because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have worked on Nadine at your place.”
Trina snapped the cape like a matador at a bull. “Appreciate it.”
“So, somehow, I brought this on myself.”
“You’re lucky it’s me. Because I’m the best, and because I know you, and I can—thousands couldn’t—make you look like yourself.”
; “I already look like myself.”
“No, you look like dog shit. But you’re under there, and I know how to find you. Plus, I gotta pump it up for the cameras, but I won’t make you look like an LC on the prowl.”
In her life there were few who struck an active chord of fear in Eve. Trina was one of them. As if she knew it, Trina smiled again, tapped the back of the chair.
“Sit. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Remember, I’m armed.” But she sat. What choice did she have?
“So how come you don’t look like you just got back from vacation? Mavis said you and Roarke took a few days at the beach.” She scooped her fingers through Eve’s hair, frowned, let the hair shift through. “Need a little trim.”
“God. Oh, God.”
Trina simply put the cape over Eve. “And how come you haven’t been over to see Mavis and that sweet baby since you got back?”