marveling at the business her sister had grown. She pulled off her glasses and massaged her temples, then used the hem of her sweater to clean the smudged lenses. The ringing of the bell on the door startled her and she dropped her glasses on the counter. While she fumbled for them blindly, the customers approached the counter—bright blotches of color, a man and a woman from the sound of their voices, and they seemed to be bickering. A hot flush climbed her neck and cheeks as she searched the counter in vain—she felt like Mr. Magoo.
“Are these what you’re looking for?” the man asked, placing her glasses in her hands. He had a warm, pleasing voice.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then jammed the glasses on her face. But just as her vision returned, her speech fled. Her helpful customer was tall, dark and exotic looking, tanned with dark hair and eyes, high cheekbones and a prominent nose. Around thirty, she guessed, although he had the carriage of a more mature man. Or maybe it was his sturdy build that made him look older, or the fact that he was dressed in black from head to toe. Regardless, she was sure she’d never seen anyone more handsome in her life. Quincy’s comment about celebrities being in the area came back to her, and she wondered if he was someone she should recognize. Of course she couldn’t ask him, because she couldn’t speak.
“You’re welcome,” he said with a little smile, and he squinted at her, as if something weren’t quite right. Were her glasses crooked? Her hair falling down? Drool spilling over her chin? Meg was paralyzed.
“Could I get some help, please?” his companion said in a high-pitched voice. The woman sounded annoyed.
Meg jumped up, an apology on her tongue. Until she got an eyeful of the blond bombshell. She blinked. “You’re…Taylor…Gee.”
The woman gave her a tight smile. “Smart kid. I’d like a private dressing room, please. And an ashtray, pronto.”
4
KATHIE WOULD NOT BELIEVE this, she simply would not believe this! Feeling a little light-headed, Meg carried an armful of show costumes to the dressing room where she’d taken Taylor Gee. The brawny guy in black, some sort of bodyguard she now realized, stood outside the curtain, his hands clasped behind him. He made it a point to be alert every time the door opened, but he didn’t appear menacing. Still, she wondered what weapons he harbored under that jacket—a woman who looked like Taylor Gee probably attracted all kinds of weirdos. From the looks of him, though, he could probably handle just about anything….
He smiled as she approached and her throat went dry. “Should I knock?” she whispered.
“Go on in.”
Oh, that voice. Meg swallowed and cleared her throat loudly before she opened the curtain a fraction of an inch and peered inside.
“Come in and close the curtain,” the starlet said without looking up. She was punching in a number on a tiny purple cell phone with a pencil. Those three-inch-long nails had their limitations, Meg guessed.
She hesitated, hoping another customer didn’t need her help right away. Rebecca hadn’t left her cheat sheets for what to do when a megacelebrity stopped by. Maybe she should have put an Out To Lunch sign on the door.
“I’ll let you know if you’re needed out here,” the man in black said.
She nodded gratefully, then entered the dressing room and closed the curtain behind her in one quick motion. She stood frozen, her arms full, while she waited to be acknowledged. Taylor Gee had made herself at home in the large red dressing room, scattering the contents of her purse—makeup, brushes, a bottle of water, coins, dollar bills, prescription bottles—over the upholstered cushions on the three benches that formed a U. She appeared to be conferring with a thick schedule book that lay open in front of her. A long thin cigarette dangled from her mouth. She took a drag and leaned her head back to exhale straight in the air just before she spoke into the phone.
“Jules, this is Taylor. I’m in town for a benefit, and I need the benefit of a facial.”
The woman was too beautiful for words. Between her tangle of white-blond hair and her golden tan, she fairly glowed. She wore a pink suit with flowing pants and a matching sweater with a feather boa collar. Her shoes were black and pink zebra print stilettos. Everything about her oozed sensuality and femininity. In contrast, Meg felt like peeling wallpaper.
“Oh, I knew you would work me in! I’ll see you around three-thirty. Love you, too, sweetie.”
The offhand way the woman tossed around endearments made Meg feel backward. She didn’t even have a pet name for Trey, the man who had proposed to her.
Taylor pushed down the antenna and bounced the phone on a cushion toward the pink leather bag that Meg assumed had cost a small fortune.
She stood and kicked off her shoes as if they were discount knock-offs and took another drag on her cigarette. This, Meg realized, was when she should have told the woman that the fire marshal frowned upon smoking in retail businesses. But she didn’t say anything because she suspected that even the fire marshal would make an exception for Taylor Gee.
“Did you bring everything I selected?”
Meg nodded, marveling that they were nearly eye-to-eye without Taylor’s stilettos. Taylor Gee just seemed so much larger than life that Meg assumed she was taller than her own five feet seven inches. “Yes, and a few extra.”
Taylor smiled, displaying a dazzling array of white teeth, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Good girl. Now hang those up and help me out of these clothes.”
Meg did as she was told, although she hoped that the woman didn’t expect her to, um, watch.
Taylor removed her jewelry and tossed it in a pile on a nearby cushion. Meg prayed nothing got lost.
“Unzip me, please.”
Taylor turned her back and held up her glorious hair with one hand. Meg swallowed hard, then stepped forward to slide down the pull of the fine zipper. The feather collar and the cigarette smoke tickled her nostrils, but she would have imploded before she would have sneezed on the starlet’s back.
The sweater came off—not an easy feat with Taylor still holding a lit cigarette—and landed in a far corner. She wore a sheer pink bra that was a little short of modest. Then she leaned over and stepped out of her pants. They landed opposite the sweater. Taylor turned and stood before her, a miniscule bra and a pink thong away from full disclosure.
Meg turned quickly and reached for the first outfit, a body-glove dress made out of blue iridescent fabric. “My sister designs most of these pieces—” She stopped when the filmy pink bra when flying past her to land near the sweater.
Busying herself with removing the gown from its hanger, Meg turned her back and kept her eyes averted. But Taylor snatched the dress from her, and Meg couldn’t help but get an eyeful of what had every man in America drooling.
Meg was no prude…she grew up with a sister, for heaven’s sake. She’d seen other women naked. Sort of. At the shower room in college, in the steam room at the YMCA, in National Geographic. But there was a difference in nudity for the sake of practicality and nudity for the sake of, well…being seen.
The woman was well-endowed, all right. And perky. Incredibly perky.
Taylor bent over to step into the dress,
