She Did a Bad, Bad Thing. Stephanie Bond

trying to compete with her friends.

      Making other people look good had become second nature…and in some cases, her plainness helped those under her ministrations to relax. Most celebrities were so insecure about their flaws, the last thing they wanted was to be at the mercy of a makeup artist who was prettier.

      Her plainness had become her trademark, she reminded herself. She had taken the mediocre hand that life that dealt her and bluffed her way to an enviable job…a job that some might even call glamorous, although when Eve had first asked her to come on board, it had been a risk. In the beginning, she and Liza both had done whatever it took to get the show on the air, even if it fell outside their job description. But over the years the skeletal staff had grown to more than forty technicians, office and production staff, and station executives. Now Jane could concentrate on being the show’s stylist and makeup artist. It was challenging and rewarding. It allowed her to rub elbows with the rich and famous. It made up for the social life she didn’t have.

      When the pep-talk smile she gave to herself in the mirror fell short of convincing, Jane simply looked away.

      While she sterilized every brush and applicator, she watched the television monitor, pleased that both Eve and her guest looked great from every camera angle—somewhere between radiant and matte under the glare of the hot lamps of the set lights.

      “So, Casey,” Eve said with the solemnity of someone who was interviewing a political candidate, “what should our viewers know about making their own intimacy video at home?”

      It was just the kind of scintillating topic that had increased the show’s viewership by leaps and bounds over the past three years. Just Between Us was now commanding high advertising rates. A feature piece in a national media magazine had put the talk show and Eve on the radar of the major networks. The energy level on the set had increased—along with the pressure to deliver. Everyone seemed on edge lately.

      Jane dropped a tray of makeup samples.

      Including her.

      She crouched to clean up the mess, chastising herself for her clumsiness. It was the uncertainty of the show’s future, she reasoned, that was making her feel so…restless. It had nothing to do with the fact that she seemed destined to stay under life’s radar. People couldn’t even remember her name.

      Jane watched Eve work her magic on the unwitting guest and audience and wondered idly if Liza was keeping tabs on the show wherever she was. Flamboyant and volatile Liza Skinner had been the show’s first story producer and was responsible for some of their most successful segments. But a year ago a disagreement over a segment that had gone badly had led to Liza blowing up and walking out on the show. They hadn’t heard from her since. Jane missed her and knew that Eve did, too. And deep down, they both expected Liza to reappear one morning in her office and pick up where she’d left off as if nothing had happened.

      Jane thought of her every time they took up money for the Lot O’ Bucks lottery—pooling their money for tickets was a tradition that she and Eve and Liza had started, with each of them choosing two of the six numbers. Since Liza had left, three other employees had joined the pool and contributed what they hoped would be a winning number, but she and Eve had stubbornly held on to one of Liza’s numbers as a gesture of their friendship. They had joked it was like leaving a light in the window. Meanwhile, Jane hoped that their friend was safe.

      By the time she stored her tools in their proper places, the show had ended and the director was giving everyone on the set a thumbs-up.

      Jane turned down the monitor and took inventory of the shades of foundation, eye, cheek, and lip color. She noted which rows were running low and phoned in replacements orders. Then she did a quick survey of the clothing racks and made a few notes on new spring accessories she wanted to add. From her mail crate, she opened and sorted through dozens of sample products and catalogs that had been sent to her from various manufacturers and retailers. The promising ones went into a large canvas tote for closer scrutiny in her home office.

      When she stepped out into the hall, she smiled at Eve who was striding her way. “Great show.”

      Eve grinned. “Thanks. I was a little nervous about how Casey would come across, but she did a good job. And her makeup and outfit were perfect, thanks to you. She looked downright credible.”

      “Good.”

      “But you have your work cut out for you tomorrow. Bette Valentine with the unibrow will be here to talk about unleashing your inner wild child.”

      Jane winced. “And those muu-muus she wears are hard to do anything with.”

      “You’ll think of something,” Eve said with a wink. “Do you have a hot date tonight?”

      “Yeah—with my remote control.” The season finale of her favorite show, Dirty Secrets of Daylily Drive, aired tonight. She was eager to see who had murdered the neighborhood bimbo.

      Eve made a rueful noise. “When are you going to start dating again? It’s been months since you and James called it quits.”

      Since he dumped me, Jane corrected silently. And although she acknowledged that James wasn’t the love of her life, his parting remark still cut to the bone. Gawd, Jane, you’re such a bore. His offhand slight had sent her into a funk that she hadn’t yet recovered from. Her cheeks still burned when she relived the memory.

      “I don’t have time to date,” she said, then smirked. “Maybe I should talk to my boss about cutting back my hours.”

      “Touché. As soon as we go nationwide,” Eve said, linking her arm with Jane’s and walking with her to the exit, “we’ll both get a life.” Suddenly a serious expression crossed Eve’s face. “You haven’t heard from Liza, have you?”

      “No, why?”

      “No reason, really. She’s just been on my mind today.”

      “Mine, too,” Jane admitted. “Wonder where she is?”

      Eve shook her head. “Knowing Liza, she could be on the moon.” She waved. “See you tomorrow.”

      Jane waved and watched her friend walk away. Eve, she knew, still had hours of work ahead of her before she could leave the station.

      Eve Best deserved to make it big—the woman worked twice as hard as anyone else on the show. Even when they were young, Jane had the feeling that her two friends were destined for great things.

      Then Jane worried her lower lip with her teeth. Maybe this emotional slump was simply a phase she was going through. But with Liza gone, she couldn’t help but feel that the big break they were all waiting for would only tear them further apart…

      2

      PUSHING ASIDE the troubling premonition, Jane left the station and climbed into her old but trusty Civic. Dusk was falling on the chilly spring day and fatigue pulled at her shoulders as she pointed her car in the direction of her condo. On normal days, the commute was manageable—a miracle by Atlanta traffic standards. But today she was behind a minor accident and construction backup on Peachtree Street. At the last minute, she decided to veer off to pick up Chinese food in lieu of cooking. It was already dark by the time she pulled into the parking garage for her building.

      When she rounded the corner to her assigned parking spot, she bit back a curse—a little red sports car occupied her place, next to an enormous black SUV that belonged to her new neighbor. She hadn’t yet met him, but she’d heard him moving in yesterday and hoped that he would be settled by tonight. Indeed, it appeared that he already had a guest over and was already violating the building rules. She resented the people who thought living in a condo was like living in an apartment—the man was a home-owner and he’d better start acting like it. Fuming, she parked in the cramped guest parking area and headed inside.

      The sooner he was indoctrinated to the rules of condo living, the better.

      She stopped in front of her neighbor’s door and juggled her shoulder bag, an armload of catalogs,