Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich [28]
It was a short ride to the station. We signed in at the front desk and followed an intern through a maze of shabby corridors to the green room, which turned out to be painted tan. Some pastries and fruit and coffee had been set out. There were some dog-eared magazines on a side table. The upholstered couch and chairs were leather and slightly shabby. The carpet was the color of dirt.
We all took a seat and watched the television set that was tuned to the station. This was midday news and the anchors and guests were wearing conservative suits. Brenda looked like she was ready to get raffled off at a hoedown.
“How do I look?” Brenda asked Nancy. “Do I look okay? Is my hair okay?” She reached in and rearranged her breasts. “Are the girls okay?”
“Remember to plug the concert tonight,” Nancy said. “We need to sell tickets.”
The producer popped in with the soundman, and they hooked a mic to Brenda and led her away.
“I don’t have to do this,” Nancy said. “I could get lots of good jobs. I could sell shoes at Macy’s, or I could clean kennel cages.”
Ranger was on his cell phone, conducting business. His eyes were on me, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Nancy and I, smelling disaster, nervously scarfed down doughnuts.
A man and a woman were anchoring the news. They talked a little about the concert, and they introduced Brenda. And then Brenda was suddenly onstage, in a chair next to the female anchor. Brenda’s legs were demurely crossed and her bulging breasts looked like polished marble. She was all smiles and white teeth and sparkling eyes. Brenda was stunning. Something happened between Brenda and the camera. Even the whole Daisy Duke thing was working.
Nancy had her fingers in her ears and her eyes squinched shut. “Tell me when it’s over.”
“It’s good,” I told her. “You have to see this. She’s beautiful.”
Nancy opened one eye. “Really?”
“It’s magic,” I said to her.
“I just love it here,” Brenda said to the anchor. “I’m in Trenton, right?”
The anchors laughed. Brenda was adorable.
“Everyone is wondering about your love life,” the anchor said. “There’s a rumor that you’re engaged . . . again.”
Brenda clapped her hands over her eyes. “Good Lord,” she said. “No way!”
She took her hands away and a feathery black object dropped onto her cheek.
Nancy leaned forward. “What is that?”
Brenda’s eyes crossed as she focused on the thing on her face, and hysteria jolted her out of her chair. “Spider,” she shrieked, jumping around, slapping at her face. “Spider, spider!”
Nancy and I were mouths open, eyes wide, watching the television. Even Ranger turned his attention from his phone call to the show.
A stagehand rushed onto the set, tackled Brenda, and dragged her back to her chair.
“What was that?” Brenda asked. “Is it gone? Is it dead?”
One of the anchors picked the thing off the floor and looked at it. “It’s a strip of eyelashes.”
Brenda blinked and put a finger to her eye. “Oh shit!”
Nancy’s face went white. “She just said shit on television. And if that isn’t awful enough, she looks ridiculous. She’s only got lashes on one eye.”
“It’s not my bad,” I said. “I swear. She rubbed her eyes! Everyone knows you don’t rub your eyes when you’ve got lashes glued on!”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ranger said. “No one looks at her eyes.”
Five minutes later, Brenda stormed into the room. “That was so hideous,” she said, teeth clenched. “My eyelash fell off. Did you see it? I thought it was a spider.” She looked around the room, finally finding me. “You!” she said, pointing her finger. “This is all your fault. You’re the one who glued the eyelash. You said you knew what you were doing, but obviously that was a lie.”
“You rubbed your eye. The eyelash would have been fine if you hadn’t rubbed your eye.”
“I’m leaving now,” Brenda said, head high. “And I don’t want this