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“Keep out of the bathroom.” Eve stalked off.
Real Trina was back. Maybe, if she’d given it time, she’d have liked fake Trina. Now she’d probably never know.
It could have been worse, Eve supposed. She could have been attacked by flesh-eating cows. No one would ever convince her cows didn’t occasionally enjoy a meaty snack.
So it could’ve been worse.
She told herself so while Trina slathered stuff on her—the mostly naked her—and Mavis cheerfully babbled. To take her mind off what was going on, Eve knew very well, especially when Trina shifted gears, shifted her, and layered some sort of toxic-looking green goo all over her face.
Then told her to relax for ten minutes.
Who could relax with toxic-looking green goo all over their face, that was possibly literally toxic?
But Mavis stuck a glass of champagne in her hand, and eagerly sat while Trina started painting Mavis’s face with the arsenal of paints, brushes, powders, and God knew what else she armed herself with.
Apparently, from the conversation Eve tried to ignore, Mavis had been through the green goo stage—self-inflicted—that morning.
The goo came off, and as far as Eve could tell didn’t take her skin with it. More gunk went on, with Mavis chattering as she stripped down naked. It always puzzled Eve how some people could be naked without a single qualm.
Fortunately, Mavis dressed again in a teeny-tiny sparkle of a dress that made Eve think of a prettily wrapped present, right down to the shiny bow on Mavis’s ass. She slid on high, thin-heeled shoes with skinny straps that wound around her ankle, hung a trio of glittery balls on each ear, an army of glittery bracelets on one arm halfway to the elbow, all while chattering away.
It was sort of fascinating, Eve decided, even admirable in a way, and God knew it was hard not to be amused and happy with Mavis shining up the room.
“Oh, that’s just the right lip dye,” Mavis decreed. “Subtle, barely there. Just slicking them up, highlighting their shape.”
“It’s all about the eyes,” Trina said wisely.
Eve studied the sparkling gold and silver glitter on Mavis’s eyelids. Felt her entire being clutch.
“I don’t want my eyes all glittered up like that. No offense, Mavis.”
“Totally none taken. Glittery eyelids are so not Dallas.” She did a little spin, studied herself in the mirror. “And so completely me. Abso-mag on me, Trina. Party perfect. Yours, too,” she added, turning back to Eve. “In a Dallas way. Promise.”
She crossed her finger over her heart. “Hey, Treen, if you have time, can you do a temp boob tat for me? I’m thinking a little Christmas tree with two presents under it. Bella on one, Leonardo on the other.”
“Sweet. Yeah, no prob. Soon as I’m done.” She stepped back, gave Eve the long, beady eye. “Yeah, yeah, that’s going to work.”
She moved behind the chair. Out of the corner of her eye, Eve sa
w her pick up a tube, squirt some of the gunk that looked distressingly like cum in her hand.
“Do you have to do that?”
“It’s a good product, especially good for your hair.”
She pulled, tugged, scrubbed, then picked up a tool that looked—distressingly again—like a very skinny dildo.
“What is that? What does that do?”
“Magic,” Trina said, and went back to tugging.
“What are you spraying on it?” Eve demanded. “Why are you spraying stuff on it?”
“Because it’s my job.”
“Chill,” Mavis advised, circling the chair. “Ooooh, I get it. Oh yeah, way uptown, Trina. Soft and sexy, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
