ONE
ASHLEY
“Get those tucks taped,ladies. Ten minutes and you’re going out there, dicks hanging out or not,”Amanda called from the dressing room door, the huge curls of her wig shakingwith the force of the shout. The new red corset was a good look on her. Blackwas classic, but Amanda could pull off something a little flashier.
“Which one of you assholesmoved my left boob?” Ivy asked, tape in one hand and what I assumed was theright boob in the other. “Not one of you can keep your goddamn hands to yourself.”
“If I take an eye out doingthis because you bumped my chair, I’m replacing your lash glue with Elmer’s,” Isaid, shuffling closer to the table. Ivy in a mood was a force to be reckonedwith.
Somethinghappenedtopeople the moment they put their wigs on. Gabriel Diaz, geriatric nurse at thememorial hospital, was a sweetheart when he was wearing jeans and a plaid shirtwith the sleeves rolled up.
Ivy Drip was the humanequivalent of a hurricane.
I wasn’t immune,either. Ashley Cooper lived in oversized hoodies he’d stolen from boys he wastoo femme to be seen with on the street and hoped no one was going to sayanything about his nail polish.
Arizona Tease could kill aman with her winged eyeliner and they’d thank her for it.
Ivy laughed, leaning over togrin at me in the mirror. “Troy loves my eyes, you can’t break his heart likethat.”
I snorted. “You never miss achance to bring up being engaged, huh?” I asked, trying not to blink as I linedmy upper waterline.
“When did I mention engagement?”she asked, flashing her ring again. It was only a thin platinum band, since heralter-ego had to wear it at work, but she’d managed to perfect catching thelight. “Don’t you get your little Victoria’s Secret panties in a knot over it.Just becauseIfound a man who can’t get enough of me…”
“Put your brows on and findyour boob,” I shot back. “Or you’re going out there without it.”
I shifted closer to thetable, nudged something squishy with my stockinged toes, and winced. “Oh comeon,” I said. “Thisis the last time I share a dressing room with you.”
As though it wasn’t like thiseverymonth. Nothingever changed.
If somethinghadchanged, I would’ve been worried.
Ducking under the dressingtable, I felt around on the floor until my fingers curled around the rogueboob.
“Here,” I said, holding itout. Ivy snatched the breast enhancer out of my hand, dusting it off with hernose wrinkled.
“Too much to ask for alittle professionalism from you two?” Helena asked. “This is the last timeIshare with thechildren.”
Helena—Martin—was apreschool teacher by day, and Helena Handbasket by night. Well. One night amonth, like the rest of us. He was the newest to drag, but he’d gotten intothe spirit of the thing without hesitation. I’d never seen anyone do theirmakeup so precisely with their fingers before or since. Helena claimed it wasall that practice fingerpainting.
But one time when we’d both been afew drinks deep, Martin had confided in me that he’d learned by using hisex-wife’s makeup before she got home and had no idea what he was doing. I’dfallen a little in love with him then.
“You’re turning forty nextweek,” Ivy said. “So you’ll be dead by the next time you need a dressing room,right?”
Helena rolled her eyes.
“They pay us in tequila,” Isaid. “Professional doesn’t even live in the same state as what we’re doing.”
“They payyouin tequila,” Helena said. “Theypay me in single malt.”
“Gross.” I wrinkled my nose.“That’s for old men.”
“Honey,” Helena said. “Underneaththis half-pound of foundation and glitter, Iaman old man.”
My eyes were as lined asthey were ever going to be and I still needed to get my lashes on.
I plucked my lash case fromthe back of the dressing table, popping it open to choose a pair.
“You’re not that old,” Isaid. “At least, I hope you’re not. I hear life begins at forty.”
