Page 48 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

“Hey, boo,” my best friend Neevahbooms from the other line. “What you doing?”

“I’m on a…a date,” I lend weight to the word because Neevah is the one who endures my belly aching every time adate crashes and burns.

“Oh, shit. What should I have?” Neevah whispers. “Appendicitis? Broken bone? I’m toosuperstitious to fake a death in the family.”

“It’s fine,” I say, keeping my tone even and flashing areassuring smile at Calvin. “What’s going on?”

“You know Lotus Ross?” Neevahasks. “The fashion designer?”

“Of course.” My heartbeat kicks up, thumping harder than ithas the last hour in Calvin’s company.

“She has a celebrity fashion show tomorrow, and one of herstylists can’t make it. You remember Catalina, who came on setthat time? Has her own wig line?”

“Oh, yeah. She was cool.”

“She’s coordinating the show and called asking if maybe youcould step in.”

“Girl, yes. You know it.” Lotus is a rising star in thefashion world, has one of the hottest lines out there, gLO,and recently opened her flagship store in downtown LA.

“Good! I’ll text you deets fortomorrow.”

“All right. Bet.”

As soon as we disconnect, I school my expression to one ofdistress and turn concerned eyes to Calvin. “I have an emergency and need togo.”

I lift my hand, signaling for the server to bring the bill.

“That’s a shame.” Calvin’s face falls. “What is it?”

“Huh?” I ask distractedly, smiling at the server as shedrops my half of the bill on the table.

“The emergency,” he reminds me with a small frown.

“Oh.” My mind scrabbles for the emergency that is springingme from this hellish date. “Appendicitis.”

God, forgive me.

Chapter Two

Takira

There’s nothing like a show.

I’ve done hair and makeup for theater, TV, film,commercials, award shows. You name it. Over the last twelve years, I’ve doneit. The excitement of preparing someone to shine never gets old. It infiltratesthe air as I venture backstage for Lotus Ross’s celebrity fashion show. Iaccepted the opportunity blindly, so eager to work with Lotus in any capacity.I didn’t even ask which charity the show was benefiting, but in the hotellobby, I passed a sign for Harbor House, which I believe focuses on domestic violence,a cause I know is close to her cousin Iris’s heart, and consequently, toLotus’s, too.

Makeshift stations are set up backstage with small mirrorsand chairs. Stylists heft bags stuffed with makeup and tools of the beautytrade. It’s been a while since I worked a fashionshow, celebrity or otherwise, and I’d forgotten how tall everyone is. I’m fivenine, so no small woman, but I’m dwarfed by the Amazons and giants millingaround the area designated for hair and makeup.

“Takira!”

I turn my head in the direction of my name being called. Anattractive woman with dark curly hair and golden-brown skin approaches, dressedin all black—T-shirt and jeans—like most of the other stylists here. Like me.

“Catalina, hey.” I accept her quickhug and return her genuine smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“You were the first one I thought of,” she says, her slightaccent drawing out her vowels. If I remember correctly, she’s from Colombia. “Isaw the great work you did on set that day. And I liked you. In this town, itcan be hard to find competence and kindness in the same package.”

“You telling me.” I chuckle in agreement.

I relocated from New York to LA for DessiBlue when Neevah was cast as the lead andsecured a position for me in the crew. Say what you want about New Yorkersbeing rude. With them, you get what you get and you know what it is. Here,there sometimes seems to be a thin layer of plastic laid over most interactions.In a place that makes its money off illusions, it’s hard to know what and whois real.